All That Really Matters, Nicole Deese [best detective novels of all time .TXT] 📗

opened her eyes, lifted her head. I’d known Glo for a long time. She’d lost a husband, a son, and about a decade to the bottom of a whiskey bottle, and yet somehow this house was where she wanted to be most. With these residents. Doing this work. Living out the hope she wished she’d found while navigating her darkest days. So while vibe wasn’t an active part of my own vocabulary, I would never discount the word when she used it. Glo’s sensitivity meter was set to a higher level than my own could ever be.

“What kind of vibe?”

As she leaned forward and settled her elbows on her knees, her long gray braid swung over one shoulder. “Something isn’t right with Sasha.” She sighed. “I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s something going on with her.”

“Have things escalated with Monica?”

“No. They aren’t even speaking to each other now. At least, not when Wren’s in the picture.”

“Jealousy, then.”

Glo nodded. “I’ve pulled her aside a few times to try and walk her through her feelings to get a better grasp of what might really be going on, but . . .”

“She’s a fortress.” Though I’d had deep concerns over Wren’s isolated existence when she first moved into the house, Sasha’s version of social withdrawal was altogether different. The kind of hiding done in plain sight. Every one of her moves was calculated, a survival technique that did little to heal the festering wound she’d strived to avoid at all costs. Life had taught her how to play the game of getting what she needed without actually having to engage herself in the process. Though we’d seen the warning signs during her initial interview, we’d hoped and prayed her walls would crumble over time as she learned to trust her leaders and housemates. Instead, Sasha had continued to give lip service to all the right answers with no real growth to show for it.

“And nobody here seems to have the key. She’s even shut Clara out now.”

“Have you searched her room?”

“It’s clean. I went through everything a few days ago when she was working at the coffee shop. No signs of drugs or alcohol. No proof of anything out of the ordinary, but . . .”

“What?”

“I have a feeling she might be involved with a boy. Someone here.”

Exactly what I’d been dreading. Life on a co-ed campus was never boring. “I’ve had no camera alerts of late-night activity, so if something is happening, it’s not happening on campus. Who do you suspect?”

Glo shrugged. “Hard to say. Possibly Jessie. Possibly Alex.”

“Alex wouldn’t be that stupid. He has too much on the line to risk getting kicked out.”

Glo chuckled. “Wouldn’t be the first time the allure of an attractive woman turned the head of a goal-oriented man.”

I kept my expression neutral. Her slight eyebrow hitch hinted at a suggestion I wasn’t ready to discuss. Not even with a woman who was second only to my mother.

“I’ll do some digging around, too. In the meantime, I’ll get her in to see our therapist again this week and see if Hannah might meet with her a few times in between if she’s shut Clara out.” I slid my phone out to schedule a reminder to do just that.

“Hannah’s pregnant and needs to be resting right now, not trying to crack the code on a vault.” Glo pursed her lips and then lifted her drink from the table. “I wonder . . . I wonder if Molly might be able to crack her.”

“No.” I shook my head. Molly was too fresh and too unversed in the ways of trauma.

“Why not? She’s sharp, confident, classy, and she has her own unique way of—”

“I’m aware of who Molly is, but Sasha needs a professional.”

“She’s had professionals, Silas. Lots of them. Maybe she needs someone different to talk to, someone with a bit of spunk and style to mix it up.”

I could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on. “Sasha will eat Molly alive.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Glo took a long pull of her soda. “But why not let her try? Sasha’s already in her small group, and Clara and I can help coach her, too. Look at the progress she’s made with Wren.”

True. But Wren was a different situation altogether. Her heart was hurt, but open. Sasha was walled and defensive, a striker when agitated, not someone who shrank back when she felt threatened.

“Just think about it. Molly’s a . . .”

I met Glo’s eyes, curious to hear how she’d choose to conclude her sentence.

“She’s a soft center,” she finished.

As I thought back to Molly’s confession last night, to the truth she’d chosen to reveal, knowing the outcome could mean dismissal from the program . . . I had to agree with Glo’s assessment. Strong, yet also soft.

The overhead ding of the lobby door being opened by someone with the correct access code cut our conversation short as our attention zeroed in on the very woman we’d just been discussing. A woman who wasn’t due here for another five hours. Only this Molly wasn’t draped in any of the extra flourishes I’d come to expect—no vibrant colors, patterns, or prints. No outlandish shoes set on stilts or slices of cork.

And something about this subdued version of her made my gut twist in revolt.

I stood as she approached us in her muted pastel T-shirt and light denim jeans. It was as if she believed that by dialing down her fashion selections she could turn off the very thing that made her so unique, so Molly.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt; I was just hoping I could take some measurements of the east lawn. For the fundraising event. Thought I should ask permission before walking out there.” She pressed a pink notebook flat against her abdomen like a protective shield.

Glo pushed up off the couch and headed straight for her. “No apologizes necessary. Silas and I were just finishing up here.”

We weren’t, of course, but I appreciated Glo’s on-the-nose perception like usual. “Yes, thank you, Glo. I’ll be sure