Free Smoke by Lisa Unger Page A

seem right.”
    Lydia nodded her understanding as the elevator reached the sixth floor and they stepped out into the hallway. There was tasteful burgundy carpeting and cream walls lined with sconce lighting.
    “Did she have trouble affording this place?” asked Lydia as they walked into a spacious, sunlit one-bedroom apartment.
    Jasmine shrugged. “I think her parents helped her out a little. Her mom was worried about her living in the city after college; they wanted her to be someplace safe. She was living in a railroad apartment on Avenue B after she moved out of the NYU dorms—until her parents came to visit. A month later she moved in here.”
    Lydia sat on the futon while Jasmine sank onto an enormous blue velvet pillow lying on the varnished hardwood floor. A counter separatedthe living space from a state-of-the-art kitchen with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances not unlike Lydia’s own. From where she sat, Lydia could see into a bedroom. There was a large king bed and a dresser that looked like the kind of stuff you buy at Ikea when you’re young and have no money. It comes in a box: a pile of wood, a bag of bolts and a set of indecipherable instructions.
    “Detective Stenopolis said that Mickey and Lily weren’t getting along before he died,” said Lydia.
    Jasmine pulled her legs into a full lotus position and nodded. “No, they weren’t. And it was weird because she worshipped him. But after he quit his job and moved up to Riverdale, things started to change. He became hard to reach, started being really short and distant with her. I don’t think she was mad as much as she was hurt. She thought it was the new girlfriend. Lily didn’t like her very much.”
    “Maybe she was jealous?”
    “Maybe a little—because she and Mickey had such a bond. He’d never really had a serious, serious girlfriend before. But she’s not really like that. Lily likes nice people, kind people, people with passion. She has good taste. I’ve always kind of felt that if Lily doesn’t like someone, then there’s usually a reason.”
    Lydia nodded. “So why did Mickey move up there in the first place?”
    “He was burned out. He’d made a killing, put a lot of money away. He had always had this dream of owning a coffee shop that was like a performance space at night, you know, small bands, poetry readings. He wanted to hang a different artist’s work on the walls every month. Something really artsy and cool, totally different from the insanity of his Wall Street job. So he went for it.”
    “But it didn’t go well?”
    “It seemed to, at first. We went up there after he opened. The space was beautiful, there seemed to be a good crowd. He was talking about applying for a liquor license.” She moved away a wisp of hair that had fallen into her eyes. “He seemed like the same old Mickey but happier. Less than six months later, he was dead.”
    “It doesn’t make a lot of sense,” said Lydia, leaning forward.
    “You know,” said Jasmine, looking down. “Since my residency started I have been so busy, so exhausted all the time, that I really didn’tpay the kind of attention that I should have, I guess. I knew Lily was upset about the way Mickey was acting. She kept saying, ‘There’s something really weird going on with him.’ We talked about it but I guess I was only half-listening. Now when I think about those months, trying to figure things out, I feel like I only have small pieces.”
    “What are some of the things you remember her mentioning?”
    “She was talking about how he was hanging around with a weird group of people, friends of this girl he was seeing.”
    “Do you remember her name?”
    She closed her eyes for a second, as if trying to recall. Lydia noticed for the first time how pretty Jasmine was. With her hair back and her baggy scrubs, her beauty hadn’t been obvious at first. But in the bright sun coming in from the window, Lydia admired her fair golden skin and inky black