The apartment complex was nice, for a drug dealer. A red and yellow bricked building with well-kept bushes by the concrete stairs, which led to a buzzer box. She pressed every call button and the door unlocked seconds later.

Lara’s apartment was on the second floor. After looking around to ensure no one was watching, Mia pushed a pin into the apartment’s lock, keeping the tension wrench set. Her lips pursed when, contrary to expectations, the handle turned right away. She looked down the hallway again, paranoid that someone saw her idiocy. Of course the Don’s men didn’t lock up after themselves.

A warm crimson foyer led into a living room combo, partially divided by an island counter where the laminate floor met carpet. Two doors on her right cut off the other rooms. Her studio flat could fit in here.

At a first glance, the goons had left little for her to search through. Every kitchen-cabinet door and drawer was open, while the living room floor was littered by trampled motorcycle models, discarded video games and disemboweled couch cushions. The whole shit show was complemented by shoe prints on the carpet and spilled snacks on the counters.

She rubbed her brow and stepped into the kitchen. Through the elegant black design with white counters, Mia spotted one of the few splashes of color: a rainbow magnet on the fridge door. It made her smile. She had the same one, given to her as a joke after coming out.

Focus.

Mia turned to the trash. It was the only place the prior “investigators” hadn’t seemed to search. She found wrappers, glass bottles, and some crumpled papers with handwritten messages..

“Can you please keep the noise down on weeknights? -3B”

“Keep the fucking noise down please ♡ - fuck you”

The island held a landline phone and a clay pot housing a dying plant. Mia hoped the former would have a useful message, so she walked around the counter to get to it. She stumbled.

“Fuck!”

The culprit was a camouflaged roomba. Disregarding it with a huff, she pushed the voicemail button and held the phone to her ear.

“You have no new messages and no saved messages.”

Her raised hopes crashed on the third word and Mia moved on to the next room. There had to be something.

In contrast with the kitchen, the living room had more warm and inviting colors. Mia admired the expensive television-console setup, stereo speakers, and further on the left, a shiny acoustic guitar.

“Drug dealing must be profitable,” she muttered.

She kneeled by the video games and checked each case: no drugs, no clues, slight envy. Would it be unprofessional to take one?

Standing again, she crossed the room to the mystery doors.

The first led to a simple, white-tiled bathroom, which held nothing peculiar apart from an empty chip bag in the shower—courtesy of Don Alberto’s men, surely.

With nothing else to check, she turned to the bedroom. She had high hopes for it, and judging by its state, the Don’s men did as well.

The mattress was flipped against the wall, and at the foot of it, an overwhelming pile of clothes began. Before Mia delved into that, she took in the rest of the room. Nightstands stood on either side of the bare bed frame, and a vacuum lay where the mattress should have been.

On her left, a cluttered desk with no computer in sight held an avalanche of paper spilling across the top and onto the floor. Glass crunched under her boots as Mia approached.

She crouched down as she shifted a sheet and found a broken picture frame beneath, holding a photograph of two young girls. One stood taller, her arm hooked around the smaller one’s neck. Both girls wore wide, excited smiles. The photo reminded her of the kind of picture she would see a mother force her kids to take before letting them run off. These two didn’t look like sisters, though. The older one was blonde with daring hazel eyes, and the other had auburn hair and large, innocent blue eyes.

Mia pulled out her own photo of the drug dealer. Lara’s hair was only inches long, though still auburn, and her face was hard set and worn, but it was undeniable. It was her. The now-piercing blue of Lara’s eyes made Mia uneasy, so she put the picture away and stood.

Aside from the papers, the desk held a portable CD player, disks and a wooden hexagonal box with a dragon carved on the lid. Blank sheets, license to carry, bills, papers about a person named Natki. Mia’s eyes flickered to the box, and she opened it to find assorted dice. Then it clicked. Mia huffed a laugh, sitting in the office chair and scanning the character sheets with more interest. She didn’t take the disappearing drug dealer for a nerd, but the classification ‘tiefling’ seemed appropriate.

Mia shuffled through the woman’s music next: rock, alternative, instrumental metal. Nothing Mia cared much for. She moved on once she realized she was getting carried away.

Turning her attention back to the bed frame, Mia noticed the border of a vent behind one nightstand. She pushed the furniture aside at once. Her excitement died off when she crouched to find the vent already open. Inside was a crumpled note.

“Wrong place, fuckers.”

A sketched middle finger accompanied the message.

Mia tilted her head, lips curling in a smile. She’s cocky. Now Mia knew there was something in the apartment, something important.

Turning to one of the nightstands, she opened the drawer to find adult toys. Her eyes widened a fraction, and for the first time she wished she had brought gloves. The other stand’s drawer was also unconventional, filled to the brim with branded strawberry candies. She dug around, finding nothing else, and eventually took one for herself, popping it in her mouth as she walked towards the closet.

Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of a silver safe, though excitement quickly turned to frustration. It was already open and empty.

The hard candy broke under her teeth. Did the Don’s men not find anything worth mentioning in a locked safe?

Mia turned to the mountain of clothes, staring at it for a moment, procrastinating. Ten minutes later, nothing came of her search, except adding climbing, hiking, and attending raves to the ever-increasing list of Lara’s hobbies.

Was Mia sure that Lara lived alone?

She sat down in front of the desk again, letting out an exaggerated sigh. It was all useless.

The ocean blue walls had a few frames and a bulletin board with various photos pinned to it. Game nights, hot-boxing, clubbing: all the pictures were of outings, and never with the same people. It at least confirmed the varied interests were all Lara’s. The woman seemed to hate boredom. Mia’s gaze lingered over the drug dealer’s smile as she thought, but she snapped back to reality a moment later. Time for round two of the investigation.

Mia navigated the debris to the closet, checking the top of the doorframe and then the floorboards. Nothing stuck out.

She picked up the old vacuum and put it aside, then she pushed the bed frame and the nightstands out of the way to check the floor beneath them. There were no loose boards there either. Before shifting everything into place again, she slid her fingers across the underside of one nightstand and up the back. When she tried the next one, it was different. She tapped her finger on the back and it sounded hollow. A fake second back! Heart racing, she tore it off the nightstand—the candy one. Another note fell to her feet.

“Give me this, and I’ll buy you a beer for the effort.”

Mia smiled, her determination reinvigorated as she folded the note and put it in her pocket.

She checked the backs and undersides of the rest of the furniture in the apartment in case there was a repeat. She took down the clock, checking the battery compartment—empty—and tore the fabric from over the springs of the couch in the living room to look inside. Also empty. The spaces between the cabinets weren’t of Lara’s pick either. Nothing behind the refrigerator or the loose toe kick.

Mia sat at the island counter, her head slumped into her hands. She looked between the wilted plant and the home phone, getting impatient and a little desperate. Mia withheld an eye roll as she picked up the telephone again, pushing redial. Her expectations stayed low this time.

“There are no redials currently available.”

Of course. If there was anything Mia knew about Lara, it was that the woman was prepared. She felt around the back and underside of the phone, her fingers brushing over tape. She sat up and flipped the box over with no regard for the handset falling off of the counter.

“I’ll have a business card made just for you if you lose this again - (518) 555-0173.”

Mia bit back a grin and peeled the number off, putting it in her wallet, secure. No snarky note. It was an actual lead.

With her hopes high, Mia uprooted the plant, which was easy since the dirt was so dry. Her free hand dug around in the pot, finding absolutely nothing. She looked at the dying, and now strangled, plant in her fist with a strange feeling of guilt. Mia put it back and brought everything over to the sink. She repotted the flower to the best of her abilities and watered the soil before washing her hands.

Sorry.

She apologized to the plant, but not its owner. Lara had killed it first.

Mia tapped the Roomba on with her foot to clean up the dirt. She didn’t care to clean off the table; she had simply never seen an automatic vacuum in person.

Why would Lara even keep that other vacuum in her bedroom? It was old, so old Mia was surprised it still functioned. The little robot bumped into the table and turned, bumped the chair and turned, bumped the counter and turned. A realization crept up on Mia as fast as the vacuum moved. One more bump and it clicked. She returned to the bedroom.

She turned the old vacuum upright and wheeled it to an outlet, plugging it in. Nothing. It didn’t work. She opened the front compartment, and instead of a dustbin, there was a box. Her fingers tingled. She bit her lip, as though if she made a noise she would get caught. Mia sat on the floor and tried to remove the box, but it was glued in place. She took the lid off.

The inside was padded with cotton to hide a journal and more CDs. The book was pocket sized, leather, with a nice clasp to keep it shut. Mia had received a similar one from her therapist to write feelings and dreams in, or anything else that was on her mind. It would also be the exact place she would leave a clue about her whereabouts, if she were a runaway drug dealer.

Mia scooped out the contents of the box, stood, and carried everything over to the desk. The disks were unmarked. Her own suspense was killing her, but it was thrilling. She put the CD in the player and hoped to hear a voice, but a calming violin started and was soon accompanied by others. Orchestra music.

This is what Lara wanted to hide so badly?

Mia was happy enough to have the dealer’s diary, at least. She left the headphones on, allowing the buildup of the band to heighten the excitement in her chest. It hit a climax, and she read the first page.

“Dear Diary,”

“This is stupid. I’ll just talk to you like...?”

“Fuck this shit.”

The bottom of the page was entirely scribbled out, though not because Lara was hiding anything. The woman just wanted to scribble, apparently. The instrumental started to annoy her, and she tossed the headset onto the desk as she turned the page of the diary, then several others. Mia’s mouth hung open before clenching, and her ears burned red.

It was the first and last used page.

All of that... for this?

With the last of her patience, she checked the other CDs. Classical music. One was Ludwig van Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9.

I’m over this.

Mia took a deep breath and headed toward the front door. She took the useless journal with her. It was a nice journal and someone should use it.

She made sure to lock up before she left.