Page 49 of Heidi Lucy Loses Her Mind
“Let’s get going,” Soren says, and I realize with a start that now I’m the one staring at him. His eyes aren’t on my neck anymore—which I’m still rubbing absently—they’re glancing at the townhomes around us and the empty street. “We shouldn’t stand here in front of their house. Unless…” he says, trailing off.
“Unless what?” I say.
He nods discreetly behind me. “Do you think that’s the neighbor Carmina was in a fight with? Mr. Foster?”
My eyebrows shoot up, but I resist the urge to whirl around. Instead I turn and rest my back against the car, right next to Soren, trying to look as natural as possible.
“Oh,” I say, distracted momentarily. “That’s nice and warm.”
“Mmm,” he says.
“Yes, I think that’s him,” I say as my eyes find the man coming out of the garage on the opposite end of the duplex. “He’s got a big dog, look.”
“Is that the dog you walked?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “That one was further down the street.” I take a deep breath, steeling myself. I’m not the sort of person to waste an opportunity when it pops up. “Let’s go,” I say.
“Let’s—what?”
“Let’s go,” I repeat, and then I push myself off the car and paste a big smile on my face.
And look. I am a little torn. Part of me feels very deceptive, pretending that I’m not here to pry around and look into Carmina’s death. But at the same time…my survival instincts are strong, and I don’t think it’s a good idea to shout about what we’re doing.
I don’t like deceiving people. But I think it’s the safest move for now. So I waltz down the sidewalk toward Mr. Foster and his dog with a big old smile on my face, even though it feels unnatural.
“What a lovely dog,” I call when I’m close enough for the man to hear. He’s meandering back up his driveway, barely watching where he’s going as he shuffles through his mail, the sun glinting off his bald head, a brown leather jacket hanging too loose on his frame.
He turns and looks at me, clearly surprised. “Oh,” he says, and then he looks at his dog—a large German Shepherd that really is pretty. “Thank you.” He squints back at me, and then his eyes jump to somewhere behind me, where I assume he’s looking at Soren. “I don’t believe we’ve met, Miss…?”
“We were here visiting with Phil and Elsie,” I say, avoiding his question. I lower my voice, letting the smile drop a bit. “It was so horrible, what happened to Carmina. Did you know her well?”
Mr. Foster bristles, pushing his wire-framed glasses up his nose. “No,” he says shortly, his gaze darting shiftily this way and that. “I didn’t know her. Her packages came to my unit occasionally, and I brought them back over to her. Other than that, we never spoke.”
Huh. If we believe what Elsie said, that means this man is lying. She said he and Carmina had an ongoing feud. That’s…interesting.
Although to be fair, he seems about as pleasant as Carmina did. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were having troubles.
But I nod. “Well, I’m sorry for the loss all the same.” Then I wave at him. “Have a nice day!”
And with that I turn and head back to the car, meeting Soren partway. “Let’s go,” I mutter, grabbing his arm. “Act natural.”
“I always act natural,” he says as he walks with me. “You’re the one who’s smiling like a loon.”
“I was trying to be pleasant,” I say. Then I frown, looking over at him. “And hey—I smile sometimes.”
“You do,” he says with a nod. “Sometimes.” He glances at me and then laughs at the look on my face. “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. Some people are more reserved. There’s nothing wrong with not smiling as much. People wear their emotions differently. That’s fine.”
“Oh,” I say. I open the passenger door and slide in, waiting for him to get behind the wheel. “It still seems like a bad thing,” I go on when his door opens. “Should I smile more?”
“You should smile however much you want,” he says. He buckles and then starts the car. “No more, no less. Now,” he says, pinning me with his gaze. “Where to, Miss Lucy?”
* * *
We endup back in the town square, but not at Paper Patisserie.
It feels good to be out and about. When you live where you work, you don’t get out as much, and it can be tough on your mental health. There’s something to be said for looking up and seeing the sky instead of a ceiling.
“Here,” Soren says, passing me an ice cream cone. I reach up and take it, shivering suddenly as his shadow blocks the sun. He sits a second later, though, pulling out the metal chair with a loud scraping noise against the stone pavement.
