I sipped my vanilla caramel coffee while on the front porch. A soft breeze ripped through my disheveled locks, and a sweet floral aroma wafted through the air. An idea came to me. If a person needed a login name to utilize all the features, then somewhere, somehow, there had to be a database storing this information.
If only I could access the users, I could narrow it down to potential suspects. I nibbled on my lip as I removed my laptop from my lap and set it on the table beside me. I stared at my cell phone, unsure of what to do next.
Ultimately, I perused through my contacts, pressed “Call” and put the phone to my ear. Several rings echoed until a husky voice picked up.
"Elle?" a man said.
"Hey, Jake. Long time no talk. How are you?" I bounced my leg up and down as I chomped on my cuticles.
"What do you need?" he asked knowingly.
"Are you still, uh, you know, using your skills for good?" I cleared my throat.
"You know it, cutie." Jake yawned.
I glanced at my watch. It was eleven in the morning. However, for a guy like Jake, that's well before he'd typically get out of bed.
"I need your help," I said.
"Whatcha got for me?”
"I need you to access a list of accounts, the users' locations, and even IP address if possible,” I told him.
"Easy. From where?”
The pressure in my chest receded a bit. This could work; it could really work. "There's this site…" I trailed off.
Jake snickered on the other end of the line. "Your man cheating on you? Want to see what he's doing online?”
My blood turned cold at Jake's inclination. He didn't know what happened to Zac, and I didn't have it in me to correct him. I would have chosen that scenario a million times over than what I was currently dealing with. If only…if only.
"Actually, this is for professional use," I said smoothly.
"Got it. No problem. Anything else?”
"I need to know which users interacted with a certain girl. I'll text you the link to her profile.”
Jake yawned again. "What's so special about this one?”
"She's dead.”
"Oh, shit. Okay, I'm on it," he said.
"Thanks, Jake. I really appreciate it.”
Jake ended the call without a goodbye, which was typical for him. Jake and I met our freshman year of college at a frat party off-campus. He studied computer science, and me, criminal justice. That night, after several red solo cups of keg beer, we danced, laughed and made our way back to his dorm room.
I closed my eyes to picture that night, to feel the full extent of the memory. We sat on his bed, his hands intertwined in my hair. Our tongues danced together sloppily while one of his hands rested on the small of my back. I didn't mind. He seemed like a sweet guy. I assumed he would take it further, but he surprised me by stopping when I pulled my striped tank top over my head.
"I want to take it slow if that's okay?”
Shock slapped me across the face. I thought all college boys were wild sex addicts. Jake had proven me wrong. That night, we fell asleep with his arms wrapped around me. The smells of stale beer and his aftershave permeated the air as I drifted to sleep. After that party, I wondered if I could be with a guy like Jake: cute in a nerdy kinda way, crazy smart and hilarious. We probably would have dated if I hadn't met Zac the very next day.
As life would have it, Jake and I stayed friends, but there was always that tiny spark between us, the fluttering feeling of “what if?” But he'd always respected my relationship with Zac. Over the years, he'd helped me out with a few shady investigation tactics. Mostly hacking into computers or databases I otherwise wouldn't have access to.
I was a good cop, but sometimes even the best needed a little help when the trail went cold.
And right now? Callie's murderer was still out there, living his life while she lay in the morgue. I knew without a shadow of a doubt, if I found out who the perp was, I’d have a hard time not killing him myself.
Nineteen
I spent the majority of the day glued to my laptop. I studied Callie's online profiles for any hints or clues as the sun dipped below the horizon. Throughout my time on the porch, sifting through various web pages, my mom brought me snacks, glasses of water, and a few tidbits of conversation.
"What are you working on?" she asked.
"Just stuff," I replied.
My mom looked to the left in the direction of Callie's house where yellow and black police tape lined the property. A sadness swept over her face, having lived in the same house on the same street since before I was born. She'd also witnessed little Callie growing up. She saw Callie riding her tricycle up and down the street as a child and then watched as she progressed over the years to an adult bike.
I wasn't the only one with an aching heart.
My mom's gaze returned to me. "Are you going to find him?”
"Doing my best.”
"Good. I visited with Callie’s mother yesterday. Seeing her in so much pain is just awful. Makes me fearful of what I’d do if I ever lost you." She turned away and wiped her cheeks.
I gulped, and my mom went back into the house.
What my mom didn't know was that all throughout the day when she brought me drinks and snacks, I also sipped from a separate water bottle filled with vodka. I couldn't always get away with a lie, but I'd mastered the art of hiding my intoxication. Not that I had many to hide it from since I only started drinking heavily after I left the force.
By seven o'clock, I was thirsty for more than lukewarm vodka. Reluctantly, I closed my laptop. Carrying it under my arm, I brought in other dishes from the porch, complete with crumbs from pretzels and zucchini chips.
"Any plans for tonight?" Jack asked. "Your mother is making chicken Fresca for dinner."
"I think I'm going to go out, actually. Meet up with a few old friends.”
Jack and Jose to be exact.
My Jack smiled. "Have a great time!”
Standing in my childhood room with my nearly-empty duffel bag before me, I realized I was quickly running out of clothes. After all, I'd only planned to stay for Carin's funeral and then go back home. To my new home.
As carefully as I could, I tiptoed to my mom's closet. I opened the door while simultaneously listening for footsteps. When I felt confident the coast was clear, I flicked on the closet light and browsed through my mom's belongings.
I found an older teal and tan plaid shirt which roused colorful memories from my childhood. I remembered my mom wearing that shirt while pulling me in a cherry-red wagon up and down the street. Despite her exhaustion, she delighted in my giggles and kept going for as long as she could muster.
Without a second thought, I grabbed the button-up top. I could match it with a pair of jeans and my nude flats. Easy peasy.
I applied light makeup while I sipped the last few drops from my water bottle. I'd carried a smooth buzz throughout the day, but after staring at the face of a dead girl, I needed something harder.
With one more quick glance in the mirror, I decided it'd have to do.
I crept down the stairs, hoping to slip out of the house before my mom could see my borrowed top. Instead, she climbed the stairs as I descended them. She did a double-take when we met in the middle of the second flight.