Bree’s room was an island of calm in a sea of chaos. The walls were sky-blue, the furniture was white, and the blue-and-white gingham duvet covering the bed matched the pleated curtains hanging at the window. The gray wall-to-wall carpet was spotless.
The back of the bedroom door was covered by a corkboard, and a computer and printer sat on the clutter-free desk. A set of shelves next to the bed held a collection of small stuffed animals as well as books. A gap in the bottom row of books suggested to me that Bree had brought a favorite volume with her when she’d left home. A small indentation in her pillow made me wonder if she’d taken her favorite stuffed animal—her Reginald—with her as well.
I was reluctant to invade Bree’s privacy by going through her things, but Cameron had no such scruples. He systematically searched her dresser, desk, and closet, then knelt to peer under the bed.
“She took the bare essentials,” he concluded, getting to his feet. “She must be traveling light. Unusual, for a female.”
He gave me a puckish glance and I felt my face turn crimson. The suitcase he’d hauled around for me that morning could not by any stretch of the imagination have been described as light.
Cameron seated himself at the computer, and I left him to it. When it came to the digital age, I was a Neanderthal. I could find my way around a corkboard, however, so while Cameron busied himself at the keyboard, I focused my attention on the drawings, magazine clippings, and photographs Bree had pinned to the back of her door.
Bree Pym was clearly fascinated by the works of J. R. R. Tolkien. Dog-eared copies of his books were on her shelves and she’d plastered her bulletin board with sketches of hobbits, elves, wizards, and strikingly handsome horsemen in leather-clad armor.
“Bree’s a big fan of the Lord of the Rings trilogy,” I observed.
“No surprise there,” Cameron said over his shoulder. “A Kiwi director is making a movie trilogy based on the books. He’s filming the entire thing right here in New Zealand. The first part is due out in December, but they’re still working on the other two. It’s a massive project. Half the country’s been involved in it, in one way or another. If Tolkien were alive, we’d make him an honorary citizen.”
I turned back to the bulletin board. Cameron’s explanation was enlightening, but I wanted to believe that the books had fed Bree’s imagination long before the first frames of the films had been shot. A young girl living with an aged grandfather and an alcoholic father might have welcomed an escape into fantasy.
Scattered here and there among the sketches were magazine clippings of romantic cottages surrounded by pretty gardens. It didn’t take a degree in psychology to figure out why such images would appeal to a young woman living in squalor.
The photographs pinned to the corkboard were casual shots of teenage boys and girls grinning happily or making goofy faces at the camera. The horrible Jessie had commented caustically about her lodgers’ lack of friends, but I wanted to believe that Bree had simply been too embarrassed by the state of her apartment to invite her friends to visit her at home. A girl in her situation needed friends.
A solitary blank spot on the corkboard intrigued me. It measured about six inches by eight inches and had four evenly spaced pins. I wondered what the pins had held, and if Bree had thought it important enough to bring along with her, or if she’d simply thrown it away.
“I know why they stayed in Takapuna,” Cameron announced.
“Why?” I asked, turning to face him.
“Bree went to Takapuna Grammar School,” he said. “It’s an excellent school. Her father—or her grandfather—must have wanted her to have a good education and she didn’t disappoint them. She kept an online file of her test scores and they’re quite impressive. I also know how the family managed to pay the rent as well as her school fees.” He tapped a key and a spreadsheet popped up on the screen. “Bree was the family accountant. She recorded every penny that came in and went out. They survived on A. J.’s old-age pension and the income Bree received from some sort of trust fund. Ed’s contributions are erratic at best.”
“The landlady told us that he sponged off of his father,” I said. “She must have been telling the truth.”
“Jessie may be a heartless cow, but I would never call her a liar,” Cameron said sardonically. “Oh, and there’s one more thing,” he added nonchalantly. “I know where Bree went.”
“Why didn’t you say so? ” I pelted across the room to peer over his shoulder at the computer screen.
“It’s a job application for a waitress position at the Copthorne Hotel and Resort in the Hokianga,” he explained. “I found correspondence with the general manager as well. Bree got the job and agreed to show up for work six weeks ago.”
“She must have been pretty miserable, to leave home for a waitressing job,” I observed.
“There’s a phone number,” said Cameron. “Shall we call her?”