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The only thing of interest that Theo found in the kitchen was a glass pipe that had clearly been used for meth; it still had a faintly burned smell, and it made the hair on the back of Theo’s arms stand up. He left it where it was, in one of the wobbly drawers, and made his way back to the bedroom.
It was a sty: dirty plates and bowls were stacked on the dresser, alongside clothes and accessories and tangled charging cables. Garbage littered the floor—empty bottles, plastic wrappers, Starbucks cups. The bed was unmade, and to judge by the ash tray and the lingering reek of weed, at least one of them enjoyed a jay before bed. He began working his way through the filth. He wished he had gloves.
From the hallway came Auggie’s cry of dismay and then, “Theo, this bathroom is disgusting.”
“You can take the other bedroom instead; I’ll do it.”
“No, I’ll do it.” The faint sounds of Auggie’s search came: the sound of a cabinet door opening, the click of plastic, the rattle of what Theo imagined was the shower door sliding loosely in its track. Auggie’s voice came as a surprise. “Remember when you made me clean the bathroom?”
“I didn’t make you clean the bathroom.” Theo hesitated. “Ok, I maybe didn’t handle that too well. In hindsight.”
“I’d never been woken up before by someone putting a bucket of cleaning supplies on the bed.”
A chuckle broke out of Theo, and Auggie laughed a moment later. Theo gave up on the dresser and started kicking through the clothes on the floor. Nothing there except more trash—he found one of those stupid tumblers Auggie wanted, the kind that cost forty dollars and were just a glorified white girl cup with a lid, under one pile, and he wondered if Auggie would object to taking that one instead of spending good money on yet another trendy drink container. Then he worked the bed, and under the mattress he found almost a whole ounce of meth in a plastic baggie. He checked the other bedroom, located at the far end of the trailer, and found clothes—clothes in the closet, clothes on the floor, piles of new clothes with the tags still on them. And a green screen. And a ring light. He recognized, from Auggie, the basics of a studio.
When he got back to the bathroom, Auggie was prying on the outlet covers, testing to see if any were loose.
“Normal stuff,” Auggie said, waving a hand at the plastic prescription vials in the cabinet. “Are you going to have to start Lipitor when you turn forty?”
“I’m going to ignore that.”
“Do you remember you were really focused on the grout that one day? You made me use a brush and everything.”
“I’m going to ignore that too.”
Auggie gave him a goofy grin. “What’d you find?”
“Meth. And a pipe in the kitchen. And it smells like they smoke weed.”
“Everyone smokes weed.” But then Auggie’s voice changed, and he said, “Except responsible adult types.”
“Uh huh.”
“Like us.”
Theo scratched his beard. Then he said, “God damn it.”
Auggie sighed and nodded. “Nothing, right?”
For a moment, Theo wanted to argue the point. He wanted this whole—well, escapade, to put it in politest terms—to have been worth something. But there was no sign that Merlin had been behind the attack on them the night before, no indication that he had the training or skills or, if Theo were being frank, the physical capacity for a fight that had brought Jem and Theo, even working together, to the brink of defeat. He thought about the juiced-up look of Merlin’s face, the swagger in how he carried himself. The height was right, if what Theo remembered of the attacker the night before could be trusted, but nothing else seemed to line up. And there was nothing else here that might point them in a helpful direction—no sign that Leon had ever lived here, much less of where he might have gone or what might have happened to him.
Theo shook his head. “Nothing.”
21
On the drive back to Emery and John-Henry’s house, Auggie said, “It’s ok.”
Theo had been silent since they’d left the trailer.
“He was scared, right?”
Theo looked out the windshield, face set.
“When we told him Ambyr had talked to us, he freaked out.” Auggie tried to inject enthusiasm into the words. “That means something.”
“It means he has a teenage son who disappeared, and, whether Leon was emancipated or not, he’s afraid his trailer-park-daddy lifestyle is about to come to a screeching halt.”
“Ok, first of all, you never get bitchy, and I’m absolutely living for this.”
