Eyes of the Innocent: A Mystery by Brad Parks

gone.”
    “Wait, Akilah? As in Akilah Harris?” I asked. “What does this have to do with Akilah Harris?”
    “Weren’t you listening?”
    “I thought we already established this: no.”
    “I just told you, Akilah spent the night…” she said.
    I said a word that would need to be bleeped on network television, then added several more. But Sweet Thang, unheeding of my profanity, had already set her mouth back to the races.
    “… I was at the bar last night, waiting for you—I don’t want you to think I just stood you up for no reason—and I got a call from her. She said she didn’t have anywhere else to go and I couldn’t just turn her out on the streets. So I picked her up in Newark and drove her back to my place in Jersey City…”
    “You did not. Oh, my God, you did not.”
    “… and I just felt like after her hard day, she shouldn’t have to sleep on my pull-out couch, because it’s kind of lumpy in spots and the mattress is kind of thin because it has to still be able to tuck in when it’s in couch mode…”
    “I can’t believe this,” I was mumbling, entirely to myself. “I can’t effing believe this.”
    “… so I told her she could sleep in my room. Because I have this Select Comfort bed. You know, that’s the kind with the sleep number on it? And I told her if she wanted more firm she could dial a higher number, and less firm she could dial a lower number. My Gram Gram got it for me for graduation; it’s totally the best present ever, because it’s like having your own personalized, individualized bed…”
    “This just is not happening,” I continued. “Even you’re not this dumb.”
    “… so I let her borrow some pj’s—and I heard that, it’s not dumb to be generous, it’s Christian—and she seemed to be settled in just fine. I went into the living room and pulled out the couch and was watching reruns of The Hills and she was dead asleep. I mean, I heard her snoring and everything…”
    “Just let me know when I get to say ‘I told you so,’ ” I interjected.
    “… and then I went to sleep—not yet, by the way, let me finish—and in the morning I got up and she was gone. And so was all my jewelry. I have one of those jewelry boxes that’s sort of like a little armoire, with little cabinet doors you can swing open and the little knobs on it, you know? It’s really cute. Anyway, I leave it out on my dresser, which is where I like to keep it, so I can see my jewelry when I get ready in the morning and envision how it’s going to look with my outfit…”
    “Of course you do.”
    “… also, I hate tangled jewelry, it drives me IN-sane. So the way I lay it out, with the earrings on their trees and the necklaces on their stands and the bracelets arranged in chronological order of when they were given to me and the rings laid out alphabetically by color? Well, that and the jewelry box, it kind of takes up most of the dresser. But when I came in just now, the dresser was bare. And the jewelry box was gone. And Akilah was gone. And I don’t care about most of the stuff—it’s just stuff, after all—but I really, really have a sentimental attachment to that charm bracelet. It just reminds me of all the places I’ve been and all the things I’ve done and I’ve had it since I was a little girl and it’s pretty much my most treasured possession.”
    She hesitated, and not knowing how long it would be before she actually came to a full pause, I interrupted.
    “So, to sum up, your stuff is missing…”
    “Primarily my charm bracelet, yes.”
    “… and you called … me?” I said, laying on the incredulity as thickly as possible. “Shouldn’t you call the police? Or your insurance company? Or, hell, Zales or something?”
    “I can’t.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I told you already. It wouldn’t be Christian. I can’t do that to Akilah.”
    “I’m sure Jesus would have reported the crime,” I said.
    “I’m sure He would have turned the other