The walls were covered with macabre pictures of skeletons with bloodshot eyeballs hanging by a thread from their sockets. Above the headboard was a poster of a cemetery, bloodied body parts scattered about like debris after a night of strong winds.
She looked to her feet, where a trail of ants had been hand-painted across the entirety of the wood floor, continuing up one side of the wall and across a stark white windowsill. The ants looked so real, she knelt down to brush her fingers over the smooth wood. On a low table beneath a curtained window were jars filled with incense and herbs. She straightened and walked that way. Bottles of potions labeled “Eye of Doe” and “Dragon Fire” sat in front of a stack of tarot cards. All of it contrasted with the stuffed teddy bear and the pink comforter spread neatly across the bed.
“It can be a little overwhelming,” Arlo said.
That was putting it mildly, Jessie thought.
“She’s fond of her tarot cards, and when she’s not making potions, she likes to do readings and spells.”
“Did she draw these pictures?” Jessie asked.
“Yes. She’s quite talented. She enjoys drawing and painting images that shock people.”
“I can see that. Where’s her mother?”
“She died of cancer when Zee was six months old.”
“I’m sorry.”
Arlo said nothing.
Jessie couldn’t stop thinking about the blood she’d seen on Arlo’s thumb. She went to the notebook sitting on the bedside table and held it up. “Do you mind?”
“Go ahead. She’s been writing in journals for as long as I can remember. Most are filled with recipes for potions or spells.”
Jessie turned the pages, noticed that the dates coincided with the time right before Zee went missing. “Mind if I take this with me?”
“As long as I get it back when you’re done.”
“No problem,” Jessie said. “I also need a recent picture of Zee. Do you have one?”
He nodded before disappearing for no more than thirty seconds, then returned with a photo of Zee. Jessie noticed that Zee wasn’t smiling.
“She wasn’t happy with me that day,” Arlo offered, reading her mind. “But it’s a good likeness of her.”
Jessie slipped the photo into the journal, then walked to the closet and slid the mirrored door to the left. Dozens of black T-shirts were lined up on hangers along with black pants, black skirts, and a black leather jacket. Shoes and boots were lined up in neat rows on the floor. All black.
With Arlo’s permission, she searched through dresser drawers and a vintage chest. Under the bed she found a shoe box. She placed it on the top of the bed and pulled off the lid. It was filled with Polaroid pictures and dried flower petals.
Arlo came closer and reached for a picture that showed Zee sitting in the middle of a field of cut grass. The smile on his daughter’s face said it all. She was happy.
Jessie sifted through pictures of Zee on a swing at a park, on a retaining wall looking down into the camera lens, and sitting cross-legged while taking a whiff of a single rose.
Arlo gestured at one of the pictures and said, “That looks like it was taken at Rainbow Park, a few blocks from here.” He frowned. “I wonder who took the picture.”
Jessie handed Arlo a close-up of his daughter. “When would you guess this might have been taken?”
He used his right hand to hold the picture. It was definitely blood on his thumb. She looked away.
“Two weeks ago,” Arlo said. “Zee cut her bangs, straight across, close to her hairline, as you can see in the pictures. My guess is that these were taken within days of her haircut, or maybe even the same day.” He put the picture back in the box.
“You told me she didn’t have any friends and that she was a loner.”
Arlo looked through the contents of the box, a deep frown contorting his features. “Zee and I have always been close.” He rubbed his temple. “Or at least I thought we were. Obviously I haven’t been paying close enough attention to what she’s been doing. I’m at a loss here.”
“I’d like to take these things with me, too, if you don’t mind?”
He nodded. “As long as you take good care of everything. Like the journal, I’d like it all back, you know, after you find her.”
“Of course,” Jessie told him. “What happened to your hand?” she asked, unable to let it go. “It looks like you’re bleeding.”
“It’s nothing,” he said, avoiding eye contact. “I was cutting some fruit before you came. I must have nicked myself.”
“Would you mind if I have a quick look around the rest of the house? It will only take a minute.”
His face flushed. He glanced at his watch and shook his head. “Maybe another time. I’ve got to get going. I—I’m late as it is.”
Flummoxed, she said, “Okay. Another time, then.” She looked around. “I don’t see a computer. Did she use one?”
He rubbed the back of his neck and gave her a subtle nod. “She used mine. I can’t part with that. Sorry.” His eye twitched, and she wondered if that was a nervous habit of his. She couldn’t remember his eye twitching when they’d first met. Arlo was acting so strange, she didn’t know what to think.
“I have enough to work with here,” she finally said as she piled the journal on top of the shoe box. “You might see me down the street on your way out. I want to knock on a few doors and talk to some of your neighbors, see if anyone spotted Zee coming or going.”
“Good luck with that.”
His statement baffled her. “What do you mean?”
“The neighbors and I have never seen eye to eye.”
The man had a way of saying everything and nothing at the same time. “Why is that?”
“You know how neighbors can be . . . loud music, tall fences, barking dogs. The list is long.” His eye twitched again. “Mrs. Dixon next door. Her husband died years ago. She’s lonely and has nothing better to do than watch my every move. I’m sure you’ll get an earful—that’s all I’m saying.”
“Is that the same neighbor whose house Zee broke into before?”
“Well, yes, but still, I see no reason for Mrs. Dixon to hold any grudges over such a silly thing.”
Jessie nodded, but she couldn’t help but think there was something extremely off about Arlo Gatley.
Why did he seem so nervous?
Had he lied to her about the blood on his hand?
Although she questioned what she might have gotten herself into, she was more determined than ever to find Zee. The girl was mentally unstable, lost, and scared.
Jessie needed to find her.
“Those two are strange,” Mrs. Dixon, the widow and neighbor to the left of Arlo Gatley, said. “If you’ve met Arlo, which it sounds as if you have, you’ve probably already figured out that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I mean, who names their daughter Zebra?”
“She was named Zinnia, after the flower,” Jessie explained. “Arlo calls her Zee.”
The woman rolled her eyes.
“When you say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, what do you mean?” Jessie asked. “Could you elaborate?”
“You’ve met him, talked to him. He’s odd, plain and simple.” She sighed and made a face as if she thought Jessie was a dimwit. “For instance, when Arlo pulls up into his driveway after work, I see him sitting in the car, sometimes for an hour. He’s not texting or talking on the phone, just staring out the window with a blank look.”
Jessie nodded, waited. Arlo might have been right about Mrs. Dixon being lonely.
“Elijah and Lettie Foxletter,” Mrs. Dixon said next, pointing to a two-story colonial house not too far down the block, “are in charge of the neighborhood-watch group. You might want to talk to them.”
“Before I go,” Jessie said, “I was told that Arlo’s daughter broke into your home more than once. Did you and Zee ever have a conversation?”
“No. Once she saw me, she just left the house without an explanation or apology. She’s a strange one.”