Chapter Five

Daniel wakes up with a dry mouth, a headache, and an inextinguishable sense of unease. For a moment, he thinks he’s hungover before he remembers he didn’t drink any alcohol yesterday. He did go for another round with Tony in the dead of night, that time with Tony fucking his thighs and jerking him off slow and steady and perfect. He also didn’t drink any water, which is probably why he feels like death.

The sight of Mario’s dead body flashes before his mind’s eye, and Daniel sits bolt upright in bed.

Behind him, Tony groans, jostled by Daniel’s movement.

Oh shit. Tony.

“What’s going on?” he slurs, still half asleep.

“Nothing. Sorry.” Even to himself, his voice sounds all wrong, tense and tight and scared.

Tony pushes himself up slowly, yawning. “Baby?”

“I just, uh…” Daniel doesn’t know how he’s going to finish it.

Wrapping his arms around Daniel’s middle, Tony hooks his chin over Daniel’s shoulder. “If you wanna talk about it…”

Daniel shakes his head. “I mean, I do,” he corrects hurriedly when he realizes that might come off as douchey. “But it’s really heavy, and a lot, and we had such a good night.” He doesn’t say, and I barely know you, but he thinks it loudly enough he’s pretty sure Tony hears.

Tony kisses his shoulder. “Yeah, we did. I don’t mind heavy though.”

Daniel takes a deep breath, but he doesn’t answer.

After a moment, Tony slides out of bed and starts pulling on yesterday’s clothes. Daniel heads for the bathroom. There are no toothbrushes, but there is some complimentary toothpaste, so he makes do by swirling that around his mouth. He debates drinking from the faucet to do something about his persistent dry mouth and the fact that his brain feels like a shriveled raisin, but Hudson Valley tap water tastes so intensely of chlorine Daniel would rather be thirsty.

He’s not sure what the etiquette is here. Do they go their separate ways? It’s the done thing for a one-night stand, probably, only Daniel’s dependent on Tony to get him back to his car. He’s also not 100 percent on the whole one-night stand thing. On a technicality, they’re already disqualified by having had sex before. On less of a technicality, the way Tony looked at him last night makes Daniel want to see if there might be something more there.

It’s probably meaningless, he tells himself sternly. Some people are really good at making other people feel special, and that’s a quality that gets you laid. Anyway, if Daniel breaks a side mirror now to have an excuse to return, Tony will absolutely be onto him.

“So.” Tony rocks on the balls of his feet when Daniel comes out of the bathroom. “I don’t want to rush you, but I have to be at work in about ten minutes.”

“Shit.” Daniel scrambles for his phone to check the time. “Is it already that late?”

Tony shrugs. “Guess so. Believe me, I’d rather stay in bed with you.”

It charms a laugh out of Daniel. “You’re insatiable.”

Spreading his arms wide to indicate his innocence, Tony says, “Hey, I’m just being practical! Who knows when you’ll next have car trouble?”

“I could give you my address so you could come by and slash my tires or something.”

“Tempting.” Tony scratches his chin. “But how would you get here on slashed tires?”

Daniel nods slowly. “You raise a good point. You do have my number, to save us the logistical difficulties.”

Tony points at him. “Clever. Very clever. However…” He pulls open the motel room door, ushering Daniel out. “I texted you, so you have my number too.”

Daniel walks over to Tony’s godawful car, squinting against the sunlight. For some reason, he was expecting it to be as gray and rainy as yesterday, but it seems the storm has finally completely passed. The sky is clear and beautiful, and the air is sharp and cold. The car looks even worse in bright lighting—the paint job must be getting on in years. Tony’s not after a one-night stand, then. Maybe he’s angling for more of a fuckbuddy situation? Daniel is by all accounts too fucking old to have a fuckbuddy, but he did make a New Year’s resolution to try something new every month. Granted, he meant foodwise at the time, but still.

He sits in the passenger seat, buckles his belt, and then slides out his phone so he can save Tony’s number to his contacts. Uncharacteristically, he’s considering texting Tony before they’ve even said goodbye…

When he’s done, Daniel sets the phone on the dash and flicks the radio on.

—and this just in. We’ve received breaking news that Lobell College announced the sudden death of faculty member Mario Lombardi several days ago. The circumstances of Dr. Lombardi’s death are still unclear, but we here at WBPM send our heartfelt condolences to the Lobell community and especially to—

Daniel flicks the radio off again.

He’s shaking, he realizes absently. His hands are, at least. And his legs, a little.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he looks over at Tony to see if he noticed.

Tony’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel, and his jaw is clenched tight. “Did you know him?” he asks roughly.

There’s a lump in Daniel’s throat he can barely speak around. “Yeah. We were friends. I found him—I found his body. Day before yesterday.”

Something like a snort forces its way out of Tony’s nose. “Jeez, you weren’t kidding about it being a weird week.”

“Yeah,” Daniel says hoarsely. He wants desperately to add something about how he didn’t come see Tony because of Mario’s death, but he’s not sure that would be true. Either way, it would sound desperate.

They pass two intersections in silence before Tony pulls into the garage lot. “I’m sorry.” He puts the car in park. “About your friend.” His voice is tight and controlled, nothing like he sounded a minute ago.

“Thanks.” There’s probably more Daniel could or should answer, but he can’t think of a single word.

“You can wait in the main office for a sec. I’ll get your paperwork from the back.” Tony practically jumps out of the car and heads for the garage.

“Right,” Daniel tells his retreating back, feeling oddly as if he’s the one who did something wrong here. The turn of events has left him discombobulated. There’s a reason he didn’t tell Tony about Mario, which is largely that he was in shock and didn’t know how to, but also that it seemed like too much to put on a guy who is, for all intents and purposes, a stranger. Now, he’s wondering if that was wrong and if he should have. Tony clearly seems to think so.

It’s not as though he was using Tony or something, Daniel rationalizes. He was genuinely in need of a new windshield, and it’s not as if Tony got nothing out of it. They both enjoyed yesterday.

Of course, there’s also the van.

Mario’s van that they had sex against two days ago, which Daniel realized at the time and Tony’s maybe only now realizing. Shit, Daniel should have said something.

He pushes open the glass door of the main office and stops dead when he sees Tony’s sister sitting at her spot behind the desk.

Of course she’s there. She works there, and if she weren’t already in, the door would have been locked. He’s just surprised to see her, given what Tony said yesterday.

“Hi,” he says.

“What can I do you for?” She doesn’t look up, and she sounds incredibly bored. Tony said it better.

“Um, I got a new windshield yesterday.” Daniel will presumably never not feel like an idiot talking about anything to do with cars. It’s a wonder Tony even wanted to see him again. “Tony said he’d be right in with the paperwork and stuff.”

She does look up then, frowning. Her eyes are red-rimmed. “What time did you get here?”

“Uh, pretty late, almost six.” Daniel wonders if he should ask if she’s okay, but his interactions with her so far have not given him the impression she would take kindly to it. He feels like the power of her scorn would decimate him on the spot, so he decides discretion is the better part of valor.

One of her well-groomed eyebrows raises, the one with the piercing. She doesn’t say anything about the time, she only asks for his name and address. She pushes up the cuffs of her oversized sweater to reach the keyboard.

“You’re not going to send me a ton of coupons or something, are you?” he asks suspiciously.

“Not unless you’re really into two for one on spare tires.”

She does talk a lot like Tony, but she lacks his warmth. His crinkly-eyed smile. His little ponytail.

“Paper or plastic?” she asks, and while he’s distracted fumbling his debit card out of his wallet, she adds, “You’re the one he lent his car to, huh?”

Daniel drops his card to the floor.

“Yeah.” He bends down to pick it up.

“Hm. Drives terribly, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Daniel manages a forced laugh.

“First car he ever got. You’d think he’d have traded up by now, working here. He’s had it more than ten years. But he’s attached or something.”

Daniel tries not to smile. It’s not cute. It’s not. “Well, I’m glad he got the windshield in early. I’d be scared to drive his car for too long. Who knows what I’d do to it.”

Finally, she cracks a smile. It doesn’t meet her eyes.

Tony pushes aside the curtain separating the garage from the front desk. “Morning, Gianna.” He presses a kiss to the top of her head.

“Ew.” She scowls at him. “You’re supposed to be mad at me for leaving early the other day.”

Tony doesn’t answer, just shakes his head. “This is for Daniel’s bill.” He hands her a sticker with a bar code.

She scans it in and prints the bill. It’s less expensive than Daniel thought it would be, but he did also think it would take hours and hours of work.

“So,” he tries, once he’s paid and signed. “Um. Thanks?”

“Yeah.” Tony smiles, but it’s tight and awkward. “Yeah. Sure. I gotta… I’ll drive your car out onto the lot in a second?”

“Okay.” Daniel puts his wallet away again. He wonders if he’s supposed to kiss Tony goodbye, but with his sister watching and whatever it is that changed so intensely in the last ten minutes, he doesn’t want to.

When no one else says anything, he heads out for the lot.

Peering back through the glass door, he sees Tony clutching his sister’s arms hard enough to pull the neckline of her sweater clear off her shoulder and looking at her intently. She’s staring at the floor. Daniel probably shouldn’t be watching, but he is because Tony so clearly wanted him to get out, and Daniel is the kind of person who needs to understand things. Maybe Tony’s sister doesn’t know he’s into men?

She’s clearly still upset. He can barely see through the door how she reaches up to wipe fresh tears away from her eyes.

Daniel really hopes finding out her brother slept with a man doesn’t cause that reaction. He turns away to give them some privacy. It only ends up being a matter of minutes before Tony drives his car out anyway, so it can’t have been too serious a conversation.

The goodbyes are awkward, stilted words by the open driver’s side door.

“I guess I’ll hear from you?” Daniel hears himself asking.

“Yeah. Yeah, definitely. Drive safe.”

The other side of the Hudson is not exactly an odyssey, but you wouldn’t know it from the finality of how he says it.

Daniel plays it over in his head while he drives, how the mood changed so suddenly after the radio turned on—as soon as the reality of Daniel’s life set in, as soon as Tony realized he had more going on than a fun fuck every now and then.

It’s hard not to feel a little insulted.

Maybe he’s not giving Tony the benefit of the doubt though. Maybe Tony has a lot going on himself. He certainly seemed terrified Daniel would say something wrong to his sister. He’s probably a run-of-the-mill closeted guy who was more worried about his sister seeing his male lover than about being nice about Daniel’s very traumatic experience. Although, if Tony were all that concerned about it, he wouldn’t have hooked up with Daniel in his place of work, especially given his whole family also works there.

Still, Tony did claim he didn’t mind heavy, and then very clearly did.

He might really feel used, Daniel decides, reconsidering his earlier line of thought. Daniel very clearly showed up the day before yesterday because he wanted a distraction, not because of Tony himself. The windshield was incidental. And then they had sex up against a dead man’s car. Daniel’s still pretty upset about that, so he can’t imagine how Tony might feel. That would be understandable, and given they don’t really know each other, it would be extremely flattering if Tony were that upset about Daniel not having the clearest of intentions toward him.

As he sets his blinker and turns toward Red Hook, Daniel shakes his head at himself. If it makes him feel that good about himself, it’s probably not true. He won’t know what’s eating Tony until Tony tells him. Tony has his number—Daniel tries not to wince at himself about how obviously he was angling for Tony to text him first—and if he wants to see Daniel again, he’ll have to use it.

Right now, Daniel needs to get his life together and deal with what happened. Starting with grocery shopping. He pulls into the Hannaford parking lot and takes his canvas bag out of the trunk before checking his phone for his shopping list.

There’s a missed call from Colette.

He nearly gasps out loud in relief. Finally.

Hot on the heels of relief comes anger, unexpected and hot, clawing up the back of Daniel’s throat. Before he realizes it, his thumb is hovering over the return call button, and he’s almost ready to give her a piece of his mind for ignoring him for a full day right after their friend died, and—

He stops himself and takes a deep breath.

In the normal course of things, he doesn’t necessarily talk to Colette every single day. It’s not like he’s been good company the last day or two. It’s not fair to expect her to process the way he does: with company.

Anyway, he promised he would keep his phone on loud and be there if she needed him, and now he’s missed her call. If anything, he’s a bad friend. He wonders if telling her where he was and what he did would make it better or worse.

He opens his messaging app to apologize, but she’s already sent him a message an hour ago.

What are my chances of you coming over and making me brunch.

100%, Daniel texts and makes a beeline for the eggs. I’m at the store now. I’ll be there in half an hour.

He hurries through the store, irritated at the realization that it’s Saturday morning and thus full of pensioners shopping incredibly slowly. Hannaford’s is always a culture clash, with hungover Lobell students buying snack food, the handful of professors who dare shop in such close proximity to the college, and the locals.

There’s a woman ahead of Daniel in the checkout line who apparently could not get through the shopping experience without opening and drinking a smoothie. He doesn’t know which of the three groups she belongs to, but the length of time she takes considering buying a magazine featuring a Kardashian sibling prominently on the cover doesn’t endear her to him.

He’s being an asshole, he realizes. Granted, it’s only in the space of his own head, but he should probably get over himself and his anger at Colette, most likely rooted in his disappointment in Tony, before he sees Colette. She doesn’t deserve the version of him who makes classist assumptions at the grocery store because he’s feeling impatient and uncertain of himself. He takes a deep breath and doesn’t tap his feet or clear his throat while the lady in front of him takes ages clearing the checkout counter. He drives exactly the speed limit on the way home, and he feeds Worf and waits around until he’s eaten up before he heads down to Colette’s.

Colette answers the door in the same sweatpants she was wearing the day before yesterday. Her long braids are tied together loosely behind her head. Daniel becomes aware that usually when he sees her, she’s subtly but perfectly made-up because today, she isn’t.

Before he can come in, she wraps him up in a tight, fierce hug.

“Oh.” He’s surprised, and he can’t really hug her back with the groceries in the way, so he just stands there for a while as she hugs him. “I’m sorry I missed your call,” he tells the side of her head.

“I’m sorry I sent you away.” She steps away and drops her eyes as she lets him in. “I was…I needed…”

“It’s fine.”

“I’m sure you needed support too.” It rubs him the wrong way, if only a little bit. She’s not wrong, but she talks about it like it’s an immutable fact that he would, and he doesn’t like how sure she is. “And I…told you to leave. I’ve been…a mess. I don’t like…being seen like this.”

“It’s seriously okay.” In point of fact, he’s still not sure it is, but he’s not sure anything at all is okay right now, so he’s willing to let it slide. “Anyway, I’m here now. What do you want for brunch?”

“Anything. I haven’t eaten much since…you know. I’m starving.”

Daniel hasn’t eaten properly since his pilfered breakfast yesterday afternoon. At some point in the night, Tony pulled on his pants and got them an assortment of shitty snacks from the motel vending machine, but they weren’t what Daniel would call nourishing. (He thought it was nice, actually, splitting Fritos and a Snickers for dinner, licking the taste out of each other’s mouths. He needs to stop thinking about it.)

He pulls out the eggs, flour, maple syrup, baking powder, buttermilk, and sugar and sets to work.

Pancake batter is quick work, and frying them while he boils an extra few eggs for something savory is easily managed. He longs a little forlornly for bacon, but Colette can’t eat it, and anyway, Daniel probably ought to stop eating meat properly instead of occasionally sneaking a real burger and then feeling guilty about it.

“How are you?” Colette asks him. She’s sitting on a bar stool in her kitchen, watching him cook. Her hands are clasped around her coffee cup.

“I’m all right, I guess. I don’t know. The first night was…bad. Maybe I’m starting to process? Or maybe I’m just exhausted from having feelings.”

She nods slowly. “I think it was the shock that made me react so badly. I don’t think I’ve really understood that he’s actually dead.” The words make her mouth turn down. She looks so tired. “I keep thinking…what if it was an insane accident, you know? He was pretty drunk that night. What if he had a gun, and it misfired? You know, a lot of gunshot injuries in this country are accidental.”

“I guess.” Daniel wonders how best to phrase his skepticism. “I don’t think he had a gun though. Mario had a bumper sticker that said ‘F U NRA,’ remember?” He hopes she doesn’t ask how he remembers it in such detail.

Colette shrugs helplessly. “He could have changed his mind.”

“Yeah.” There’s not a lot else to say. Daniel debates bringing up Occam’s razor as gently as possible to remind Colette that the simplest explanation is usually the right one, but he can’t make the words come out in a way that won’t sound condescending. Instead, he plates up their brunch and sits across from her at the high kitchen table.

He’s only halfway through his pancake stack when the doorbell rings.

Colette stands to answer, and even a room away, he can hear from her tone of voice that she’s letting whoever it is inside. With a sigh, Daniel sets down his fork and drains his orange juice. At least his brain is starting to feel less like a raisin.

“Oh, hi, Detective,” He gives a little half-hearted wave as Colette leads Detective Taylor past the kitchen toward the living room.

“Professor Rosenbaum.” She sounds pleased and surprised. “Well, I guess that saves me interviewing you separately.”

Daniel wonders briefly about professional ethics; shouldn’t she interview them separately? What if they were lying to her? What if they’re suspects? If he gets arrested on murder charges, his parents are definitely never coming to visit him.

Then he remembers that he isn’t actually a murderer and doesn’t want to be interviewed separately anyway. It’s the detective’s problem if her procedure is wrong, not his. And he should probably not be thinking of it as “wrong” but as “not how they do it on TV.”

He follows them into the living room. “I would offer you some pancakes,” he lies, “but we’re all out.”

Detective Taylor waves him off. “That’s fine. I already ate. A cup of coffee, though…?”

“Oh, of course.” Colette heads for her tiny moka pot, sitting right by the stove.

Daniel takes a seat on the couch opposite the detective.

“Do you live here?” she asks.

“Upstairs.”

“But you and Professor Ravel aren’t…”

He shakes his head instantly. “No, we’re just good friends.” He doesn’t elaborate; outing himself to local police seems like poor judgment, especially when it’s not relevant to the investigation. Unless it becomes relevant in the worst way and Detective Taylor starts thinking he’s some sort of gay predator who killed Mario because he wasn’t interested—

Daniel interrupts the train of thought. There’s no reason for him to be accused here; he needs to stop imagining all the horrible ways it could happen. “So, what brings you here?”

“A few follow-up questions.” Detective Taylor clasps her hands together. “Professor Lombardi’s family lives a few hours away, and it seems you two were his closest friends in the area. I’m trying to get a sense of his life and his habits.”

Daniel frowns. His closest friends? Colette was close with Mario, certainly, but Daniel wouldn’t have thought he was. They were friends, but not exactly close. Sometimes, Mario joined him and Colette for dinner on Saturdays, and every now and again, Daniel went to the movies with them, but that was about it. Their only commonality beyond Lobell was that Colette was close with them both.

“We’ll do anything we can to help, of course.” Uncomfortably, he thinks of the current location of Mario’s car, but doesn’t offer any further information. If she needs to know, the detective will ask. No point in attempting to explain how he knows without revealing more than he wants to about himself and Tony both.

In the kitchen, he hears the moka pot burble, and shortly after, Colette emerges with a steaming cup.

“Sugar or milk?” she asks.

“Milk would be great,” Detective Taylor says.

Colette sets down the cup on the coffee table and then gets the milk from the fridge. She’s judging silently. She would never taint an espresso with milk.

Detective Taylor takes a long sip and closes her eyes in pleasure. “God, we should get one of whatever you have over at the station. Good stuff.”

Colette smiles, tight-lipped. Coffee comes shortly after driving, healthcare, and police brutality on her list of things wrong with America.

“So-” The detective sets down her cup. “I have a few more questions about Professor Lombardi. For starters, do you—”

She’s interrupted by the doorbell going off again.

Daniel stands to press the buzzer this time.

“Oh, Daniel,” Stacy calls up the stairs. “I was hoping you’d be here! How are you?”

“I’m holding up,” Daniel tells her weakly, although he’d like to say, you literally saw me yesterday. “Listen, the—”

“I brought some cookies.” Stacy huffs a little as she climbs the stairs to Colette’s door. She’s wearing a purple raincoat and rubber boots even though it finally stopped raining. The coat swallows her short frame almost whole. She proffers a gigantic Tupperware in his direction. “Double chocolate chip.”

Daniel smiles as he takes them. “Thanks, Stacy. This is really nice of you.”

At the door, Colette has appeared. “Hello. The police are here right now, but I’m sure you can come in all the same.” Her tone of voice is friendly, but Daniel knows she’s hoping Stacy will take the hint. It’s unlikely; Stacy is impervious to subtext unless it’s in a James Joyce novel.

“Oh, if you’re sure I won’t be in the way.” Stacy’s already walking through the doorway before she’s finished speaking. She waves to Detective Taylor. “Hi, I’m Stacy Allan—”

“With the college, right?” the detective asks. “I was meaning to talk to you next.”

The expression on Stacy’s face is almost worth how hard Colette is clenching her jaw to avoid being impolite.

“Oh my.” Stacy’s hands flutter up and down, as if looking for something to do. “Did I do anything? Is everything all right?”

Detective Taylor smiles kindly. “Have a seat, Professor Allan. It’s only that you three were the last people to see Professor Lombardi.”

Stacy breathes out in relief. “Of course. And what a terrible thing. I just can’t believe this has happened. And here! You know, my husband and I moved up here from the city because it was supposed to be much safer.”

Colette rolls her eyes behind Stacy’s back.

“I’m sure it is much safer here.” Colette reclaims her seat on the couch. “We don’t even know how Mario died.”

She’s sticking with the accidental gunshot idea, then. Daniel swallows his commentary, sets the Tupperware on the coffee table reverently, and opens it up. He takes a cookie and starts nibbling at it.

“Unfortunately, after the autopsy, we’re certain we’re looking at murder or manslaughter.” Detective Taylor takes a cookie as well. “The final verdict will take a few more days as our coroner doesn’t have a lab on standby for this kind of stuff.”

“That’s horrible.” Stacy is aghast, eyes wide and bright. “Who would do that?”

The detective holds up her index finger as she chews and then swallows. “I’m hoping to figure that out.” She takes another long sip of her coffee. “There were a number of calls on his phone records in the last few months from an auto repair shop in Kingston. Angel Automotive? Do you know anything about that?”

Daniel sits up straight so suddenly the blood rushes in his ears. “I’m sorry. For how long?” His lips feel numb.

“A few months. Since about September.”

Daniel opens his mouth to answer something, anything, but what could he say? He knows Mario’s car was there, but he doesn’t intend on telling the police what he did up against Mario’s car, especially since that doesn’t explain the calls dating back to September.

“He was in a fender bender.” Stacy nibbles on one of her own cookies, clearly over her anxiety at the police presence. “Just a few days ago. He said his car was in the shop on Wednesday, remember? That’s why we carpooled.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Colette agrees. “His van was always giving him trouble, so maybe it was getting fixed more often?”

Daniel nods mutely and tries to calm his heart rate.

The detective asks for information about Mario’s class schedule and students, which Daniel knows next to nothing about. He lets Stacy and Colette talk, explaining that his film classes were late, that Mario was incredibly in demand as a faculty advisor, and that his classes were usually full.

As they talk, Daniel wonders whether Mario had anything else to do with Angel Automotive. He was probably getting his car fixed there, same as Daniel. Mario was about Daniel’s age, and the draw of a shop that didn’t require a phone call to make an appointment is pretty convincing to their generation. Mario was probably a regular customer. Maybe that’s why Tony was so spooked this morning—he recognized the name. Maybe Mario hadn’t paid his latest bill yet or something.

Except something doesn’t add up. Daniel goes over the moment in the car that morning when he turned the radio on and the way Tony asked gruffly if Daniel knew Mario—that doesn’t seem quite right. Tony could have been a lot more sympathetic. A lot kinder. He could have expressed condolences much, much earlier, but he waited almost two full blocks. It made Daniel feel bad for having known Mario. Tony also didn’t mention that he knew Mario himself.

Then afterward, when Daniel saw Tony impressing something on his sister, her upper arms clenched in his big hands—that seemed suspicious. Daniel thought it was about him, about her figuring out that Tony was maybe less than straight. It struck him at the time as desperate. But she was already crying before Daniel and Tony even got there. What if instead of being worried, she wasn’t reacting to their little overnight getaway as Daniel assumed? Did Tony actually have some reason to react so badly to the news about Mario, both to Daniel and to his own sister?

What if Tony had something to do with what happened to Mario?

That would be ridiculous.

That would be horrifying.

He doesn’t seem like someone dangerous, but if Daniel has learned one thing from crime shows, it’s that killers rarely do.

Daniel needs to not think about it. It’s probably all coincidence. And either way, Tony didn’t seem interested in seeing Daniel again this morning. Daniel will be totally uninvolved no matter what. Unless Tony texts him, of course.

Should he answer if Tony texts him? Should he see Tony again?

Would it be dangerous?

He thinks of how reverently Tony undressed him last night and then how his eyes crinkled when he laughed so hard that he couldn’t breathe when Daniel demonstrated the only correct way to eat Skittles (sorted by color). Daniel’s probably not in any danger from Tony. Maybe he can find out more, though, on the off-chance Tony wants to see him again. It would definitely be worth a look if he could check the computer at Angel Automotive for Mario’s name. Just for his own peace of mind, of course. He could make sure the only connection really is Mario’s shitty van. What are the other options anyway? Telling the police?

It’s not like there’s a good way to admit that Daniel also has a connection to the shop, and he’s concerned about the mechanic from the shop being involved in the murder based entirely on him reacting weirdly to the news. It would make him sound utterly insane, and in the worst case, it would get Tony in trouble and torpedo Daniel’s chances with him.

He’ll wait for Tony to text him, and if he doesn’t, then he’ll know Tony isn’t interested in more than a secret fling in a shady motel. That would be fine; then Daniel won’t have to go to the shop again and worry that Tony’s somehow involved. If he does text, Daniel will check it out a little bit, enough to be sure there’s nothing shady going on. It will be fine. Tony’s definitely not some criminal mastermind; he’s only a mechanic.

Of course, Daniel could always text first and arrange another hook up. To get a feel for things. So he has an answer and doesn’t drive himself crazy.

“Daniel?” Stacy rests a hand on his knee.

Daniel flinches.

“We lost you for a second there, sweetie.” She pats his knee and then mercifully pulls away.

“Sorry.” Daniel rubs at his eyes. “I didn’t sleep well.” He slept great, actually, his back pressed into the warm, solid chest of a potential murderer.

“You poor thing.” Stacy offers him the Tupperware container. “Have another cookie. God knows, if I take them home, my husband will eat them all.”

“What was the question?” Daniel takes another cookie.

“We’re trying to establish Mario’s daily routine,” Detective Taylor recaps. “Just to know where he might have been in the days prior to his death.”

“His class schedule and his office hours are easy enough to come by,” Colette points out. “And the dean of the film department will know about faculty meetings and all that.”

“He went to the pool a few times a week,” Daniel remembers. Sometimes, Daniel would be huffing away at the ellipticals upstairs in the campus gym, staring blankly through the windows to the pool, and he’d see Mario dive into the water elegantly. He wore speedos and apparently saw no issue with that. They met in the changing rooms sometimes too. Daniel remembers how they joked about the out-of-use sign on the sauna doors in the men’s changing rooms.

“Was it really a hotbed of gay activity?” Mario asked, wriggling his eyebrows on the word “hotbed.”

“According to Kevin in the Poli-Sci Department,” Daniel answered with a shrug. “And honestly, if he was involved, I’m glad I didn’t check it out.”

They laughed about it, and every time they saw each other at the gym, Mario found some new pun about heat and steam. In all honesty, it made Daniel uncomfortable; it felt like Mario was constantly reminding him he’s gay, as if Daniel didn’t know.

“There’s one more thing.” Colette fiddles with the end of one of her braids again, speaking slowly and nervously. It pulls Daniel out of his memories. “There’s a student, Andrew Clayfield. He was…becoming quite intrusive about a project.”

Right. Corpse cannibal guy.

“How so?” the detective asks.

“He wanted to work on a very specific film project for his senior thesis. It’s to do with a Welsh funeral tradition. It’s…well, never mind. I’m just concerned this student will…try to involve himself. He has a preoccupation with death.”

The detective pauses in her note-taking. “Could you elaborate on that?”

Colette sighs. “I taught a class about nonliturgical elements in Christian ritual last semester. Andrew focused on the Welsh tradition of the sin-eater for his final paper.”

There’s a pause in which all the nonanthropologists in the room attempt to look both interested and as if they have no clue what she’s talking about, prompting her to continue.

“In the traditional sense, the practice features a person taking part in the funeral rights for a deceased community member and eating and drinking something, usually bread and beer, to symbolize taking on the sins of the deceased so they can continue on to heaven. Andrew argued the practice was reminiscent of the bread and wine as the body and blood of Christ in Catholic services and formed a quasi-cannibalistic aspect of Christian practice. The belief is that eating something which represents the body of someone else leads to taking on their characteristics.”

Colette fidgets briefly before admitting, “It was an excellent paper. Andrew is wasted on film studies. However, ever since then, he’s been asking Mario to support a senior thesis project in which he takes the subtextual cannibalistic aspects of sin-eating and turns them into text.”

“He wants to make a movie about someone eating corpses,” Daniel translates. “He’s been very pushy about it; Mario was getting creeped out.”

Looking more than a little disturbed, Detective Taylor makes a note on her notepad. She thanks them all for their cooperation and tells them she may return for further questions some other time.

On her way out, she takes another cookie.

Colette leans back into the couch cushions, clearly exhausted again. “What a mess. Who would kill Mario?”

“You just made a solid case for Andrew,” Daniel points out.

Colette winces. “I don’t want to get him in trouble. I’m only worrying that the idea of an easily accessible corpse will do bad things to him.”

“It’s not easily accessible. It’s in a morgue.”

“That student sounds very disturbed indeed.” Stacy makes a face that tells Daniel everything he needs to know about how she feels about cannibalism films. “Have you considered sending him to counseling services?”

Manfully, Daniel resists the urge to say I told you so.

“Having an interest in death is not a mental illness,” Colette responds sharply. “He’s barely twenty years old; he’s still figuring out who he even is.”

Stacy subsides.

Colette softens slightly. “I can’t think of anyone else with anything like a motive though.”

“I can’t imagine it,” Stacy agrees.

“I can’t imagine going to class after the holiday as if nothing happened.” Daniel tries very hard not to think of Angel Automotive and what motives might be hidden there. “What do we even say to the students?”

Stacy grimaces.

“There’s been a lot happening on campus, huh?” Daniel guesses.

She nods. “We’ve had a lot of calls from concerned parents. A lot of students taking prolonged Thanksgiving breaks. You know how it is.”

Daniel was planning on screening a film for the two or three students who actually show up to his Wednesday Comp Lit II section. Now that he’s able to process the information that classes have been cancelled for the week, he’s intensely grateful he doesn’t have to. He knows how it is. “I hope counseling isn’t totally overrun.”

Colette clicks her tongue. As little as she personally seems to believe in the importance of counseling for students obsessed with cannibalism, she also thinks the lack of available mental health resources is another American travesty. “That’s what they’re there for. Better those who need it take advantage than not.”

“I was thinking.” Stacy is hesitant, as if she hasn’t steamrollered them about everything so far. “We ought to do something—as a college. To commemorate him, you know? Maybe we could hold a service in the chapel? Or a vigil or something? And anyone who wants to speak about him could get a chance.”

It’s pretty much exactly what Daniel thought she would want to do. Something cathartic and healing for the community. It’s why he went to see her yesterday and why he left feeling better. For a moment, he’s overwhelmed with gratitude that people like Stacy, with their unending, bottomless desire for kindness, exist.

“That’s a good idea,” he agrees. “We should probably ask the film department first. So we don’t step on any toes.”

Colette nods slowly. “That sounds lovely.” She seems surprised by it herself. “The film department isn’t very good at event planning, and they’ll be glad of the help.”

“Great.” Stacy claps her hands together. “I mean, not great. You know what I mean. I’ll get out of your hair and go send a few emails. Probably not next week, with the holiday and all, but maybe the week after.”

“You’re not in our hair.” Daniel’s protest is weak at best, but she’s already putting her rubber boots back on and doesn’t seem to notice.

“You two take it easy this weekend,” she warns them sternly. “And let me know if you need anything at all, okay?”

“You too,” Daniel tells her. “Give yourself some time. You don’t need to plan everything right away.”

Stacy smiles weakly and rests a hand on his arm for a moment.

“Thank you for everything, Stacy,” Colette says with supreme dignity. As the door falls shut behind Stacy, she breathes a long sigh of relief.

“Come on,” Daniel cajoles. “That was nice of her.”

“That’s the problem.” Colette sniffs. “It was too nice. She can’t leave well enough alone.”

Daniel shakes his head. “You’re too harsh on her. We could all use some niceness now. Anyway, who ever heard of someone who was too nice?”

“It’s not only that she’s nice. It’s that she wants everyone else to know how nice she is. It’s infuriatingly false.”

They wander toward the kitchen, to their half-eaten, gone-cold brunch. As Colette picks up her fork and keeps eating, Daniel continues the argument.

“Does motivation really matter? Surely, if she’s doing something good, it’s the outcome that matters?”

“That depends.” Colette’s mouth is full of pancake. She still manages to project a level of dignity Daniel will never possess. “The ends she achieves for others might justify her means, but the ends she achieves for herself do not.”

“And what ends does she achieve for herself?” Daniel asks before shoving a bite of cold and slightly syrup-soggy pancake into his mouth.

Colette licks her lips and daintily slices more pancake before answering, “Relentless and grotesque self-satisfaction for being a good person. And, of course, validation from others that she is.”

“I don’t see you planning a memorial service. Doesn’t she deserve some validation for putting in the effort?”

The corners of Colette’s mouth draw downward. She cracks the top of her boiled egg with her spoon and starts peeling it, clearly stalling for time.

In his pocket, Daniel’s phone buzzes, saving her from having to respond.

Hey, sweetheart, I’m sorry I was so weird this morning. Can I make it up to you?

Daniel reads the message twice. Maybe his initial read on Tony being a regular closeted guy who freaked out about things being a bit too real in the morning was right. It’s nice that he wants to make it up to Daniel.

Either that, or he’s a crazy psychopath who wants to kill Daniel as well for knowing too much.

Then again, Daniel doesn’t really know anything. He texts back:

And how would you do that?

There’s no harm in asking, after all.

“Who was that?” Colette asks, studying him intently.

“My sister.”

Colette shakes her head. “Try again. You hate getting messages from your sister.”

“No one you know, okay?” Daniel feels a hot flush creeping up his neck.

“Intriguing. I won’t push if you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t,” Daniel says hurriedly.

She shrugs. “All right then.” She polishes off the last of her food and stretches. “You know what we could use the long weekend for?”

“Hm?” Daniel hums absently. He’s still considering the pros and cons of meeting up with Tony again. Pro: Figuring out Mario’s connection to Angel Automotive. Con: Possible death. Pro: Hot guy who appears to actually be into Daniel. Con: Potentially closeted guy with whom Daniel probably doesn’t have a future.

“We need to collect some material of our own to use as an example for the class on Tuesday.” Colette picks up her plate and puts it in the dishwasher. “Our timeframe just shifted by a class, and we only have a month left before the semester ends.”

“Shit.” Daniel had forgotten about all of his real-life responsibilities. They need to start researching, and fast, and he’ll need to code an example onto their website so the students will know what to reproduce with their own audio samples.

“Yeah,” Colette agrees.

“Would it be wrong of us to work after…?”

Colette drums her fingertips against the table. “I don’t know what I’ll do all day if I don’t occupy my brain somehow.”

Daniel’s phone buzzes again.

Any way you want ;)

An idea that’s either very stupid or absolutely ingenious begins to form in Daniel’s head.