Pressing her lips together, Philadelphia rose, walked to his dresser, opened the top left drawer. Carefully, she lifted some folded socks, then simply stared.
“It’s gone.”
“He may have moved it. He generally keeps some cash here. I don’t understand. He’s a good man.” She turned back, her hands linked together as if in prayer. “I don’t say that just because I’m his sister. I work with him, every day. I know him. He’s a good man.”
“Where would he go?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
“Where do you go to relax, to get away for a few days?”
“Oh, Lieutenant, we haven’t had a vacation in five years. Or six. I’m not sure. We’ve both gone on short retreats but they’re work related. What you might consider a conference of peers and coworkers.”
“We’ll need a list of where you’ve retreated. And I want you to look through the quarters. I want to know what he took.”
“There’s an explanation for all of this. An innocent one.”
“Let’s start with the lists. And I want to see DeLonna’s old room.”
“DeLonna? DeLonna Jackson?”
“That’s right. I want to see the room she had when Shelby left.”
“I . . . God, my head. I can’t remember. Matron will. She’ll remember. I’m sorry, I have a raging headache. Just let me get a blocker. Nash has some.”
She walked slowly into the little bath—shower only—opened a little cabinet.
Then burst into tears.
“He took his toiletry kit. Oh sweet God, Nash, where are you?”
“Take care of her, Peabody. I’ll take Shivitz.”
“Got it. Let’s sit down a minute, Ms. Jones. I’ve got a blocker. Let’s sit down, and I’ll get you some water.”
“This doesn’t make sense. None of this makes any sense.”
Wrong, Eve thought as she started out. It was making perfect sense.
She put out a BOLO, flipped the resentful Shivitz by suggesting she order a soother for her boss. With that humanitarian mission to distract her, Eve wandered to what had been DeLonna’s room.
It was tiny, held two narrow beds, two skinny dressers. But she noted the occupants had been allowed to add some touches to bring in a little personality. Posters of music groups, a couple colorful pillows, stuffed animals. Each of the girls had a wall platform by the bed for a minicomp or tablet, a lamp—some girl debris. One of them had switched out the plain white shade on the lamp for one with purple polka dots.
The window still only opened about nine inches. But a small, thin girl could have wiggled through. The climb down . . .
You’d have to be determined, she noted, to risk it with only bits of guttering and a few chancy toeholds in the decorative brick facade.
But she could see it, just as Lonna had described. The dark, the thudding heart, the fingers and toes gripping even as they trembled. Then that final drop, just long enough to make the knees and ankles sing on landing.
“What’s the what?”
Eve straightened from the window, shut it again, turned to Quilla. “What?”
And made the girl grin. “How come you’re in here? Randa and Choo share this room, and they’re chill. My roommate got fostered. She was a pain in the ass with that halo shining in my eyes all the time. I like having my own room, hope I can keep it. So what?”
“Do you actually ever go to class or session or whatever?”
“Sure. It’s all huh and whoa right now ’cause Ms. Jones is twisted, and Mr. Jones is wherever, and Matron’s completely whacked out. They all pretend everything’s just like always, but the vibes, man, they’re fucking bouncing. So what?”