But as I do I feel a vibration by my ribs. My face drops to the front of Noah’s coat before I realize what it is. I smile at my sister as I reach inside.
“He forgot his phone,” I say in explanation of what I’m doing.
“Let me answer it,” she rushes out as I pull the phone from the pocket, the sound growing louder. “What if it’s a jeweler?”
She reaches for it, but I draw it back.
“And why would it be a jeweler? If he’s proposing, he’s already got the ring. Please stick to your current occupation because Scooby gang is not in the cards.”
The call stops but starts again, making me frown as I look at the screen and see an unknown caller.
“Jesus, they’re persistent. It’s probably a spam call.”
My sister looks up thoughtfully. “Didn’t he say he was waiting on Nike?”
My mouth forms a small o as I nod, remembering how he talked about expecting a call over drinks when we were with her the other night.
“What’s it, like, six p.m. on the West Coast?” I rush out, staring down at the phone. I lift my face to where Noah left from, then look at my sister. “Should I answer it?”
“Yes.”
I hit “accept” and put the phone to my ear, just as the crowd starts chanting Chase’s name, drawing my eyes.
“Hello, Noah’s phone.”
The cheers are too loud as he drops to the ground, doing the worm. Evie rolls her eyes as I try and plug my ear so I can hear. “Sorry, hold on. I can’t hear you.”
I point to an empty cocktail table farther from the bar before I start to walk away, but Evie begins to follow me, so I shake my head.
“Keep holding for two more seconds so I can get somewhere quieter.”
Evie crosses her arms and mouths “Spoilsport” before I walk past the table and go just beyond the hanging lanterns in a bank of trees.
“Okay, I can hear you now,” I say with a smile.
“Hi.” It’s a woman. “I’m calling for Noah Adler.”
Oh my god. Is this really about to happen for him?
“He’s away from the phone, but I can take a message.” I chuckle at the end, but I’m not met with the same sentiment.
Oh shit.
“My name’s Kate Green, from the Boston Police Department. I’m calling to notify Mr. Adler that case number 678023346 involving his motorcycle is slated for close. But we’re still in need of some form of his identification, since he lost his wallet. If he could bring that by the station tomorrow, that’d be great.”
“Oh. Sure. Sorry ...”I didn’t know he lost his wallet.My mind takes a minute to process the important part of what she said before I rush out, “Oh my god, did they find the person responsible?”
There’s silence, then papers shuffling in the background before her monotone voice fills the speaker again.
“We were unable to locate the owner of the gray Altima that hit Mr. Beckett. The car was left at a junkyard, wiped clean of any prints, and the VIN was stolen.” Papers shuffle again. “The only other possible lead we had was a set of prints on the motorcycle, and according to Mr. Beckett, after he was hit, the car sped off. That was also proven by some street-cam footage we obtained.”
I shiver and pull Noah’s jacket tighter, a thought scaring me. “Are you sure someone didn’t try and steal the bike and then maybe decided to take it by force later? I mean ... he wasn’t on the bike when he was hit. Why would someone do that?”
“Damned if I know. But it’s unlikely it was premeditated. Crimes like these are opportunity based—that kind of planning only happens on television shows and in books.”
My eyes narrow, unhappy with her brush-off, so I press. “You said there were other prints ... If this is a crime of opportunity, wouldn’t we be most likely to know the perpetrator? What was the person’s name?”
One of Chase’s staff, dressed as a baseball player in a Mets hat, gives me a nod while crumbing the cocktail table I walked past earlier. I’m watching him but not really focused on anything as she answers.
