Chapter 107 Pressure Points

Chapter 107 Pressure Points
Debbie’s POV

THE CAFÉ Aunt Grace preferred was the kind of place people forgot existed.
It sat between an old pawnshop and a tailoring store on a quiet street several blocks away from the tenement. It was exactly the kind of place where conversations disappeared into the clatter of coffee cups.
I arrived ten minutes early. Not because I respected punctuality. Because I preferred watching people before they realized they were being watched.
I sat beside the window, stirring my untouched iced coffee while occasionally glancing toward the entrance. My phone rested on the table beside me, displaying several anonymous posts about Aleli.
The rumors were spreading exactly as I expected. Some students believed she was living with Kristoff. Others insisted Malcolm had rented an apartment for her.
No one actually knew the truth. That was the beauty of rumors. People always filled in the missing pieces themselves.
The bell above the café door chimed. Aunt Grace stepped inside. She looked around cautiously before spotting me near the window.
She wasn't dressed any differently from the last time we met. Her faded blouse and worn sandals made her look like any ordinary woman trying to escape the afternoon heat. But the way she constantly checked over her shoulder told a different story.
She approached slowly before taking the seat across from me.
"You picked another hidden place," she said.
I smiled faintly. "You came anyway."
She didn't answer. Instead, she placed her worn handbag on her lap and folded her hands over it. "I don't have much time."
"You said the same thing last time."
"And I meant it."
I reached into my designer handbag and placed a thick white envelope on the table. Aunt Grace's eyes dropped to it immediately.
I slid it toward her without a word.
She hesitated only briefly before taking it and slipping it inside her bag.
"You've become generous," she muttered.
"I pay for useful information."
She looked at me carefully. "And if I stop being useful?"
I leaned back against my chair. "Then we'll both stop wasting each other's time."
The waitress approached our table. After taking our orders, she walked away again, leaving us alone. For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
I let the silence stretch. People always became uncomfortable first.
Sure enough, Aunt Grace sighed. "What do you want this time?"
"The same thing."
Her shoulders stiffened. "I've already told you everything I know."
"No." I shook my head slowly. "You've told me everything you're willing to sell. There's a difference." I rested my elbows on the table. "And today, I want what's not for sale."
Aunt Grace let out a short laugh, but there wasn't any humor behind it. She shook her head once before saying, “Then you've come to the wrong person.”
“I don't think so,” I replied evenly, holding her gaze without blinking. “I've been paying attention.”
Her expression remained unreadable.
“You keep talking about Uncle Jerry,” I continued.
“Because everything points back to him,” Aunt Grace answered without hesitation.
“Not everything,” I countered.
My response made her glance toward the café window instead of at me.
A small smile tugged at my lips.
“See?” I asked.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” she said, though her voice had lost some of its certainty.
I leaned forward slightly and rested my forearms on the table. “Every time I mention Uncle Jerry, you're careful with your words. But the moment I stop talking about him, you relax.”
She didn't answer.
The silence told me more than any denial could.
“So that tells me something,” I said, lowering my voice. “Uncle Jerry isn't the part you're protecting.”
Aunt Grace's fingers tightened around the strap of her handbag.
“You think you're clever,” she muttered.
“I know I am,” I replied with a faint smile.
Before she could respond, the waitress returned carrying our drinks. She placed the cups on the table, wished us a pleasant afternoon, and walked away.
I waited until she was completely out of earshot before picking up my coffee.
“I've learned a lot since we last met,” I said, taking a slow sip.
Aunt Grace looked at me cautiously. “Oh?”
“I know Malcolm altered Aleli's admission records years ago.”
She blinked but remained silent.
“I also know someone changed files connected to her,” I continued. “And I know somebody has spent years trying very hard to erase parts of her past.”
She stared at me across the table without saying a word.
I carefully set my cup back onto its saucer.
“The problem is,” I said calmly, “there's still one piece missing.”
Aunt Grace rubbed her temple as though the conversation itself was exhausting her.
“Some things are better left missing,” she said quietly.
“Not for me.” I folded my hands together and met her eyes again. “Tell me about the night Uncle Jerry died.”
“I already did,” she answered.
“You told me he was murdered.”
“He was.”
“But you never told me how.”
Aunt Grace glanced toward the café entrance before lowering her voice.
“Why are you so obsessed with my family?” she asked.
“I'm not,” I answered.
“You are,” she insisted, pointing a finger at me across the table. “You've spent weeks following Aleli around.”
“I've spent weeks trying to understand her.”
“No.” Her expression hardened. “You've spent weeks trying to destroy her.”
I didn't bother denying it.
“If that's what happens in the process,” I replied evenly, “then so be it.”
Aunt Grace slowly shook her head. “You're too young to understand what you're playing with.”
“I understand more than you think.”
“Do you?” she asked as she leaned closer across the table, her eyes fixed on mine.
I decided to change direction.
"Fine." I crossed one leg over the other. "Let's talk about Aleli instead."
Aunt Grace visibly relaxed. “Aleli has changed a lot since she went with that Ricafort son.”
I nodded. "She isn't afraid anymore."
She looked at me for a long moment before speaking. "Leave the girl alone. You don’t know what you’re digging into.”
"I don't think I will."
"Why?"
"Because she's becoming interesting."
Aunt Grace's voice dropped almost to a whisper. "Interesting people die early."
I laughed softly. "Now who's threatening whom?"
"I'm warning you." She looked directly into my eyes. "And you should listen."
I studied her face carefully.
She wasn't trying to frighten me.
She was frightened herself.
That realization caught my attention far more than anything she'd said all afternoon.
I leaned forward. "You're still hiding something."
Her breathing slowed. For several seconds, she simply stared at me.
Then she finally answered. "I'm hiding it because I still want to live."
The café suddenly felt quieter. Even the sounds of cups clinking against saucers seemed distant.
I watched her carefully. "You actually believe someone would kill you?"
"I don't believe it." She gave me a tired smile. "I know it."
I felt a strange chill crawl up my arms. It disappeared as quickly as it came.
"You expect me to believe that?"
"I don't care what you believe." She stood from her chair and picked up her handbag. "I've already said too much."
"You haven't answered my question."
"No." She looked down at me. "I answered exactly enough."
I stood immediately. "Aunt Grace."
She stopped beside the café door but didn't turn around.
"I know you're keeping one last piece from me."
Her shoulders rose and fell with a quiet breath. Then, almost too softly for me to hear, she spoke. "That child remembers less than she should."
My heartbeat slowed. "What does that mean?"
She remained facing the door. "It means..." Her voice trembled for the first time since we'd met. "...some memories disappear because time passes. But some disappear because the mind refuses to survive them."