Chapter Fifteen: Lucy

CHAPTER FIFTEENLUCY

I spot Ben as soon as I walk into the diner, sitting at the same table as last time, typing on a laptop.

He looks up and smiles at me. Grandma was right about one thing—he’s got the smile of a superhero. No need to panic, ma’am, this extremely handsome gentleman is here to help. That’s Ben’s energy.

The friendliness has to be an act, his way of trying to get me to do an interview, but it’s a good act. I’ll give him that. He actually looks pleased to see me.

I walk to the booth and slide in across from him. The sticky plastic squeaks against my bare legs.

“I didn’t actually think you’d reach out,” he says.

I shrug. I’d emailed him last night asking to meet this morning. “Is this our official meeting place now?”

“Well, I’m here most days, so it’s my official meeting place, yes.”

“You come here and work? Don’t you have a hotel room or something?”

“I do. But I like working in coffee shops or diners. And Vince said he didn’t care because I don’t come during busy times. Plus, I order lots of food.” He grabs his menu and holds it out to me. “Do you want something? The burger is good. The pesto chicken sandwich is really good. I don’t recommend the tuna melt.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? It’s on me. They also serve breakfast all day and the French toast is great.”

I hesitate. I haven’t actually eaten much today, except for a banana after my run. And it smells like grease and syrup in here. My stomach rumbles.

“You totally want that French toast, don’t you? Good choice.” He straightens, looking in the direction of the kitchen, where I can see the top of a head. “Hey, Vince! Add a French toast to my order!”

“Bacon?” a voice responds. Ben looks at me and I nod.

“Yeah!”

“You got it!”

“Thanks.”

“Sure.” He closes his laptop. “How are things going with the birthday party?”

“My mom told you about that?”

“Your grandma did.”

“They’re fine, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Do you actually want to talk about my grandma’s birthday party?”

A piece of dark hair falls across his forehead, and he shakes it back. “No. I was being polite. Making small talk.”

“I’m not good at small talk.”

“I noticed.”

“Some people think that means I’m just an asshole.”

“Not being good at small talk makes you an asshole?”

“Apparently. That’s what some people say.” My mom is always subtle about it, though. “Polite people chat with each other, Lucy! They ask how your day is going.”

“Are you an asshole?” he asks.

“Kind of.”

“Well, that’s honest.”

“I try.”

He drums his fingers on the top of his computer, and I try not to watch. He’s amused. By me, I suppose.

“I see we’re moving to the ‘cheating whore’ section of the podcast,” I say.

He blinks, clearly taken aback. “I…”

“It’s fine. I’m used to it. Not exactly new information, though, and contrary to popular belief, I do actually want you to solve this, Ben.”

“Melting flesh smells like barbecue, and then there’s no body. Win-win!”

I clench my jaw, willing the voice away.

“Let’s kill—”

“Why don’t we work together?” Ben asks.

“I’m really not interested in getting into the podcast game.”

“I don’t mean with the podcast. Not directly, anyway. I’m not going to pay you.”

“This offer sounds irresistible already.”

“Work with me to figure out who murdered Savannah.”

“Besides me, you mean.”

“Or you. Full disclosure, if you did it, I’m going to tell everyone.”

There’s that fucking superhero smile again. He’s one of the annoying ones. The type complaining that they can’t have a girlfriend because they care about her too much. Too tortured for a girlfriend. He’s that superhero.

“That’s fair,” I say.

“Let me interview you. And work with me on background.”

“What do you think I’m going to tell you?”

“You knew Savannah better than anyone. And in all this information, I barely have anything directly from you. Tell me your side. Tell me your theories. I have theories coming out my ears and I need to know how off base some of them are. Help me out here.”

Vince appears with my French toast and Ben’s sandwich. Vince frowns down at me, and then looks at Ben.

“Do you know who that is?” he asks him.

I roll my eyes. “Why would I be sitting with him if he didn’t know who I was?”

Vince’s frown deepens. He holds the steaming plate of French toast closer to his chest, like he’s not sure he wants me to have it.

“Thank you,” Ben says earnestly. “It all looks great.”

Vince relents, plunking the plate down in front of me and sending the glob of butter on top sliding down the side of the bread.

I watch as he walks away. “I don’t think he likes you anymore.” I grab the syrup from the end of the table. “This is what happens when you hang out with me, by the way. Get used to more of that.”

“Does that mean you’ll help me?”

I take a bite of the French toast. Ben was right, it’s very good. “Fine.”

He brightens. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Including an interview? On the record?”

“Yes.”

Now he’s positively delighted. “Seriously?” He picks up his phone and begins typing.

“Why do you look so surprised? My grandma planned an entire birthday party just to get me here for this. You didn’t think she’d convince me?”

“Honestly, no.”

“I’m going to tell her about your lack of faith. She won’t be pleased.”

“Too late, I’m already texting her.” He glances up briefly from his phone with a shit-eating grin.

“You’re texting my grandma?”

“We talk often.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Beverly loves me,” he says smugly.

“I’m well aware.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” He glances up at me. “You’re wrong, by the way.”

“About what?”

“New information. Kyle coughed up some.”