Her Last Day (Jessie Cole #1)(32)

“Your daughter’s room would be a good place to start,” Jessie said. She followed him down a narrow hallway. Walls on both sides were covered with an eclectic group of pictures. The frames were made of wood, shells, paper—all different sizes—and most of them were tilted at odd angles. Mostly school pictures, and a few of Arlo and his daughter when she was younger.

Jessie stopped to take a better look at his daughter. In almost every photo, Zee had a strange look on her face. Lost? Worried? It was hard to tell.

Arlo stood at the door at the end of the hallway, his arms crossed. Gone was the desperate and accommodating man of yesterday. Today Arlo appeared impatient and agitated.

Jessie peered into the laundry room as she passed by. Everything in the home appeared neat, nothing out of the ordinary. That was, until she walked into Zee’s room.

The walls were covered with macabre pictures of skeletons with bloodshot eyeballs hanging by a thread from their sockets. Above the headboard was a poster of a cemetery, bloodied body parts scattered about like debris after a night of strong winds.

She looked to her feet, where a trail of ants had been hand-painted across the entirety of the wood floor, continuing up one side of the wall and across a stark white windowsill. The ants looked so real, she knelt down to brush her fingers over the smooth wood. On a low table beneath a curtained window were jars filled with incense and herbs. She straightened and walked that way. Bottles of potions labeled “Eye of Doe” and “Dragon Fire” sat in front of a stack of tarot cards. All of it contrasted with the stuffed teddy bear and the pink comforter spread neatly across the bed.

“It can be a little overwhelming,” Arlo said.

That was putting it mildly, Jessie thought.

“She’s fond of her tarot cards, and when she’s not making potions, she likes to do readings and spells.”

“Did she draw these pictures?” Jessie asked.

“Yes. She’s quite talented. She enjoys drawing and painting images that shock people.”

“I can see that. Where’s her mother?”

“She died of cancer when Zee was six months old.”

“I’m sorry.”

Arlo said nothing.

Jessie couldn’t stop thinking about the blood she’d seen on Arlo’s thumb. She went to the notebook sitting on the bedside table and held it up. “Do you mind?”

“Go ahead. She’s been writing in journals for as long as I can remember. Most are filled with recipes for potions or spells.”

Jessie turned the pages, noticed that the dates coincided with the time right before Zee went missing. “Mind if I take this with me?”

“As long as I get it back when you’re done.”

“No problem,” Jessie said. “I also need a recent picture of Zee. Do you have one?”

He nodded before disappearing for no more than thirty seconds, then returned with a photo of Zee. Jessie noticed that Zee wasn’t smiling.

“She wasn’t happy with me that day,” Arlo offered, reading her mind. “But it’s a good likeness of her.”

Jessie slipped the photo into the journal, then walked to the closet and slid the mirrored door to the left. Dozens of black T-shirts were lined up on hangers along with black pants, black skirts, and a black leather jacket. Shoes and boots were lined up in neat rows on the floor. All black.

With Arlo’s permission, she searched through dresser drawers and a vintage chest. Under the bed she found a shoe box. She placed it on the top of the bed and pulled off the lid. It was filled with Polaroid pictures and dried flower petals.

Arlo came closer and reached for a picture that showed Zee sitting in the middle of a field of cut grass. The smile on his daughter’s face said it all. She was happy.

Jessie sifted through pictures of Zee on a swing at a park, on a retaining wall looking down into the camera lens, and sitting cross-legged while taking a whiff of a single rose.

Arlo gestured at one of the pictures and said, “That looks like it was taken at Rainbow Park, a few blocks from here.” He frowned. “I wonder who took the picture.”

Jessie handed Arlo a close-up of his daughter. “When would you guess this might have been taken?”

He used his right hand to hold the picture. It was definitely blood on his thumb. She looked away.

“Two weeks ago,” Arlo said. “Zee cut her bangs, straight across, close to her hairline, as you can see in the pictures. My guess is that these were taken within days of her haircut, or maybe even the same day.” He put the picture back in the box.

“You told me she didn’t have any friends and that she was a loner.”

Arlo looked through the contents of the box, a deep frown contorting his features. “Zee and I have always been close.” He rubbed his temple. “Or at least I thought we were. Obviously I haven’t been paying close enough attention to what she’s been doing. I’m at a loss here.”

“I’d like to take these things with me, too, if you don’t mind?”

He nodded. “As long as you take good care of everything. Like the journal, I’d like it all back, you know, after you find her.”

“Of course,” Jessie told him. “What happened to your hand?” she asked, unable to let it go. “It looks like you’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing,” he said, avoiding eye contact. “I was cutting some fruit before you came. I must have nicked myself.”