I stride through the doorway and turn my walk into a run. “You’re such a dick.” I slap my hand against the elevator door sensor and squeeze through the gap. “For fuck’s sake. Why are you such a bitch?”
“Dunno.” Drake pokes-pokes-pokes the button for the ground floor. “I guess I was just born with it.”
ARCHER
The Prims live in a mid-century modern single-story house on the fringes of town where, to their left, the more affluent, snobby, HOA loving folks cling desperately to their bank accounts and neighborhood society hierarchy, but to their right, kids are going hungry, yards are overgrown, cars are used as lawn ornaments, and thehavesandhave notsspend all their time hating each other and wishingthose peoplewouldjust move out of the neighborhood so things could go back to the way they were.
It’s a system everyone loves to hate, and a social construct in which both sides believe their misfortunes are the result of the neighbors they loathe, and not because of the government that put them there.
Inside the Prims’ home, the walls are painted crisp white, family portraits sit proudly above the mantel, the carpets are about a decade old, but because they’re so clean, it’s easy to see which sections experience higher foot traffic and which sections get none at all.
Mrs. Prim nervously bustles from the kitchen and sets a jug of iced tea and a stack of glasses on a small coffee table in the middle of the room, and on her second trip back, she places a plate of cookies beside it.
Drake and I consume neither.
We sit on the three-seater leather sofa, while directly across from us, Geoffrey Prim glowers.
Because he’s a cranky fuck, I guess.
He’s one of thehaves, terrified of losing even an inch to thehave-nots.
“Is this gonna take long?” Scott Prim, the male half of the boy-girl twin duo, sits on the second single recliner right beside his dad and sports a matching scowl.
No DNA test required.
“I have something going on with my friends this afternoon.”
“What kind of thing?” Drake perches on the edge of the couch,exactly like I do, and rests his elbows on his knees.Like I do. “A girl is dead, Scott. Surely yourthingisn’t as important as finding whoever hurt her.”
“My social obligations can still be important.” He doesn’t need his parents to speak for him. The prick broadens his chest and squares his shoulders. “It sucks she died, but that doesn’t make my thing irrelevant.”
“Why don’t you tell us about your relationship with Josey?” I bring my focus across to his father, but I keep the shaky Rhonda Prim in my peripherals, and the shakier Tara Prim, too, as she wanders into the room. Neither of the women sits, since brother and father take the recliners and don’t seem all that inclined to move for them. “Josey’s worked for your family for eight months, is that right?” I take out my notebook purely for something to hold. A prop that always makes folks nervous. “Since Christmas break, correct?”
Clueless, Geoffrey simply looks to his wife.
“Y-yes, Detective. Since Christmas break.”
“Scott received an early offer to Copeland U,” Geoffrey inserts gruffly. “Full-ride scholarship, but only if he maintains a 4.0 and doesn’t get injured.”
“Injured how?” Drake’s brow shoots high on his forehead. “Sport?”
“Football,” Scott inserts smugly. “I’m the best damn quarterback this side of the country. So long as I keep up with my grades and training schedule, and don’t bust my shoulder, I’m a shoo-in for the NFL.”
“He’s ambidextrous,” Rhonda gloats, haughty despite the tremble in her hands. “He can throw from both sides. The coaches really like that.”
“No way.” Drake is like a fuckin’ shark, zeroing in on the kid and showing his teeth. To outsiders, it might look like a smile. To those of us who know, he’s on the hunt. “Both sides? That’s pretty rare, huh?”
“It’s unheard of,” Geoffrey rumbles. “He’s strong on both sides. Has been since he first held a rattle.”
“So that’s why you hired Josey?” I bring us back toher. To the woman whose throat was slit. To the life ended by a coward. “To keep his grades up?”
“I’m hoping to qualify for a scholarship, too,” Tara adds nervously. If Geoffrey and Scott are the loudmen of the house, and Rhonda is thewoman who irons their shirts and ensures a hot meal on the table every night, I reckon Tara might be the quiet, forgotten child. The mousy, unobtrusive, rule-following one. She didn’t even have the good fortune to be born years before or after Scott. To have her moment to shine. She was just one of two born on the same day, and unfortunately for her, I doubt that rattle her father speaks of was ever shared with her. “I want to work in forensics, too. Like Josey.”
“Did you talk a lot during your study sessions?” Drake asks, even as she steps forward and pours a glass of tea—with her right hand. “Lots of girl chat?”
“Sometimes. About school stuff.” Like the good little Cinderella she is, she sets the jug down and offers the full glass to her father. He accepts, so she pours a second.For Scott. “Josey was only a grade ahead of us, so it didn’t always feel like a tutor/student relationship. Sometimes we even said hey at school.”
“Did you hang out socially?” I decline her offer of a drink with a gentle shake of my head. “No, thank you. Did you and Josey go places for fun?”