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Swipe Right for Murder

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The cops, The Ex, and The Airpods That got Away

Lena woke up to three things:

The taste of carne asada and guilt.

A text from an unknown number that said _We need to talk. About Derek._

Becca, asleep on her couch, using Lena’s throw pillow as a pregnancy support wedge and snoring like a haunted chainsaw.

The apartment smelled like lavender trash bags and regret.

“Oh good,” Lena said to her ceiling. “The felony slept over.”

Becca sat up, sash askew, hair like she’d been electrocuted by bad choices. “Did we dream last night? Or did we actually commit a water crime?”

“Water crime,” Silas said from the kitchen. He was there. Of course he was there. He was making coffee in Lena’s kitchen like he paid rent. He did not pay rent. “And technically it’s tampering with evidence. Dumping a body is just the hobby.”

“You have a key?” Lena asked.

“You left your door unlocked. Again. Do you _want_ to die?” He slid a mug toward her. “Also, you have cops.”

Lena choked on air. “I’m sorry, I have _what_?”

“Cops,” Silas repeated. “Outside. Unmarked car. Been there 20 minutes. Either they’re here for the double homicide or your expired tags. Fifty-fifty.”

Becca gasped and clutched her sash. “They know. Chairman Meow told them.”

“Chairman Meow is a cat,” Lena said, but she was already peeking through the blinds. Black sedan. Two men. One drinking coffee. The other staring at her window like it owed him money.

The text buzzed again. _We need to talk. About Derek. — Detective M. Chen_

“Oh,” Lena said. “Oh no.”

“Plan?” Silas asked. He was suspiciously calm for a man who’d helped rug-burrito two people 12 hours ago.

“Plan,” Lena echoed. “Right. Step one: don’t confess. Step two: remember we’re innocent. Ish. Step three: Becca, put on pants. You can’t be interrogated in a sash. It’s a power imbalance.”

“I _am_ the power,” Becca said, but she waddled to the bathroom. “My hormones could get anyone to confess. Even you, Landlord.”

“Don’t call me that,” Silas said. “It makes me sound like I have a 401k.”

*8:07 AM:* Knock.

Not a polite knock. A _we-have-a-warrant-but-we’re-trying-to-be-chill_ knock.

Lena opened the door. Detective M. Chen was about 35, tired, and wearing a blazer that had seen things. His partner was younger, freckled, and holding a notebook that said _CASE FILES_ in glitter pen. His name tag said _Officer K. Dunn_. He looked like he’d lost a bet.

“Ms. Vance?” Chen said. “Lena Vance?”

“That’s my name,” Lena said. “Don’t wear it out.”

Silas appeared behind her, leaning on the doorframe like this was a sitcom and not a felony. “Cops! To what do we owe the pleasure? Noise complaint? I told Becca to stop sobbing at 3 AM but pregnancy is loud.”

Becca chose that moment to walk out of the bathroom in Lena’s sweatpants and a shirt that said _I Paused My Murder Podcast For This_.

Chen blinked. Dunn wrote something down. Probably _suspicious_ in glitter.

“We’re looking for Derek Walsh,” Chen said. “His mother filed a missing persons. Said he didn’t show for Sunday dinner. Said his phone’s off. Said the last person he texted was you.”

Lena’s stomach became a crime scene. “Right. Derek. Yeah. We… went on a date. Last week. It didn’t work out. He stole my AirPods.”

“AirPods,” Dunn repeated, writing it down. _AirPods_ in glitter. _Stolen_ underlined twice.

“He’s known to do that,” Chen said. “We have three other reports. One from a Brad Kowalski. You know him?”

Becca made a noise like a teapot. Silas coughed into his coffee.

“Brad?” Lena said. “Can’t say I do. Common name. Like… Chris. Or Crime.”

“Uh-huh.” Chen looked past her. Into the apartment. “Mind if we come in? Ask a few questions?”

Yes. Lena minded. Lena minded very much. Because her couch still smelled like lavender and bad life choices, and there was a bloody stiletto in her sink she’d forgotten to throw away.

But Silas stepped back. “Mi casa es su casa. Unless you have a warrant. Do you have a warrant?”

“We don’t,” Chen said. “Yet.”

“Then mi casa is still mi casa,” Silas said, smiling. “But you can stand there. In the doorway. Like a vampire. It’s respectful.”

Dunn kept writing. _Vampire_ now in the notebook. Great.

“Ms. Vance, when’s the last time you saw Derek?” Chen asked.

Tuesday. In a rug. Entering the reservoir. But Lena said, “Last Thursday. Tinder date. He ordered the squid. I paid. He ghosted. End of story.”

“And you are?” Chen looked at Silas.

“Silas Reed. Landlord. Derek was my tenant. Owed me rent. Paid me in excuses and exposure.”

“And you?” Chen looked at Becca.

“Becca Morales,” she said, hand on her stomach. “Fiancée. Ex. It’s complicated. He told me he was joining the Peace Corps. I think he meant ‘pieces’ of ‘corpse’ but I’m hormonal.”

Dunn stopped writing. “I’m gonna need you to say that again. Slowly.”

“She’s kidding,” Lena said. “Pregnancy brain. It’s like regular brain but with more war crimes.”

Chen stared. For a long time. Then: “Mr. Peterson in 4C says he saw you three moving a ‘large rug’ last night. Said it ‘grunted.’ Said there was a cat involved.”

Chairman Meow. That narc.

“It was a rug,” Silas said. “Vintage. Derek was selling it. We helped him move it to his new place. In… Canada.”

“Canada,” Chen repeated.

“Very rug-friendly,” Becca added. “Because of the moose.”

Dunn wrote _Moose?_ and drew a little antler doodle.

“Right,” Chen said. “Well. If you see Derek, tell him his mom’s worried. And tell him Brad’s mom is also worried. And tell him the cops are worried. And tell him… actually, just tell him to call his mom.”

“Will do,” Lena said. “If I see him. Which I won’t. Because Canada.”

Chen handed her a card. “If you remember anything. Anything at all. Call me.”

He looked at Silas. “You seem familiar.”

“I get that a lot,” Silas said. “I have one of those faces. Very punchable. Very forgettable.”

Chen didn’t smile. Dunn waved. “Bye, Ms. Vance. Bye, Bride-to-Be. Bye, Landlord.”

They left. The unmarked car stayed. Parked. Watching.

*8:32 AM:* Lena shut the door. Locked it. Deadbolted it. Considered bricking it up.

“We’re screwed,” she said.

“We’re not screwed,” Silas said. “We’re _persons of interest_. That’s like being famous but with more paperwork.”

“They know,” Becca whispered. “They know we know they know.”

“Okay, stop,” Lena said. “New rules. Rule #1: Nobody talks. Rule #2: Nobody texts. Rule #3: Nobody _names_ the bodies. They’re Voldemort now. He Who Shall Not Be Rug.”

*8:35 AM:* Lena’s phone rang. Unknown number.

She answered it on speaker because she hated herself. “Hello?”

“Lena?” A man’s voice. Familiar. Smug. _Alive_. “It’s Derek.”

The room froze.

Becca screamed. Silas dropped his coffee. The mug shattered. Like their alibis.

“Derek,” Lena said. “You’re dead.”

“Am I?” Derek laughed. “Or did you three geniuses dump two random guys from my BDSM dungeon in the reservoir?”

Silence.

“…You have a BDSM dungeon?” Silas asked.

“Derek, you absolute psychopath,” Becca yelled. “I _stabbed_ you!”

“You stabbed Chad. He was wearing my face.”

“You _what_?”

“Prosthetic mask. It’s a thing. He’s into it. Was into it. Anyway, I need my AirPods back. And my rug. And I need you to stop telling people I’m dead. It’s bad for business.”

Lena looked at Silas. Silas looked at Becca. Becca looked at her sash.

“So,” Lena said slowly, “the bodies in the reservoir. Not Derek. Not Brad.”

“Brad’s in Cabo,” Derek said. “Sent me a postcard. Said ‘Thanks for the kidney.’ Long story. Listen, I’m gonna need you to come to the warehouse. Alone. We’ll sort this out. And bring tacos. I’m starving.”

Click.

Three people. One apartment. Two missing corpses that weren’t the corpses they thought. One very alive, very pissed Derek.

Silas picked up a lemon. “I’m gonna need more tequila.”

Becca sat down. “I think the baby just kicked. Or that was my soul leaving.”

Lena looked at Detective Chen’s card. Then at the door. Then at Silas, who was already zesting.

“Okay,” she said. “Newer rules. Rule #1: We’re not murderers. We’re idiots.”

“Rule #2: Derek’s alive, which is worse.”

“Rule #3…” She grabbed her keys. And the bloody stiletto. Just in case.

“Screw Rule #3,” Lena said. “Again.”

Outside, the unmarked car was still there. Officer Dunn was eating a donut. He waved.

Lena waved back.

She was definitely going to jail. But at least she’d have a good story. And tacos.