Page 61 of You'll Love it Here

“That was fortunate,” I say. “But now that you’ve found your footing, don’t you want to move somewhere with a few less panty thieves and toilets that actually flush properly?”

Jane pops a grape in her mouth and continues. “Eventually, yeah—but for now, my main goal is to save up enough to buy a toaster oven. Plus, staying on this lease for a while will look better to future landlords.”

The wine curdles in my belly. Jane is going to be screwed when this place sells, if my recent market research is any indication.

“And this place isn’t so bad, especially now that you’ve been helping out,” Jane says, her words stirring the uneasy knot in my stomach tighter. “If we catch the panty thief, I might even admit I genuinely like it here.”

I swallow hard and hold out my glass. “Here’s to justice, then.” Jane clinks it with her own and we both take a hefty sip.

“I still think Norm’s the top suspect,” Jane says. “He’s the only one who came close to the machine that night.”

I nod. “For what it’s worth, I looked into him—but I don’t know. I get the feeling he’s not the one. And, I mean, itwouldhave been pretty unreal if he’d managed all that while on camera.”

Jane nods. “Well, Carmen was the only other person we saw that night. Do you think he could have done it? Maybe secretly snuck them while I was emptying the dryer?”

A few days ago, I would have undeniably said yes. But I get the sense Carmen’s interests are more about selling things off than hoarding things for his own pervy interests. Maybe it’s the dad energy I can suddenly recognize in the guy, but I can’tquitesee him as suspect numero primo anymore.

“I don’t know...” I say. “He gives off a weird vibe, but not like I’m-stealing-your-underwear level? I could be totally off base here, it’s just my feelings.”

She chews her lips, fingers rapping on the side of her glass. “Yeah, I think our guts know. Like honestly, with my ex—if I’d just listened to the little voice in my head, I could’ve saved myself a lot of time. I think I knew he was an ass when I first went out with him, but I was horny. After the divorce, I promised myself I’d never second-guess my instincts again.” She sighs, looking down at the remaining liquid in her glass. “It’s so annoying. Women are told their entire lives that they’re being dramatic or hysterical—but we know the truth.”

I nod as another piece of the puzzle that is Jane clicks together. “I do get a weird feeling about that guy in the couple on the first floor.”

“That guy is a dick for sure.” I grin and take another sip.

“He’s a crop-dusting bitch,” Jane blurts without warning, and I start to wonder if she got started on the wine before I showed up.“He farted in the fucking foyer once and acted confused where the smell came from. Nothing like gagging your way through that just to pick up the mail.”

“It’s the hot dogs.”

“The hot dogs! You noticed that too?”

“Oscar Mayer himself must have taken notice of that shit by now.” I chuckle into my own almost-empty glass of wine. “What about Divorced Dad? Across the way. Are you still suspicious of him?”

I realize I’ve let slip the nickname that’s only existed in my head until now, but Jane furiously nods like this is what’s written on his birth certificate. “I can’t stand him. Sometimes I catch him out on his balcony, just sitting there with his hands folded in his lap, staring into space. And in my head, I’m like—he’s definitely up there edging.” She purses her lips mindfully. “I mean, it’s most definitely not that, but still.”

Her phone buzzes on the coffee table. Jane grabs it to silence it. “Looks like it’s time to go.”

I chuckle. “Maybe we can bring some towels to sit on that futon in the rec room? Avoid the mouse droppings?”

“Let’s bring this throw blanket. I can wash it after.”

“Great!”

We make our way down to the basement. Jane switches her laundry into the dryer and double-checks her spy setup. Then we huddle up in the dark rec room and wait.

Nobody else is down here this late. We start whispering quietly to pass the time. But about an hour in—right around the moment we discover we have an overlapping obsession with mysterious hotel deaths and a love for erotic thrillers made during their renaissance in the nineties—I realize our voices have crept up to full volume.

“Should we call it?” I ask. Jane’s laundry has been sitting there for a while.

She nods. We’ve kept our eyes on the cameras, but no one has come down the stairs. And even if there was a thief intent of sniffing out some panties tonight, our raised voices might have kept him away. Still, it doesn’t feel like a lost evening.

“You know, investigation aside,” I start, stretching my arms over my head, “thanks for setting all this up. I haven’t had a fun night like this in a while.”

Jane’s skin flushes. “I mean, me too. I always had a feeling we’d get along.”

I can’t say the same. When Weird Girl Beside Me moved in, she was quickly written off in my mind as just anotherbuilding personI’d need to go out of my way to avoid.

I probably should have left it that way.