Page 21 of Haven't Killed in Years
“Hi…” Her eyes widened, then she beamed, then she shifted her balance and subdued her aggressive smile. I noticed everything.
“I didn’t know you worked here,” I said, even though it was obvious from her Instagram if anyone cared to figure it out.
“I do. Are you looking for anything in particular?”
Yeah, proof it’s you. “I was looking for something to brighten up my apartment a bit.”
“Okay.” She lifted her hand and scratched the back of her neck. I remembered her tattoo. “And you’re thinking a cactus will do that?”
“Seems low maintenance.”
“Low risk, low reward.” She smiled.
“I’m not out to kill anything,” I said like I was so clever.
“Jesus.”
I shook my head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”
“Please. My skin is a little thicker than that.” This time her eyes thinned when she smiled. “Follow me. I have something for you.”
I nodded and she turned, leaving her cart. I stared at the diamond peeking out above her uniform shirt, the knot of her mandated apron covering half of it. She led me toward the front, past rows of pleasant smells, pinks and purples, even a couple of butterflies. The path was a walking cure for seasonal affective disorder and almost made me forget that I was there to try to rattle her—to read her—to look for signs of her derangement.
“Here,” she said, stopping. “Orchids. They’re colorful but subtle. Pretty easy to take care of. You just have to water them once in awhile, but even if you kill them, I have it on good authority that they don’t feel pain.”
“Yeah? Okay,” I said. I hadn’t realized when I was originally crafting this plan that I would end up having to actually buy a plant.
She took one down from the shelf. “This one?”
“Sure.”
She carried it to the register, where an older man greeted us, eager to make small talk, but Elyse stayed by my side, blocking his opportunity to strike up a conversation past “Hello.”
I handed the man a crisp twenty-dollar bill that I’d taken out of the ATM for the fruit vendor near my office. I wasn’t sure why it would matter, but in these cloak-and-dagger times, I didn’t want to use a credit card.
“Did you make that yourself?” she joked.
“I wish.”
The man handed me my change and opened his mouth to speak before Elyse cut him off. “Will I see you at Jake’s tonight?”
“I wasn’t invited,” I said.
“I’m inviting you. Anytime after nine.”
“Okay, then,” I said. “Maybe.”
- - - - -
I took the trainto Jake’s, a ten-minute walk from the Sutherland Road stop. I wore something more appropriate this time—a loose black sweater that hung off one of my shoulders. It was thin and I usually wore a tank top underneath, but these were edgy people and showing my bra in certain lights seemed a little edgy.
I was attending a party on my own like some sort of extrovert. Dominic was working—apparently the Abel Haggerty Tour didn’t pay the bills. He taught GED night classes, which, I have to say, was much more charming than his entrepreneurial endeavors.
“Gwen,” said Jake as he opened the door. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Elyse invited me. Is that okay?”
“Of course. Don’t be silly. Come in. Come in.” He closed the door and then ditched me, but I found a familiar face right away. “Porter?”
