Page 44 of Random in Death
“Closet’s clear—no hidey-holes. She had some cash stuffed in one of her bags. Under a hundred. I didn’t find any T-shirts, no underwear in the closet. There’s no dresser.”
“Drawers under the bed. I haven’t looked there yet.”
“I’ve got it.”
She found tees, tanks, sweatshirts, shorts in one drawer, underwear—simple, pretty, but not overtly sexy—in another.
On the other side, there were notebooks.
For lyrics, for stray thoughts and ideas. Doodles, and the occasional sidebar.
Reed can be such a brat!
The ’rents are mega strict!! I’m FOURTEEN!!!! It’s just one tat, ffs! But all I get is the big NO. Ugh!
She’d obviously gone back to revisit lyrics, thoughts, sidebars, as she’d added to them.
Sixteen today! And I still want that damn tat. Two more years!!
Eve settled down on the floor, flipping through the notebooks, hoping a clue jumped into her lap.
While she searched, Peabody switched the music.
A kind of ballad, solo, with the dead girl’s voice as clear as bells, pure as angels.
Glancing over, she saw Peabody’s eyes had gone shiny as she searched the desk. She could tell her to cut the music, Eve thought, but that voice, the heart in it helped her—helped them—see the girl they stood for.
She found other quick notes. Leelee got her hair cut. Chelsea got blue highlights. Everybody got mani-pedis.
She went out to the vids with someone named Jay.
I like when he kissed me good night. It felt all mmm in my stomach. Maybe we’ll go out again sometime. But music’s first!
Everything she read confirmed statements. No serious relationship, nobody who pushed or pressured, no one she blew off—that she wrote of or realized.
And in the final book, she found a final note.
Tonight’s the night!!!!! I can’t believe it’s finally here. I worked my BUTT off on the demo for Jake and the guys. It’s mag, I just know it. I must find a way to get it to him. Oh, it’s going to be the abso-ult! Seeing Ave A in person!!!!! Woo! I love them so much!! (esp Jake!) I helped L and C pick out their outfits, and they helped me with mine. We are going to look so iced tonight!! I hope I don’t blubber and act like a wheeze when I meet Jake and give him the demo. I want him to know I’m a serious musician and songwriter. It’s going to be the best night of my life!
Eve put the book back, took the next drawer.
The junk drawer. Guitar picks, packs of guitar strings, bottles of half-used nail polish, pencils, markers, empty notebooks, scissors, sunshades, and other debris.
No secrets, no threatening messages.
She got up to take the bathroom.
“I’m not finding anything, Dallas. Her music’s extensive and organized. She’s got plenty of tunes from groups and artists she liked—a hell of a collection, really—and some pretty technical review notes on some of them. Some vids of her practicing, like performing in here. Trying different styles, trying to work up like a signature, she called it.”
“Copy some of those. I’ll take a look later. Emails, vid calls through the comp?”
“Nothing much, but her age group lives by the ’link. I’m nearly done here.”
“Just the bathroom.”
As she went through it, Eve told Peabody about the notebooks, the quick comments in it. And the last Jenna had written.
In the bathroom she found mascara in every shade imaginable and beyond. Enough lip dye to turn an entire building any shade of pink. Eye shadows, liners, something called highlighter, cheek color, and more. And the stuff used to set the stuff, the stuff used to take off the stuff. Stuff to put on after taking off the stuff.