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“Welcome to Higher Power Cleansing Center for Youths. I’m Matron Shivitz.”
Fits, Eve thought. “We need to speak with Jones and Jones.”
“Yes, yes, so you said. I’d love to be able to tell them what you’re here to speak to them about.”
“I bet,” Eve said and let the silence hang a moment. To the left the door held a plaque for Nashville Jones. The one to the right named his sister.
“It’s police business.”
“Of course! I’m afraid Mr. Jones is in session at this time, as is Ms. Jones. Ms. Jones should be free shortly. If you choose to wait, I’d love to bring you some tea.”
“We’ll wait. Hold the tea, thanks.”
Eve wandered deeper, looked through an open door where three kids worked comps.
“Our electronics area,” Shivitz explained. “Residents are allowed access to complete certain assignments, or research for assignments. Or if they’ve earned the privilege for free time.”
“How do they earn the privilege?”
“By completing tasks and assignments, participating in activities, earning merits through good work, kindness, generosity. And, of course, remaining clean in body and spirit.”
“How long have you worked here?”
“Oh, fifteen years, since the home opened. I began as an assistant matron and lifestyle coach, part-time. I’d be happy to arrange for a tour of our home, if you like.”
“Sounds good. Why don’t we—”
Eve broke off when a door shoved open and a girl barreled out of Philadelphia Jones’s office. Flushed, teary-eyed, her hair a swirl of purple and orange, she bolted for the stairs.
“Quilla! Inside pace, please.”
The girl shot Shivitz a furious look fired out of molten brown eyes, added a defiant middle finger salute, and stomped up the stairs.
“I guess she’s not earning privileges today.”
Shivitz only sighed. “Some young spirits are more troubled than others. Time, patience, proper discipline, and reward eventually open all doors.”
So did a few hard kicks, Eve thought, but Shivitz was already hurrying to the still-open office door.
“Excuse me, Ms. Jones, but there are two police officers here to see you and Mr. Jones. Yes, of course, of course.” She turned back to Eve and Peabody. “Won’t you come right in? I’ll let Mr. Jones know you’re here as soon as his session is over.”
Eve stepped over. She scanned what she thought of as a simple, straightforward office with a sitting area. The sitting area, she concluded, would be used for “sessions,” and visitors.
Child Protective Services, guardians, and the occasional cop, maybe a donor or two.
At a U-shaped work area, a woman with glossy brown hair pulled back in combs sat working on a computer. Her profile showed a strong, sharp chin, a generous mouth pressed now in a hard line, and the glint of a green eye.
“Just one moment, Officers. Please, have a seat,” she added without looking up.
Since she didn’t want to sit, as yet, Eve just walked toward the workstation, leaned against one of the two low-back chairs facing it.
“I apologize,” Philadelphia continued. “A little difficulty with my last session. Now. What can I do for you today?”
She swiveled around, faced Eve, a polite smile on her face.
Then she shot up out of the chair, a tall, rail-thin woman with horror in her eyes. She clutched at her throat.
“Someone’s been murdered. Someone’s dead!”
