Nine Liars (Truly Devious, #5)(49)

“No,” Stevie said. David was there, but so was Izzy. Stevie swept the camera around so Dr. Quinn could see.

“We’re working together,” Stevie said. “That’s Izzy. Angela is her aunt. She studies with David.”

A long pause.

“I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this topic over the next few days,” Dr. Quinn finally said. “And maybe we’ll incorporate some Tudor history into your program.”

“Definitely,” Stevie said with a nod. Her lips were dry, and her smile was flat.

“Do you think she actually believed that?” David asked when the call ended.

“I think she’s not sure. Probably not. But I’m not doing anything wrong by sitting around with some history papers, so she can’t say anything.”

Dr. Quinn was gone, and the moment passed. Stevie was just a weirdo sitting in a pile of someone else’s old homework.

“Does this tell you anything?”

Izzy had a hopeful look, like she had expected Stevie to have found her aunt inside one of the boxes.

It didn’t. None of it did. What the hell else was there? Just piles of history, dirty dishes, a hungry cat. What did detectives do now?

The partner. Of course.

“Who else is in her life?” Stevie asked. “Was she seeing anyone?”

“She has an ex-husband. His name is Marvin. He’s fine. He’s a journalist. He lives in Hong Kong. They haven’t seen each other in years—not one of those angry things. They just broke up because he was always traveling the world for the BBC and she was here.”

“Anyone else?”

Izzy shook her head.

“What about your family? Angela is your mom’s sister?”

“Oh.” Izzy compressed her lips together a bit. “Yes, but my mum died when I was a baby. I’ve gotten closer to Angela since I moved to London. My dad wouldn’t know where she was. I’m the only one who would know. I don’t know anyone she works with. It’s just me and her friends.”

Stevie pinched her nose and ran her hand down her face. She smelled of dust and old paper and she was out of ideas.

“I think we can put this stuff back,” she said.

They attempted to restore the box room to the way they’d found it and descended the ladder, then went back downstairs. Stevie wandered in circles for a moment, looking around the living room. What could she learn? What did she see? The bricked-up fireplace with the beautiful art deco tiles. The books. The rich patterns of the wallpaper. The smell of the old food and cat litter.

She had forgotten the most important thing.

“The trash,” Stevie said.

“I suppose we should take it out.”

“No,” Stevie said. “We need the trash.”

They returned to the kitchen and turned on all the lights. There was a silver step can in the corner, as well as two recycling bins. There was a pair of rubber washing gloves resting on the sink. Stevie grabbed these, then looked in the cabinet under the sink. Trash bags. She pulled out the roll and ripped a few off.

“Here,” she said to Izzy and David, “spread these out.”

The kitchen floor was soon covered in slippery plastic trash bags.

She picked up the silver step can. The trash had been festering for several days, so it had developed a pungent hum—a sour stink that made Stevie scrunch her nose involuntarily. She pulled out the bag and dumped the contents onto the floor. She did the same with the recycling, making a separate mound a few feet away.

“Well,” David said, “if she comes home right now, this will be nice for her.”

Stevie put on the kitchen gloves, then got on her knees and started picking through it. Trash was archaeology. Trash always told the truth. The recycling for a start. It was all clean. Everything had been sorted correctly. Angela took lids off and broke down boxes. There were two empty wine bottles. Seven empty sparkling-water bottles. At least a dozen containers from ready-made meals from the grocery store: premade soup, lasagnas and salads in plastic containers. A single person’s diet. Someone busy.

The trash must have been emptied recently because there was very little in the bag. Some plastic shrink-wrap from a package. A chewed-up shoelace. Two receipts from Boots, which was the major drugstore chain. Angela had had a cold recently. She’d purchased a decongestant and throat drops, as well as body wash and a toothbrush. Nothing strange.

Stevie lifted the lid of the compost bin and dumped the food scraps and piles of used tea bags onto an empty corner of plastic.

“She drinks a lot of tea,” Stevie said, nudging around the disgusting pile. “She doesn’t finish most of her meals.”

Doorknob had been interested in these proceedings and chose this moment to make a move. He saw a piece of old chicken, snagged it, and ran off.

“No!” Izzy said. “Doorknob, no. You’ll be sick. . . .”

She hurried off after the cat. David squatted down and looked at Stevie from across the pile of garbage.

“Hey,” David said. “We go on the best dates, huh?”

He said it mirthlessly. Stevie nodded.

“What do you think?” he said in a low voice, craning his head to make sure Izzy was out of earshot. But there was no worry—Izzy could clearly be heard running around the living room calling for Doorknob.