"Scarlet?" Debbie asks before tears bloom in her eyes and she pulls me into a tight hug. I hiss at the force; my clothes rubbing against my burns in an uncomfortable way. She pulls away quickly and looks me over with frantic eyes. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" she asks worried.
"I'm alright, Deb. You just rubbed my burns the wrong way. They aren't fully healed."
"Oh, I'm so sorry, dear. Come in. That wind is freezing out there." Debbie moves to the side and ushers me in.
Stepping inside, I take in the familiar brown carpet, creme walls, black furniture, and scattering of pictures that take up space on the walls, shelves, and mantle above the fireplace. My eyes lock on the golden urn that is sitting proudly on the mantle.
Debbie fidgets with the hem of her apron, I'm assuming she was cooking, and follows my gaze over to the urn.
"Do you want to say hello? I'm sure she misses you just as badly as you miss her."
I smile in spite of myself, knowing she isn't wrong. I don't miss Amelia. Amelia definitely doesn't miss me; she's dead. The dead don't have feelings. Unless you believe in that kind of thing, in my case, I don't. Nevertheless, I walk up and gingerly trail my fingers against the cool metal and say hello.
Deb has me stay for dinner and while we eat, we talk and catch up. After we're both finished, I tell her that I have to get going and that I need to reapply my burn cream. We part our ways and I start the long drive home.
When I pull up to my house, Ben is leaning against one of the wooden pillars of my porch, wearing a loose white v-neck shirt, tight black jeans, and black combat boots, a leather jacket slung over his shoulder.
Yum.
I park and get out of my car, climbing the two steps up my porch and stopping in front of him, casually giving him a not so subtle once over before bringing my hazel eyes up to his golden brown ones and giving him a lazy smirk.
"Come inside." I smile, unlocking my door and closing it after he joins me in the foyer. "So, what brings you here so late at night, Ben?"
He looks at my lips when I say his name. After he clears his throat and brings his gaze back to my entire face, he lowly answers, "I got a call complaint from over in Amelia's neighborhood. The elderly woman who lives next door to her house claims that you were wandering the property and screaming 'outrageous nothings' out into the heavens and then left, laughing and covered in debris..." he trails off at the end of his sentence, dragging his eyes over my body.
"That old woman is delusional. Completely bonkers. I wasn't screaming, I was playing music. Amelia's favorite song, actually. And as for laughing and walking out covered in debris, I fell down into a pile of rubbish after tripping over a fallen beam. I thought it was silly, so I started laughing. No crime committed there, right?"
"You were on private property."
"My dead best friends' house."
"It also happens to be a crime scene in an ongoing investigation."
"What is there left to investigate? The are no witnesses, no forensic evidence left behind by the person who did it, no proof of forced entry, no probable cause, and nobody to testify the case of arson."
"How would you know if there were evidence or not?"
I shrug. "Judging by the dark circles under your eyes from lack of sleep, the fact that your clothes, while casual, are rumpled, the way you look like you hadn't shaved in a few days, and your overall posture, I would say that you've been up working as much as possible for the last week or so and you're frustrated by the fact you keep coming up short. So, taking all of that into consideration, I would think that there was no evidence to further your case. You just seem... Stressed."
I glance up at him only to see he's watching me with his mouth open.
"Close your mouth, Ben. Don't want to catch flies now, do we?" I draw, smirking.
"You gathered all of that. Just by looking at me?" he asks incredulously.
"Well, more like observing you, your posture, and your mood. And judging by your reaction, I think it's safe to assume that I'm right."
He scoffs to himself and runs a hand down his face, looking up at me, his expression heated. His jaw is tight and he stalks up to me slowly, shaking his head back and forth.
"Aw, is the big, bad detective stunned by my ability to read body language?" I coo sarcastically.
"Oh, shut up." Ben growls, grabbing the back of my neck and smashing his lips against mine.
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