“You can’t miss her door,” she said, a slight catch in her voice. She turned and disappeared around the corner before we had a chance to answer.
Julia was right: there was no missing Cathy’s door. It was the only one closed, the only one with any semblance of life—a big, glittery C nailed to it, a heap of hairbands choked around the knob. Will pushed the door open and sauntered inside, but I hung back in the hallway.
“Come on, then. What are you waiting for?”
I bit my bottom lip and Will turned on a sigh. “Sorry about the demons crack, love. I just meant—”
“No.” I held up a hand. “You were right.” I eyed Cathy’s door. “It just seems—wrong.”
Will opened his legs slightly and crossed his arms in front of his chest. His eyes staring down at me. Whether the stance was his version of alpha male or Sigmund Freud I wasn’t sure. “Why do you think it’s wrong? We’re investigators, remember?” There was the slightest hint of play in his voice. “We’re investigating.”
I toed the carpeted threshold. “I feel like we’re violating Cathy’s privacy. Her last bit of respite.”
Before I could recoil, Will reached out and grabbed my arm, pulling me into the room. “With all due reverence for the dearly departed, we’ve got business to tend to and a rapidly pressing time line.”
“Right. Yeah, sorry.” I shook myself and did a three-sixty, my eyes sweeping the sweet-pea pink walls. Most of the paint was covered over with posters, photographs of smiling, beautiful teens, and glossy cutouts of sunken-cheeked models stomping down runways. Cathy’s desk was cluttered with papers, makeup pots, and all manner of girlie tchotchkes—all except one thirteen-inch rectangle.
“What do you think went there?”
I brushed my hand over the blank spot. “A laptop.”
“Was that mentioned in the evidence collection?”
I tapped a finger against my bottom lip. “Her backpack, I think two textbooks, a pencil case, and a notebook. Spiral not viral.”
“We’ll want to ask Julia about that. Are you just going to stand there or help me look for some clues?”
I raised my eyebrows. “Why, Will Sherman, when did you become a detective?”
He held up an admonishing finger. “Private investigator. Angel Boy is the detective.”
“Noted,” I said. “Don’t you think it’s even a little telling that Fallon was friends with both the girls who went missing?”
“Well, there are four-hundred-eighty girls in the entire high school. Everyone was pretty much friends with everyone, right?”
I snatched a picture of Cathy and someone who must have been Kristy or Kelly from Cathy’s corkboard. Though she was shadowed in the background of the shot, I could still make out Fallon’s low brows, the menacing purse of her lips. “Everyone may have known each other, but everyone definitely wasn’t friends.”
Will slugged an arm over my shoulder and pulled me to him, ruffling my hair and kissing me gruffly on the top of my head. “Aw, like a wounded bird.”
I rolled my eyes and in my attempt to shove Will and his lame attempt at comforting me, I dropped the photo. It wafted to the ground, fluttering just under Cathy’s dust ruffle. I groaned, then dropped to hands and knees. I could feel Will move behind me.
“Did I ever mention—”
I swung my head and glared at him. “If you’re going to finish that sentence with ‘how much I love America,’ I’ve heard it. You seem to become incredibly patriotic whenever my ass is in the air.”
“Not just your ass, love.”
“Even better. Hey.” I swiped at the photo, then slid out the wooden box stashed behind it. “What’s this?”
It was a plain rectangular box about the size of a jewelry box but with absolutely no adornment. I flipped it open and sucked in a breath.
“Oh. Well, that casts a bit of new light, don’t you think?” Will said, pointing at the cluster of herbs in a plastic baggie. I picked up the bag, gave it a sniff, and frowned. “It smells like Thanksgiving.”
Will took the baggie from me, squinted, then sniffed. “It’s sage.”
“You know about herbs?”
“Don’t look so completely surprised. I can cook, you know.”
“You store your cleats in your oven.”
Will shrugged. “I said I can cook. I didn’t say that I do cook. So, is sage smoking the new black in SF? Or was our girl planning on cooking . . . secretly?”
I took the sage back. “No. Sage is used—especially bunched like this—to cleanse evil spirits from a room.” I put the baggie aside and picked out a few other trinkets—another grouping of dried herbs with flowers mixed in, two orange votive candles burned down to the tin, and a quarter-sized charm hanging from a length of black satin cording.
“What is that?” Will said, taking the amulet end of the necklace in his hand. I chewed the inside of my cheek, my heartbeat starting to thud. “It’s the symbol that was carved into the desk.” I turned the amulet around and showed it to Will.
“Another girl who thought she needed protection.”