RILEY WASN’T JUST SHOOTING THE BREEZE. SHE DID HAVE an idea and it’s a good one. So good that I want to kick myself because I didn’t think of it myself. As soon as school ends, I book it to Heritage Trace Apartments. Wait in front of the sign as Riley’s Uber pulls up. She and the driver share a quick laugh before she climbs out of the car. The driver waves a hardy goodbye at Riley before driving off.
I raise an eyebrow at Riley as she walks over to me. “Make a new best friend?” I ask.
“Who, Keisha?” Riley points at the car driving down the street. “She’s nice. About to graduate from Hampton University at the end of the year. Plans to continue her studies in psychology. I think I’ll request her again.”
“And you got all of that from a ten-minute car ride?”
Riley shrugs. “It’s amazing what people will tell you if you ask the right questions. Speaking of which . . .” She hitches her head toward the apartment complex. “You ready to do this?”
“Either way, I guess we’re doing it,” I say. We tread our way toward one of the apartment buildings. The one that Kenny’s folks live in. They moved out of the Ducts a little less than a year ago. Even though they moved only a few lights away, I’m sure they figured that any distance away from Javon was good. Didn’t matter. Kenny stayed as much in the hood as before. We reach their front door and I lift my hand to knock, but then pause.
“What’s wrong?” Riley asks.
I drop my hand to my side. “I don’t . . . I don’t know what to say.” Lately, whenever I opened my mouth to try to help Nic at all, my words come out all sideways and I just hit another wall. I’m not sure if I can take another dead end.
“It’s okay,” Riley says. “Follow my lead.”
Before I can even ask her what she means, Riley knocks on the door. I hold in my breath. Part of me hoping someone answers, but the other part hoping that nobody’s home. At least with the latter, I can avoid more disappointment.
“I don’t think anyone’s home,” I say to Riley, just as the door cracks open.
“Yeah,” a gruff voice says on the other side.
“Hello? We’re looking for Mr. and Mrs. Boyce,” Riley says, taking a step forward to peer through the door. I grab her arm and nudge her back. Curiosity is a great trait to have, but not necessarily in this neck of the woods. Pry too much and you just might get popped.
“Who’s looking for them?” the voice asks. He punctuates it with a cough that chokes up something I don’t want to see.
“Jay and Riley,” Riley says. “We’re friends of Kenny. Kenny borrowed something from Jay and Jay was hoping to get it back.”
I look over at Riley. She gives me a sideways glance. Not bad . . . but let’s see how far this gets us.
The door pulls open farther and Mr. Boyce stands in front of us, looking like a shorter, more crinkled version of Kenny. Like Kenny got folded into origami and they tried to undo the work but ended up with Mr. Boyce. “Look now. Kenny don’t have anything here that you’re probably looking for. I made sure of it, you feel me?”
Riley blinks, perplexed, but I dig everything Mr. Boyce is tossing. He thinks Riley and I are here looking for drugs. All this time I’ve spent shooing away blissheads, I never thought I’d be mistaken for one myself.
“Jay?” Mrs. Boyce peeks out the front door, tightening the waistband of a house robe around her. “That you? Goodness gracious you grew up.”
“Um, thank you, ma’am?” I didn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but what does one say when someone mentions you going through puberty? Not the typical conversation piece.
Mrs. Boyce taps her husband on the arm. “That’s Ms. Murphy’s grandbaby. They’re not here for any shenanigans. Let them on in.”
Mr. Boyce doesn’t hesitate. He steps back and waves a hand, motions for me and Riley to enter. It’s obvious who runs the show in this household. Mr. Boyce flashes me a quick grin like he suddenly remembers my face. The smile lasts only a second, but still sticks with me. However Kenny got that knee injury, I can’t imagine it being from his dad. Mr. Boyce seems warm. The kind of dad that scolds you in front of your mom, but sneaks you your favorite snack later.
“Have a seat. I’ll get you both some sweet tea,” Mrs. Boyce continues and disappears into the kitchen, not waiting to see if Riley or I even wanted sweet tea.
Mr. Boyce takes a newspaper off the coffee table and uses it to knock off imaginary crumbs from his couch. He points to it and Riley and I take a seat. Mr. Boyce hobbles to the recliner across from us and grunts as he follows suit.
Me and Riley’s knees bump against each other as we sit in silence. I clear my throat and scoot farther to my end of the couch, my foot banging against the leg of the coffee table. A framed picture of a snaggle-toothed Kenny at about nine or ten vibrates from my clumsiness.
“Sorry about that,” I mutter.
“No apologies necessary,” Mr. Boyce says. “It gets a bit cramped in here.”
“I think you have a lovely home,” Riley says, and points to a framed picture of footsteps in sand on the beach. “And I love that painting. My mom keeps it and the poem that goes with it in our guest bathroom.”
“You guys keep poems in your bathroom?” I ask.
“It’s a poem about the Lord,” Mrs. Boyce says, returning from the kitchen with two plastic cups filled with sweet tea, I presume. “The Lord is always with you, Jay. Even when you’re doing your business.”
“Good to know,” I say, taking a cup from Mrs. Boyce. “And thank you.”
“And he’s especially with you now.” Mrs. Boyce hands Riley her cup, and then sits on the arm of the recliner, right next to her husband. “I heard about Ms. Murphy. I’ve been meaning to send flowers. How’s she doing anyway?”
“Much better, ma’am. The doctors said she might be able to come home in the next few days as long as she promises to take it easy. I might have to handcuff her to her nightstand, though.”
Mrs. Boyce cackles. “I know that’s right. Ms. Murphy’s been a busybody for as long as I remember. I always told her that when the day of reckoning comes, she’d be right next to God, giving directions to people on which way they’re supposed to go.” Mr. Boyce and Riley join in with her laughter. I guess that’s my cue as well. I force out a laugh, though it’s such a foreign feeling that my ribs strain from it.
“You said that Kenny borrowed something from you?” Mr. Boyce asks.
“Yes, that’s right.” Riley takes a sip from her tea and peeks over at me. Right, that’s my cue again. Step up your game, Jay.
“Yeah,” I say finally.
Mr. and Mrs. Boyce both look at me, waiting for the next part of the story.
“My shirt,” I say, and immediately try not to frown. How many guys borrow shirts from each other? “Dress,” I add. “Shirt comma dress. My dress shirt.” Riley takes a huge gulp from her tea. I’m alone on this one. “He needed to borrow mine for a job interview, but now I need it back. For a job interview.”
“Kenny? Job interview?” Mr. Boyce asks. “Must’ve been a cold day in hell.”
“Now stop that.” Mrs. Boyce swats at his arm. “That’s good. He’s showing he can be responsible. Kenny’s not here, but it might be in his room. What color is it?”
“White?” I try.
“I could help you look,” Riley says. “I mean, if you need me to.”
“I think I can manage. I’ll be right back.” Mrs. Boyce shuffles toward the back and Riley glances at me, somewhat defeated. I know she wanted to lay eyes on Kenny’s room to find another dot to connect. But maybe we could find one some other way.
“Kenny’s not home?” I ask Mr. Boyce. “I haven’t seen him around lately. What’s he been up to?”
Mr. Boyce huffs. “Your guess is as good as mine. That boy’s been dizzy ever since he got kicked off the basketball team.”
“Kicked off?” I repeat. “I thought he got injured.”
Mr. Boyce shakes his head. “Only thing he probably injured is his mind. That would explain why he took up with that punk Javon.”
“Not a fan, huh?” Riley asks.
Mr. Boyce leans forward in his seat. “Ha! Is a cat a fan of baths?” He starts stabbing at the air with his finger. Now we really got him going. “As soon as Javon entered the picture, Kenny’s been up under his thumb. Stopped caring about school as much. His grades started slipping—and his coach wasn’t having that. So as soon as Kenny lost basketball, guess he figured he didn’t need school anymore. Just stopped showing up.”
I stare down at my tea. It’s like he’s singing the opening chords to Nic’s song. If I can find her, maybe she can have a different outro.
“But I can’t blame Kenny entirely. Doug probably has something to do with it, too.”
“Doug, sir?” I ask.
Mr. Boyce rolls his eyes. “My knuckleheaded nephew. Out there pushing things he shouldn’t be pushing. He even got busted a few times, but Kenny doesn’t care. All he sees is his cousin living in some fancy condo in Richmond. Driving around in a Bentley or whatever’s popular these days.” He reaches out and adjusts the framed picture of Kenny on the coffee table. His hand lingers on the top before pulling it away.
“If only we could all stay that size, right?” Riley says.
Mr. Boyce gives her a soft smile. “He’s a good boy. He really is. I know that he thinks he’s doing the family good, especially with me being laid off and all. But I keep trying to tell him there’s a better way.” There’s a thud in the back of the apartment. Like Mrs. Boyce closes a drawer or a closet door. Mr. Boyce leans over to me and Riley. “Could y’all do me a favor?” he asks in a hushed voice. “Can you tell the missus something good about Kenny’s job interview? She just worries so much about that boy. I’d like to put her mind at ease some kind of way.”
My heart sinks for them. They really had no clue that Kenny’s been gone for a week. Apparently, he does the disappearing act even more than Nic. Mr. Boyce still has hope, even when he erased any lingering bits of mine.
Riley smiles and nods at him just as Mrs. Boyce returns to the living room, empty-handed. “I couldn’t find it anywhere,” Mrs. Boyce says, somewhat sheepishly. “Sorry about that. You need us to reimburse you?”
I shake my head. “That’s not a big deal. I could pick up another one. I think Roses has a sale.”
“Besides,” Riley adds, “Kenny probably needs to keep that shirt anyway.” She turns to me. “Didn’t you say he nailed that job interview?”
I look over at Mr. Boyce who raises his eyebrows, hopeful. “Yeah,” I say. “He did. I’ll let him hold on to it until he gets his first paycheck or whatever.”
Mrs. Boyce clasps her hands and rests them against her chin. She gives a silent prayer before beaming at me and Riley. “God is good,” she says.
Her words follow me as Riley and I thank the Boyces for their hospitality and head out the front door. God is good? Not sure if I can agree after this week. Hell, after the past few years. I’m still waiting for the silver lining after all the challenges He’s thrown at me.
But the Boyces still have hope. Faith that Kenny can be that little boy in the frame on their coffee table again. I saw it in the way Mr. Boyce’s hand lingered on Kenny’s picture. Saw it in the way Mrs. Boyce’s eyes lit up when I dished her the possibility of Kenny having a legit gig. If I told them Kenny’s been missing, that hope might wither and send them to the hospital just like MiMi. And what would going to the cops do for them? We have nothing to go on that something’s even wrong with Kenny, so they’d just hit a roadblock in the form of another Officer Rick Ross. Best I keep them in the dark until something else sheds more light on all of this.
“Good work, Jay,” Riley says, smiling and poking me in the arm.
I smirk at her. “Good work?” I ask. Way to patronize me. Yeah, I’m glad that I could make Mrs. Boyce feel good for a few minutes, but what about me? I’m still as lost and clueless as I was a week ago.
“Wait, you don’t get it, huh?” Riley pulls a wrapper out of her purse. The same wrapper she found in Nic’s bedroom a few days ago.
“Ugh, you actually kept that?” I ask.
“So, I did some digging,” she says, completely ignoring my question. “Tried to figure out what stores use this kind of branding. I finally found a bakery that sells cake pops. Kee Kee’s Goodies. They only have one location—in Richmond.”
I shrug. “Yeah?”
“And Kenny’s cousin lives in Richmond.”
“Oookay,” I say. Riley grabs my arm and makes me stop walking.
“Use that big brain of yours, Jay. Do you know any reason why Nic would go to Richmond?”
I pause, think about it. “No,” I answer.
“So, it’s mighty convenient that Nic just happens to have something from a bakery in Richmond. Right in the same city as someone Kenny’s tight with.”
I shrug again. “Yeah, but Richmond’s a large city and . . .” And what? Nic doesn’t have a car. It’s not like she’s driving over an hour away just to buy a cake pop. If Kenny had a reason to be there, it could mean one of two things. First, he’s bringing back treats for Nic to try. Or two . . . “They ran off to Richmond together,” I say aloud, connecting the dots.
Riley smiles at me again. “Just think about it, Jay. You’ve mentioned that Nic runs off from time to time. The Boyces said Kenny does the same thing. What better way to hide your trysts than to crash at your cousin’s condo in a large city like Richmond?”
It sounds so weird hearing Riley actually say the words, but it makes sense. The last time anyone saw either of them was leaving the party together. And it seems like they’ve been doing a lot of leaving together before I even knew about it. All those times I figured Nic was off somewhere spinning on bliss, she was cozying it up with Kenny at this Doug guy’s place. Javon must have pissed her off for the last time for her not to find her way back home yet.
“You’re a genius,” I tell Riley, then pull her toward me. I wrap my arms around her and give her a tight squeeze. Her ponytail tickles the tip of my nose and smells like baked goods. Something with honey in it. Riley smells like cake and honey. Wait, I’m smelling Riley Parker. And I’m so busy smelling Riley Parker that I don’t even realize that her arms are wrapped around me, too.
I clear my throat and pull away. Riley pulls at her sleeves and stares down at her Converses. “Good work, Detective,” she says to me.
“Right back at you,” I say. “Let’s get out of here, okay?”
Riley nods and pulls out her phone to order another Uber. I crack my knuckles and stare at the lettering of the Heritage Hint Apartments sign. Anything to avoid eye contact with her. But still, the lingering scent of honey tickles my nose.