“I’ll go with you.” Both guys said it in unison and both immediately bristled.
“Grace!” one of the perimeter officers called out to Alex and I could see the annoyance in Alex’s eyes as they cut toward the officer, then to me, and finally narrowed and set on Will.
“Don’t let anything happen to her.” He turned on his heel and the cold air at his exit—and in his tone—highlighted the blaze of anger in my gut.
“Hey,” I yelled, pushing past Will. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”
I could hear Will snicker behind me. “Anyone,” I said, turning on Will. “There are two girls missing right now and there could have been a third. I need you to stop beating your chests or measuring your balls or whatever it is you think you’re doing and start focusing on this case. Girls are missing. Girls are dead. Alex, go see what the officer wants and see what physical evidence your guys have come up with. Will, come with me.”
I could see Alex’s nostrils flare, the little muscle in his jaw that let me know he was angry, jumping. Will opened his mouth to say something—smart, I guessed—and I held up a finger. “And you shut your trap.”
I stomped up Fallon’s stairs, Will in tow, and was too angry to comment or stand in slack-jawed awe when I found Fallon’s bedroom. It was easily the size of my apartment, and likely as big as Will’s and mine combined, with an attached bathroom stuffed with more frilly scents and loofah sponges than an entire Bath and Body Works megastore.
“Damn.”
The walls were painted a pretty rose pink and glittery fairy wings hung from the four-poster bed. There were crowns trailing ribbons and silky ballet shoes and a heavy pile snow-white rug.
“It looks like My Little Pony exploded in here,” I said.
Will flicked a set of the fairy wings. “My Little Pony and her fairy friends.”
“Not exactly what I expected from Fallon.”
“What did you expect?”
“Something darker. More of a German dungeon type theme.”
“I hear that sells big at Pottery Barn Kids.”
I pulled open some dresser drawers and poked at the neat stacks of starched white blouses and a carefully folded navy-blue sweater. The drawers Will sifted through held little bits of neon and leopard-print skirts or tube tops or headbands—it was hard to tell.
“Well, it doesn’t look like she’s missing any shirts, and there wasn’t a sweater in the fireplace.” I bit my lip and went to the closet, pulling back double doors to expose the second-largest clothing collection (Nina’s being the first) that I had ever seen outside of a retail establishment. One whole section was a sea of blues—four navy jumpers, four regulation plaid skirts, every manner of high school booster wear, and the whole thing repeating in a sea of greys. I groaned.
“For all we know this could be every uniform she has and the one in the fireplace could be someone else’s, or this is all she has minus one.” I nodded in the general direction of the dining room.
“The one in the fireplace was a size two. At least the skirt part.”
“Yeah,” I said, glad my snarled lip was hidden amongst the plaid. “Just like mine.”
“Wait,” Will said, pausing. “Did you say she’s short a sweater?”
I shrugged. “There was only one in there. So, maybe yes, maybe no.”
“Didn’t your little stinky friend find—”
My eyes widened. “A sweater. Someone had tried to flush a sweater down the toilet.” I paused, my previous revelation falling flat. “Why would someone try to flush a sweater down the toilet?”
Will pursed his lips. “You didn’t think to ask that at the time?”
“Well, neither did you.”
He held his hands up in obvious surrender. “Touche.”
Alex came up the stairs and knocked on the doorframe. I stiffened when I saw him, immediately feeling the annoyance well up inside of me.
“We’re still working in here,” I said, going into my best CSI stance.
He crossed the room to me and held out a Ziploc evidence bag. “Do you recognize this?”
I took the bag, tentatively, somehow certain it was a trap. His fingertips brushed mine and I shuddered—I had never remembered his hands being so cold. When I looked up at him, I realized just how tired he looked—heavy bags under his eyes made the crystal blue of his irises seem washed out and dull. The usually rosy skin over his cheeks seemed papery and sallow. His lips were dry and cracked.
“Are you okay?” I whispered.
Alex just shook the bag in my palm. I snapped my attention to it.
“It’s a Lock and Key pin,” I said. “Where did you get this?”
“Romero found it. It was attached to the collar of the shirt in the fireplace.”
Will and I exchanged a glance. “Fallon wasn’t in Lock and Key,” I said. “But Kayleigh was.”