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The guests before the Abbases had two young sons. That would mean Nate didn’t finish cleaning in here.
I remember the laundry note downstairs, and then I look at the dust on the dresser top.
Nate didn’t finish cleaning between the Abbases and the guests before them.
Because that’s when he was killed.
No, that isn’t possible. The Abbases arrived two days ago and…
And what? Someone would have reported Nate missing? Who? His alcoholic father who—if I’m remembering right—recently went into hospice?
I look around the room. Does that mean the signs of habitation aren’t from Sadie?
I walk back into the bathroom and touch the inside of the sink. No, the toothpaste smear hasn’t set, and the towel is still damp.
I head into the bedroom. Was the bed left like this from the last guests, their son “making his bed” by pulling up the coverlet?
As I walk over, I remember the laundry room. The alternate bedding for this room had been folded on the counter, freshly laundered. That means Nate had started working on this room. He made the bed and cleaned the bathroom but hadn’t gotten to the dresser.
I move to the top of the bed, looking for signs that Sadie had crawled in and slept part of the night. I tug back the coverlet—
I stumble back, hand slapping over my mouth.
There’s blood on the pillow. Blood and a hank of hair… with a torn chunk of scalp still attached.
EIGHT
I wheel, ready to run, and I smack into Garrett. His hands go to my shoulders to steady me, and all I see is him looming and something inside me goes wild, and I smack him away as I backpedal.
“Hey!” he says. “It’s me.”
“Yeah, that’d be the problem,” Jayla says as she runs in.
Madison is right behind her and whatever she sees on my face has her looking from me to Garrett, her brow furrowed.
“Bed,” I say. “On the pillow. There’s…” I swallow, unable to get the rest out.
“There’s what?” Garrett says.
I pivot and see the pillow. There’s nothing on it.
“No,” I whisper. “I saw—”
“Whoa!” Jayla is three strides past me, moving to the bed, Madison beside her, and her arms fly out to keep Madison back.
“Is that…?” Madison says.
I hurry over. The hank of hair is still there. When I dropped the coverlet, it partly covered it, and I couldn’t see it from the doorway.
My heart slows as I catch my breath.
Because anactualchunk of scalp is better than animaginarychunk of scalp?
I move up to the bed. As I bend to examine the hair, Garrett moves in too close to me, and I instinctively want to move away, but force myself to stay firm and focus on the hair. It’s strands of dark brown hair maybe four inches long.
Kit arrives then, coming up from the main level, where he’d been checking the access logs. Our eyes meet. Then he sees the pillow and gives a start.
“It’s too long to be Nate’s,” Madison says. “And it can’t be Sadie’s. She’s blond.”
