I grin and snap a long piece of string off with my teeth. Then I thread one end through the hole in my zipper. Back zippers are a woman’s nemesis, and ever since I saw this trick on one of those stupid “30 Life Hack” articles that are irresistible reading while on the toilet, my life has been so much easier.
I tie the ends of the string together with Drake still watching me. At least he’s done his button up now. Actually, on second thought, I kind of preferred it open.
I step into my dress, wriggle it up my body, put my arms in the holes, and sweep my hair around to one side. Drake’s now looking at me like the circus let their freak show go somewhere between now and last night. I reach behind me to the base of my back, grab the tied end of the string, and pull it up. The zipper makes that light buzzing sound as it moves up to where I can reach behind me and grab it.
“And that,” I tell him, one eyebrow lifted, reaching behind me to snap the string off, “is how an independent woman puts her dress on.”
“I’m kind of impressed. But what are you gonna do if someone unzips it like…this.” He moves quicker than I do, and I swing my fist toward him as he grabs my zipper and pulls it right down into that awkward part of your back where you can reach it but not move it.
“You total dick!”
He laughs, crawling over the bed to the other side of the room. “Zippers on dresses are better left undone.”
“Not when you have to go outside,” I cry.
Oh, God. Now I’m contorting my arms in ways they aren’t meant to be contorted in to reach this zipper.
Holy crap. I can’t even reach it.
“I cannot believe you did that.”
He pulls his shirt over his head, still laughing at me. “You know you look like a puppy chasing its tail, right?”
“Did you just call me a bitch?”
“If the shoe fits…”
“Then it’s probably going up your ass.”
He runs his tongue across his top lip, grinning, and crawls across the bed again. This time toward me. He grabs the hem of my dress and tugs me back so I’m sitting on the edge of the bed in front of him. His fingers brush across my skin as he carefully moves all of my hair away from the path of the zipper, only to replace his hand with his mouth.
I shiver.
He smiles.
Bastard.
He grazes his nose down my spine to where his fingers are clasping the zipper pull, and every second he’s touching me, tingles are erupting across my skin. He slowly moves the zipper up, each quiet crackle of the teeth coming together preceded by the barest of kisses traveling upward.
“And that,” he murmurs into my ear, “is how independent women with someone to pull up their zipper do it.”
My lips twist to the side, but I turn my face toward his anyway. “Touché, sir.”
He smiles and kisses the corner of my mouth. “I’m going to make coffee. You finish doing whatever else it is you do to turn yourself human.”
“I can’t even be offended by that because I’d imagine I look like I stepped out of The Walking Dead.”
Drake gets off the bed, looks at me, and grimaces. “Noelle, you are the walking dead.”
I throw the pillow at him. He catches it with a bark of laughter and throws it right back at me before turning and leaving me to get ready. I do it in record speed, thankful this time that I did bring some actual face wipes and the character kid hand wipes can stay nice and buried in my purse.
Pretty sure only moms should have those in their purses. I really need to give it to Alison before they get stuck inside my Chucks and forgotten or something.
“Come on,” he says, handing me a travel cup of coffee as soon as I take a step inside the kitchen door. “We have some investigating to do.”
“We’re going to do that now? Like right now? I don’t think I have the shoes for it.” I suck my bottom lip into my mouth and release it with a smack. “Unless three-inch wedge heels are acceptable for that.”
“Your dress isn’t exactly suitable, either, but as long as you’re aware that, if one of us needs to bend over to look at somethin’, it’ll be you, then it’s okay.”
“Are you allowed to perv on me while we work?”
His half grin gives me butterflies. “If not, then I should have been fired several times over by now.”
Oh, boy. This is gonna be a long day.
My family think I’m crazy. More specifically, my brothers.
On the way to Natalie’s house, I called Trent, who told me that he was having his first day off in over a week and he’d tell Silvio to poop on my floor next time I babysit if I tried to make him work.
He won.
Then I called Devin, who agreed to help only because, in the drama of everything yesterday at family dinner, Nonna didn’t corner Amelia—who was coming to her first dinner in weeks because of work—and make her look through her scrapbook cover to cover.
I also called Brody right after, and he agreed to help if I didn’t ask him to go on a date with Melanie until the next favor I need from her.
I doubt I’ll get another favor, but whatever. Desperate times and all that.
So here we are, standing in the hallway of Natalie’s house, and all three guys are staring at me like I’ve grown another head. Even Drake, and he knew from the start.
Damn crowd-pleaser.
“You don’t know what we’re looking for,” Brody surmises, his tone flat. “Are you serious? I could be doing something that’s actually useful right now.”
“This is useful,” I argue. Kinda lamely. “There has to be something here.”
He’s right though. It is pretty useless because we’re searching for a needle in a haystack that might not even exist.
“Noelle,” Devin groans, wiping his hand across his face. “Don’t you think that, if there were, her stalker would have broken in and gotten it by now?”
“Or her murderer, and that’s why Vince was killed?” Brody continues. “If you find anything in either of their houses, I’ll take over all of your babysitting favors for Trent for the rest of the year.”
Yeah. He thinks I’m trying to catch a mole with a fishing rod.
I shrug a shoulder and look around her house, resting my hands on my hips. “You can’t hide everything. If there is something here, there’s no saying it was found if anyone broke in. Maybe that’s why Vince was killed, too. Because they thought Natalie had given it to him.”
“That’s what Nick said,” Drake points out, and my stomach sinks as it hits me—Brody and Trent have convinced him there’s nothing here. “He said Vince had it, whatever it is.”
“There could be more.” My argument is seriously weak right now. “Copies of something. I don’t know, okay? I know there’s something here.”
“So we’re going to spend a whole day searching two houses for ‘something’ from your gut feeling?” Devin raises an eyebrow.
“Okay, I’m going to,” I remedy. “Y’all go on ahead and come up with another solution.”
They all share a glance.
“Have you ever considered that your gut needs a trip to the loony bin?” Brody questions me. “Because it comes up with crazy shit.”
“My gut also solved your last murder while y’all were twirling on your tiptoes like a bunch of freakin’ prima ballerinas.” I pull the plastic gloves I took from Drake before we left out of my purse and put them on.
“Your gut got lucky because you were decorating. We almost had it,” he protests.
“Yeah, like you almost had all the other case information I gave you,” I scoff. “Without me and my team, your police department would still be sitting on their backsides in the briefing room with coffee and stale bagels, tryin’ to figure out who did what and where. Face it. Now you can either help me or go, ’cause I’m lookin’ anyway.”
I turn my back to them and start. I pull out each sofa cushion, sliding my hands down the edges just in case. I come up with twenty-five cents, a gum wrapper, and an old battery. A search of the armchair gives me a sock and another ten cents.