You Had Me at Halo(45)

It was in a ghastly mix of blues and violets and the artist had been very conservative with the way they’d depicted Rochelle’s rounded belly and fat ass. Holly started to giggle and was almost tempted to grab a marker pen and add a moustache and some glasses, but remembered Gemma’s warning. There was no time to muck around.

She hurried up the stairs and into Rochelle’s room. It was full of frills and flowers and Holly wondered if some of Vince’s testosterone was rubbing off on her as she glanced around in distaste.

It didn’t take her long to spot the Chloe bag, which had been casually abandoned onto the floor. Holly immediately bent down and could barely stop her fingers from shaking as she unzipped it and rattled the contents out in front of them. Make-up, hairbrush, more make-up, ticket stubs, umbrella...

No, no, no. This wasn’t right. Holly checked again but there still wasn’t any sign of motion sickness pills or even a diary with the specific details of everything leading up to the event. Holly tried to hide her disappointment. She had been so certain it would be in the bag.

“I’m sorry,” Vince said but Holly just shrugged as she started to scoop everything up and thrust them back in.

“It’s no big deal. We still have the rest of the room to search, anyway.”

As soon as the bag was once again zipped up, Holly headed for the dressing table. There were a ridiculous number of photographs of the last Baker Colwell day out and Holly couldn’t help but notice Todd was in nearly every picture. What a slut, she thought, while discreetly slipping one of them into her back pocket. After all, he was Holly’s boyfriend, not Rochelle’s. And besides, he looked so cute and preppy in his dark jeans and white polo shirt.

Vince made a pained noise from the back of his throat, which reminded Holly she was actually putting Todd’s picture in Vince’s pocket. He could destroy it later she supposed.

She finished with the dresser and moved on to under the bed, but again there was nothing but boxes of winter clothes and a ridiculous number of stuffed animals.

Holly wiped her brow. She was running out of places to look and she couldn’t bear to think about what would happen if she didn’t find the proof she needed. Except she knew exactly what would happen. She would just been seen as yet another statistic who chickened out of life and killed herself.

Well she couldn’t fail, because she didn’t want to be that person—the sort of person who committed suicide; the sort of person her beloved father would have been ashamed of.

For a moment Holly froze. Where had that thought come from? That was the problem with being dead. It gave her far too much time to think. She turned toward the wardrobe with renewed vigor.

“You know,” Vince said half an hour later. “I don’t think we’re going to find anything.”

“Don’t say that. We can’t give up.”

“Holly, you’ve opened up every tube of lipstick and looked in the pockets of every jacket.”

“She could’ve hidden them,” Holly defended.

“In a can of hairspray?”

“It’s possible,” Holly muttered, but she knew he was right. They had been here for ages and apart from knowing Rochelle’s panties were in as bad taste as her clothes, they hadn’t learnt anything.

Before she could decide what to do next, Vince’s phone rang.

“Hide,” Gemma snapped from down the other end. “She’s back early for some reason and she’s on her way up. Right. Now.”

“Shit.” Holly swore as she started to dive under the bed just as she heard the front door open. She desperately tried to wriggle underneath before she finally worked out what the problem was.

“This is no good,” she wailed. “Why are you so tall?”

“Sorry, next time we’re breaking into someone’s house I’ll put on my short legs. Come on, we’ll have to go in the wardrobe.”

She managed to squirm her way back out and throw herself into the wardrobe just seconds before the bedroom door opened.

Holly sucked in her breath, but thankfully Rochelle was on the phone and didn’t seem to be aware that her bedspread was rumpled or that the wardrobe door was still slightly ajar.

“No, you hang up,” Rochelle said with an annoying giggle. “No...you. I mean it, Tiger. I’ve got to go and get a shower unless you want me to be late...oh, behave. Of course I’m not going to tell you what color my bra is.”

Holly had to stuff her fist in her mouth to stop from making a vomiting noise.

But could she just say—Gross.

Had she really come all the way back from heaven to listen to Rochelle Jackson have phone sex?

At least on the bright side it meant Rochelle obviously wasn’t that interested in trying to flirt with Todd if she already had a mystery boyfriend on the go. She must see if Gemma could find out who it was.

So how long do you think she’s going to be? Vince shifted uncomfortably in the cramped space.

Well, she doesn’t seem in a hurry to hang up from Tiger. Holly sighed. I guess we should just talk amongst ourselves so that we don’t have to listen.

I’ll second that.

Okay, so...hey, what are you doing? Holly silently demanded as Vince started to wriggle his leg.

I’ve got a cramp. Can’t you feel it?

Holly paused for a minute. She’d been trying hard not to notice every aspect of Vince’s physical body since it somehow seemed a bit intrusive, but now that he mentioned it, she could feel his right calf muscle was tightened. He gave his leg another wriggle and Holly tried to ignore how firm his thigh was. She had the feeling that if someone had been thrust into her body, she would be found wanting since most nights The Rich and the Restless won the battle over the gym.