18

Dizzy Izzy @IsabelleWilliamsburg ∙ 15 July

u can never go home again. wait, no, i meant you *should* never go home again. fight me. #homesweethome #statenisland #ferrylife

I stared at my best friend in disbelief. “I can’t believe you did that!” I told Izzy. “All those weird text messages? The blue daisies? The expensive chocolates? The seemingly random encounters I’ve been having with Raleigh, those were all you? It’s bad enough you’re trying to trick me into going on a date, but pretending to be me online on a dating app? That’s crossing a line.”

“It’s not like I’m catfishing them or anything,” Izzy protested. “I mean, sure, I told them I was you, but I’m not trying to scam anyone. I’m trying to nudge you in the right direction. I mean, if Todd can find someone online, why not you?”

“I told you I’m not interested in dating right now. Even if I met Prince Charming, what’s the point, when I might be leaving in two days?”

“I already said I’d take care of that. Don’t you trust me?”

Five minutes ago, I would have said yes without any hesitation. But that was before I found out that she was pretending to be me online. “I know you have the best of intentions, you always do, but I’m not as adventurous as you are. You’d be perfectly comfortable living out of a tent in the middle of Times Square, but I need something more conventional. Even if you found us something, how can we afford it?”

Izzy clapped her hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

I paused to think about it. Izzy knew New York like the back of her hand, and more importantly, she knew people. If anyone could pull this off, it was her. I couldn’t keep hedging my bets—hoping for a miracle while planning on being at the bus station on Wednesday morning. “All right, I’m all in. The apartment, not the online dating. Promise me this place is going to have electricity and running water.”

“Nothing janky. I swear.”

“And one more thing. Let me see your phone.” I held out my hand. She gave me her phone. I scrolled through the apps and pulled up Tinder. “What were you thinking?” I muttered. I know that internet dating no longer had the stigma it had held decades ago, long before I was even thinking of dating. More people met through the internet than in real life these days, and I thought that was great.

For other people.

People who were actually looking to date.

Not me.

“Seriously?” I mumbled to myself when I opened the app and saw that I had 257 new matches. “What did you put on here to get so many responses? Let me guess, you said I was a Vickie’s Secret model?”

“Nope,” Izzy said, grabbing her phone out of my hand. “Your profile is accurate. Hundred percent.”

“Except that I didn’t write it,” I pointed out.

She ignored me. “Look at this guy. He’s a transplant, too. From Tennessee. He works on Wall Street, in IT. So he’s smart.”

“Says here he’s ‘family oriented.’ He’s probably got a wife and kids back home,” I said.

Izzy swiped his profile away and another popped up on the screen. “What about this one? He’s cute and likes dogs.”

“And he’s fifty,” I said.

“Nothing wrong with an older man.”

“He’s more than twice my age. Swipe left.”

Izzy rolled her eyes skyward. On either side of us, pedestrians streamed past us, hurrying from one destination to the next without so much as noticing us other than as a minor obstruction. “And this guy? Employed, twenty-four, even lives in Williamsburg. Oh, never mind.”

She started to swipe, but I stopped her. “What?” I peered over her hand at the screen and recognized Parker’s face staring back at me. “Oh, great. Now Parker thinks I’m on Tinder, too.”

“Yeah, well, he matched with you.”

“That’s even worse!” I felt a blush creep up my cheeks. “Now I’m gonna have to explain to him that this was all your doing and it’s gonna embarrass both of us.”

“How is it embarrassing? He’s totally your type, right? I see how you guys act together. You should go out with him.”

“We’re friends,” I protested.

“So what?”

“And he’s dating that Hazel girl,” I said. I wasn’t about to ruin a perfectly good friendship by going out on a date with Parker.

“It can’t be that serious, if he matched with you on Tinder,” Izzy pointed out.

Changing the subject, I asked, “What about the other person who RSVP’d to Vickie’s party but didn’t show up? Nadia’s fiancée, Becks. Think we should talk to her?”

Izzy closed Tinder. “Even if I thought she had any information, it’s too soon. She just found out that Vickie’s dead. I don’t see much point in talking to her and making things worse. Do you?”

I shook my head. “Don’t see how it would help. Obviously, they weren’t there, so it was a stretch even talking to Nadia, not that she had anything helpful to add. What about Gennifer? Shouldn’t we talk to her?” Granted, I don’t think that Izzy had ever met a stranger, but it was a little weird that we were running all over Manhattan talking to Amanda and Nadia, who wasn’t even in the escape room, and we hadn’t interviewed Izzy’s friend Gennifer yet.

“If she knew anything, she would have already told me,” Izzy said.

“It wouldn’t hurt to sit down with her. Maybe she knows something she doesn’t realize that she knows.”

“You’ve got a point.” She scrolled through her contacts and sent a text message. Less than a minute later, her phone beeped. “She’s home right now and says it’s okay if we drop by. Come on, if we time this just right, we might not even have to wait on the ferry.”

“The ferry?” I asked, eyes widening.

Izzy gave me a toothy grin. “Hey, it was your idea to talk to her. Hope you don’t get seasick.”

I didn’t. At least, I didn’t think I did.

Staten Island was an island that sat in the harbor south of Manhattan Island. There were bridges connecting it to Brooklyn on one side and New Jersey on the other, but the only direct route from Manhattan was the famous orange Staten Island Ferry.

According to the Wikipedia article I read on the bus ride downtown, something like seventy thousand passengers used the ferry every day to travel between the Whitehall Ferry Terminal in Manhattan and the St. George Ferry Terminal in Staten Island. During rush hour, the ferry was packed shoulder to shoulder as people pushed and shoved their way onto the boat, but now that it was creeping toward noon, the only people on the ferry with us were folks that rode the free ferry as long as they could for lack of anything better to do, a school trip group that clustered around the open-air balconies to catch a glimpse of the Statue of Liberty, and a handful of off-hours commuters hiding behind oversized headphones and e-book readers.

I followed Izzy as she picked out a bench she liked and plopped down on it. She didn’t seem to notice the gentle rocking of the boat or the gorgeous view of the Manhattan skyline out the back windows. Over the roar of the engines, I could hear a smattering of giggles from the assembled schoolkids as salty spray blew into their faces.

I stared out the windows, taking in the scenic views. When that got old, I turned to Izzy. “So, Staten Island,” I said.

“Yup,” Izzy replied.

“What was it like growing up there?”

She shrugged. “Same as anywhere, I guess.” She gestured out the window at the unassuming view as we neared the island. “There’s a pretty good mall, or at least it used to be. A couple of movie theaters. Some of the best diners on the East Coast. A real scenic landfill. And of course, the whole Sleepy Hollow thing.”

“Wait, what?”

“Sleepy Hollow?” she repeated. “You know, the headless horseman? Ichabod Crane?”

“Yeah, of course I know the headless horseman. I just didn’t know that was Staten Island.”

“Not exactly. The town of Sleepy Hollow is up north a ways, but the original Ichabod Crane is buried right here on Staten Island, and there’s a Sleepy Hollow Road, too. Not sure if it’s really haunted. We used to go down there every Halloween, but I never saw any ghosts.”

A chill ran down my back. I was pretty sure I didn’t believe in ghosts, but the legend of Sleepy Hollow always gave me chills. “Ichabod Crane was a real person?”

“Sure enough.”

The ferry lurched and the engines whined. We bumped against something, and I grabbed the back of the seat in front of us to brace myself. There was a loud scraping sound as the boat swayed hard to one side. “What was that?” I asked. “What’s wrong? Did we hit something? Are we sinking? Please tell me we’re not gonna sink.”

“Nothing’s wrong, silly,” Izzy said, standing and stretching. “We just docked. Welcome to Staten Island.”

The inside of the Staten Island side of the ferry terminal could have been any generic bus station in any city in America. There was a large holding area ringed with seating and newsstands that probably did a brisk business in the morning. The terminal could have used a coat of paint to brighten things up, but I was too busy trying to keep up with Izzy to see much. We passed signs for buses, taxis, and parking before heading down a long hallway. I could imagine during rush hour that this place would be packed with people, but now we were practically the only ones in sight.

We swiped our MTA cards at the turnstile, and Izzy muttered something about getting ripped off as we walked down a short platform and boarded a waiting train. Similar to many of the subway lines in Brooklyn, the Staten Island Railway was an elevated train. But unlike the tangled lines that serviced the rest of the city, the SIR was a single track stretching in a straight-ish line from the ferry terminal to the far side of the island.

We rode for several stops, with me plastered against the window the whole time. I didn’t know what I was expecting to see—a headless ghost riding an enormous black horse perhaps—but instead, the train rocked along a track through a pleasant suburban neighborhood of modest, well-kept homes. Yards were mowed and kids played basketball in driveways. In many ways, Staten Island looked more like Louisiana than it did New York.

“Come on, Odessa,” Izzy said, yanking me out of my reverie. “It’s our stop.”

I followed her off the train to a narrow platform overlooking a sea of roofs of two- and three-story homes. We took the stairs down and wound around a steeply sloped street. Izzy pointed to the right. “The beach is a few blocks that way. I spent pretty much every summer there as a kid until I was old enough to just go to flirt with the lifeguards, at which time my dad decided I needed to get a summer job to keep me out of trouble. Didn’t work, of course.” She winked at me. “But it did keep me away from the lifeguards. More or less.”

We came to a stop sign, and Izzy walked across the street without hardly glancing around for traffic. Not that there was any. She gestured to a house with pale green siding. “My best friend lived there. She married a wise guy and moved to Trenton.”

Izzy slowed down in front of a cream-colored house that had been converted to a duplex with two entry doors side by side. The grass was neatly trimmed. Oblong topiaries flanked a cast-iron mailbox in the shape of a horse-drawn carriage. “This is where I grew up. We had the left side. There used to be a shed out back that I transformed into a clubhouse. I used to charge neighborhood kids a dollar to hide out there if they wanted to run away from home. When it got dark, they’d get scared and ask my dad to walk them home, but one guy, Brad Maplecourt, stayed three whole days before his aunt came and dragged him back home.” She grinned at the memory.

“Where are your parents now?” Izzy rarely talked about her childhood, and up until now, I’d never heard her mention her family at all. It was strange, in a city where so many grown adults still lived at home, for Izzy to seem to come out of nowhere.

“Florida.” She rolled her eyes. “Palm Beach, I think. It’s been a while since we talked.”

I didn’t push it any further. If she wanted to talk about it, she would. “Do you think the shed’s still there?”

“Nah. Collapsed after a particularly bad snowstorm.” She walked briskly away from the house, without looking back. Three houses later, she turned and walked up the path to a glass-front door obscured behind a barred security door. She knocked and a second later, the door opened. Gennifer stepped onto the front porch.

Gennifer swept Izzy up in a huge bear hug. “Oh my goodness, I didn’t think I’d ever live to see you step foot in Staten Island after graduation.”

“I’m as surprised as anyone,” Izzy said. “I’m dying out here. Can we come in?”

“Of course! But we’ve got to try to keep it down, please, the baby just went down for a nap.” I was impressed. I didn’t even know where I was going to be living in a few days, but Gennifer seemed to have it all figured out—a husband, a baby, even a cute little house in the suburbs. It was hard to wrap my head around the fact that people my age were already having babies of their own, while I was still sitting at the kids’ table.

I wasn’t ready for adulting.

Gennifer ushered us inside and disappeared into the kitchen. “Water? Soda? Coffee? Beer?”

“Water’s fine,” Izzy said, and I agreed. This morning’s coffee was long gone, and I didn’t realize how parched I was until she offered. Traipsing around three of the five boroughs in this heat would do that to a person.

We settled onto couches with a bright floral pattern preserved underneath a thick plastic cover and waited for Gennifer to return from the kitchen. She handed us our drinks and then placed coasters on the coffee table in front of us. “So, Vickie,” Izzy prompted.

“Yup. Her service is next Tuesday. You coming?”

“I’ll have to think about it. Maybe. To be honest, I’m kinda surprised you two hung out. She was a real jerk to you back in high school.”

Gennifer shrugged. “She’s not so bad. We got to talking at the five-year class reunion. Missed you, by the way.” Izzy made a noncommittal sound in the back of her throat, and Gennifer continued, “She’s trying to get me to sell Mom’s house and buy something bigger in New Jersey, but we like it here, you know? Plus, Pete’s job is on the island and this is a good school district for when Penny gets older.”

“So you guys were, what? Friends?” Izzy asked.

“I mean, we weren’t close, not really. You know how she is.” Gennifer flinched, and then corrected herself. “Was. She wasn’t mean to me like she was back in the day, but she could be intense.”

“Amanda called her a bully,” I said, because Gennifer seemed to be dancing around the fact. “Is that what you meant when you said she used to be mean to you?”

“We were just kids,” Gennifer replied.

“She picked on everyone, but you were a favorite target,” Izzy added.

“I wouldn’t say that. Sure, she was opinionated and used to stick gum in my hair when we were little. But it wasn’t like we spent a lot of time together.”

“Then why were you at her celebration?” I asked.

“Do you know how hard it is to make friends as an adult?” Gennifer asked. When I nodded, vigorously, Gennifer grinned. “The struggle is real.”

I turned to Izzy. “That’s why I’m so lucky to have you. And Parker. And why I wouldn’t risk blowing that for a date.”

“Yeah, sure. Heard you the first time,” Izzy said, but she still didn’t sound convinced.

I turned to Gennifer. “Did Vickie have any close friends? It was supposed to be her special day, but as far as I can tell, the only people that she got to come out with her were a coworker, some clients, and women she went to school with who didn’t even like her that much.”

Gennifer laughed. “Far be it from me to throw shade, but Vickie’s not exactly the friendly type. She wasn’t what I’d call easy to get along with.”

“But who would want to kill her?” I asked.

“A couple of years ago? I would have said Izzy.”

“What?” I looked back and forth between her and Izzy.

Izzy stared daggers at Gennifer. “Go ahead. Spill the tea.”

“Not to put anyone on blast, but Vickie has . . . had . . . a reputation. She liked to steal anything anyone else had, especially boys. But especially boys that Izzy wanted. There used to be a saying back in high school that the easiest way for a guy to get Vickie’s attention was for them to ask Izzy out on a date. Wasn’t that true?”

Izzy’s jaw moved as if she was grinding her teeth together. Instead of answering, she gave a terse nod. Then she relaxed her jaw. “That was ages ago.”

“Sure, but back in the day, I wouldn’t have been surprised if you took a crowbar to her. Who was that one guy you had such a huge crush on, but then he dumped you on prom night? Brad something?”

“Brad Maplecourt,” she supplied.

“Wait, is that the same Brad that hid out in your shed?” I asked.

“Aw, yes, I’d forgotten about that!” Gennifer exclaimed. “We used to smuggle soda pops out of your house and hide in the shed for hours cutting pictures out of magazines. Good times.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “You know that girl Amanda that was in the escape room with us? Vickie stole her boyfriend just last week. I mean, honestly, some people just never grow up. Vickie was even bragging about it Friday right before Amanda got there, like it was some kind of contest and she was winning.”

“Amanda’s current boyfriend was cheating on her with Vickie? Are you sure they weren’t talking about old news?” I asked. I gave Izzy a knowing look. Unless Gennifer was mistaken, it sounded like history was repeating itself. Funny how Amanda hadn’t mentioned that to us when we interviewed her yesterday.

“That’s what Vickie said. And I overheard the two of them arguing while we were walking. They tried to keep their voices down so we couldn’t eavesdrop, but Amanda sure was mad about something.”

My phone rang and I glanced at the screen. I expected it to be Todd, calling to yell at me for ditching work, since he was pretty much the only person I knew who called instead of texting like everyone else. Then I saw the caller ID. Vincent Castillo. I showed the screen to Izzy, and she waved me away. “I’m not here,” she said.

I jumped up and moved to the hall before answering, “Hey.”

“Izzy with you?” he asked, no greeting, no anything. Then again, that would have been a waste of time since I already knew it was him.

“Nope,” I said, crossing my fingers to ward off the white lie. I mean, Izzy wasn’t with me. She was in the other room.

“Odessa,” he growled, his voice low and warning.

“I don’t know what to tell you. I’m not Izzy’s keeper. Besides . . .”

“If you try to tell me her phone’s dead or out of minutes or some such nonsense, I’ll, well, I’ll arrest you for obstruction of justice.”

“Look, I’ll tell her you’re looking for her next time I see her, alrighty?”

“Promise?”

“Pinkie swear,” I said, keeping my fingers crossed.

The doorbell rang. Upstairs, a baby began to cry.

“Rats,” Gennifer said, sprinting up the stairs. “Get that for me, will ya?”

I opened the front door.

Detective Vincent Castillo stood on the front step. And he did not look happy.