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BRIGHT AND EARLY that Saturday morning, Sloane received a text from Peter to meet him at his work so they could examine the paint can. And honestly, that was the last thing she wanted to do. Sloane wanted to veg out in bed, drink the last of her Grey Goose, maybe give Bobby a call. Anything but doing research for this article.
For a crime reporter, she was getting real tired of looking at autopsy reports over and over again, looking for a hidden clue. Not to mention, she had her suspicions that her new step-brother was involved in this – someway, somehow. The last thing she needed to dwell on was that she was living under the same roof as a criminal.
Alas, Sloane wasn't in Queens for a vacation. She had a job to do. So she hauled her ass out of bed at seven AM and took a long, hot shower to wake herself up. The whole bathroom was steaming as she stood under the showerhead, allowing the boiling hot water to wash away the oil coating her face. The steam was so hefty that she had to turn on the fan. For all she knew, she could've used all the hot water in the building. But this was an expensive complex – they never lost water. Sloane was used to that happening in her cheap building back home.
After blow-drying her hair, she tugged on a comfy pair of thermal leggings and a chunky, orange-brown turtleneck with some thick boot socks. In her ears, she plucked her favorite gold hoops into the pierced holes. She pulled her hair back into a low ponytail, applied a thick coat of mascara to her lashes, and finished it off with some tinted gel to her sparse brow hairs. When she opened the door, a fresh wave of steam wafted towards the person waiting outside: Everett.
His tired eyes viewed up at her, all clean and put together, and his lip curled in disgust. "Could you take any longer?" He scoffed.
"I could've," she quipped, heading back to her room to collect her things.
She looked back, catching the glare Everett sent her before slamming the door to the bathroom. It was the same one he gave her that morning of the first vandalism. She couldn't help but think of it all over again. BEWARE THE JAWBREAKER. Swallowing hard, Sloane slinked back into her room and pulled on a pair of slip-resistant boots and her parka. She was out the door just as her mother was waking up.
