Page 39 of Heidi Lucy Loses Her Mind

“You may not,” I say primly. “Try again tomorrow.” Then I turn my back on him and move to the couch, resisting the urge to fan my face. “Sit,” I say, pointing. I hurry before him and grab my stack of folded laundry, moving it to the floor, and Soren settles on the couch—a large, beautiful man on my squashy, cramped, dingy, pinkish-gray sofa.

He’s really too big for this apartment. I’m a fan of minimalism in my living space, which does help keep things tidy, and the exposed brick gives it an air of urbanity. But when it comes down to it, this flat is still itty bitty.

“Okay,” I say without preamble, ignoring how much he stands out in this place. “Based on the events of yesterday, we both seem to have come under suspicion for Carmina’s death.” I sit on the couch next to him, pulling my legs up.

Soren nods but doesn’t speak.

“You didn’t kill her, did you?” I say, glancing over at him. “Because we’re friends, but I’m not going to help you cover anything up.”

Now he rolls his eyes. “Your opinion of me is awfully low today.”

I do my best to hide the twitching of my lips. Soren would never kill anyone; he’s a big guy, but he has a gentle soul.

“What if you killed her?” he says now. “I’ve heard you threatening violence on a certain Poodle.”

My jaw drops. “Oh, no,” I whisper as my eyes widen on him. “Do you think—”

“What?” he cuts me off, laughing. “No. Of course I don’t. I was joking, Heidi. Sorry—it was a bad joke. No. You wouldn’t do that.”

“In that case,” I say, breathing a little more easily. “I’m not going to sit around and wait for the police to decide that we’re somehow guilty. I want to figure out what happened here and get this whole thing behind me.”

I don’t mention my other reasons for wanting to solve this puzzle. It might help my memories return, for one. It’s an unfounded assumption at best. But I can’t shake the feeling that Carmina had something to do with the cryptic phone call I made to Soren the other night. I can feel it in my bones.

And I can’t help thinking that when Carmina directed her last words at me, she was basically begging me to help her find justice.

“Do you not trust the police to do their job properly?” Soren says.

“It’s not that,” I say. “I have no idea if they’ll do a good job. I’m just hesitant to sit around twiddling my thumbs when there’s a possibility that I could be doing something to speed the process along.”

“I would like to go on record and state that this could be a bad idea.”

“Nah,” I say, waving his concern away. “It will be fine.” I can’t do nothing. I just…can’t.

“All right,” Soren says with a sigh. “Let’s pick a starting place, then.”

“I think we should visit the son first,” I say.

“Carmina’s son?”

“Yes. All we have to go on right now is the envelope of money and her last words—something about picking a lock. We can ask him about both of those.”

Soren frowns. “Do you know him?”

“Vaguely. You might have seen him too; he came in with her sometimes. He’s introduced himself. But we could tell him about the envelope and ask if he knows anything about it. Maybe he knows of anyone who had issues with her.”

“It feels wrong to speak ill of the dead,” Soren says slowly, “but I imagine a lot of people had issues with her.”

“Me too,” I say, my voice grudging.

“We don’t know where the son lives, though,” Soren says.

“I think he and his wife lived with Carmina,” I say, thinking. “Or the other way around; she lived with them. We’d still have to figure that out, though—”

“Oh, I knowheraddress,” Soren cuts me off. “Are you sure they lived together?”

I don’t know why his use of the past tense hits me when I’ve been using it too, but it does; I stumble over my next words.

“Pretty sure,” I say. Then, looking at him, I blurt out the nonsensical thought that’s running through my mind. “Death is kind of weird, isn’t it?”

---