Page 129 of Concealed in Death

“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?”

“What is we want to find Mr. Jones.”

“You’re not going to find him in here. He mostly handles the boys’ side, and Ms. Jones handles us. They wouldn’t want to see anybody naked who didn’t have the same parts.”

She threw her arms up in the air, opened eyes and mouth wide. “Scandal!”

Eve figured the girl should give up the idea of being a writer and try acting. “The staff follow that line?”

“Abso-complete. Sometimes some of the older kids sneak in a bang, but it takes mad plans and mega luck. If Ms. Jones found out, she’d dump all kinds of shit work on them, figuring if they’re busy they won’t think about banging. As if. But if anybody from the staff tried anything, she’d rip ’em up like the lion ripped her bro. Fierce.”

“You know about the brother?”

“Everybody does. There’s like this plaque deal in the Quiet Room—you know, in his honor and all.”

“The Quiet Room?”

“They don’t call it a church or a chapel deal, but it is.” She wandered as she talked, poking into the occupants’ things. Since Eve would’ve done exactly the same in her place, she didn’t comment. “No talking, no e-stuff. You’re just supposed to sit and think or meditate or pray. Whatever.”

“No” was all Eve said when Quilla started to slip some sort of hair clip in her pocket.

The girl only shrugged, put it back. “Anyway, Mr. Jones didn’t kill anybody, that’s for solid. He doesn’t even hit or push or even yell. When you screw up you get this.”

She mimed a sternly disapproving look.

“Or this.”

Now one of strained patience that slid into sorrowful disapproval.

“And says stuff like: ‘My dear Quilla, perhaps you need twenty minutes in the Quiet Room to consider your behavior, how it affects you and those around you.’ Ms. Jones is more direct, you know? Screw up, the next thing you know you’re scrubbing toilets. Which is way, way gross. Anyway, he’ll lecture your brains out, and she’ll just hand you a bucket or something. Mostly the bucket’s better. So he didn’t kill anybody, and especially those old dead girls, but something is bogus.”

In a few sentences, the kid had given her a pretty good sense of house and sibling dynamics.

So she’d happily listen to the rest of the flood.

“What’s bogus?”

“Something.” She admired herself in various poses and expressions in the little mirror on the wall. “Since the day you first came he’s been spending a lot of time in the Quiet Room, and more time in his quarters. More than usual. And he’s taking a lot of walks. Once he walked all the way to the old place. It had the police tape on it and stuff. He just stood across the street and stared at it. Weirdo-city.”

“How do you know he walked there?”

“I followed him. If you’re quick, you can get out the side door when they’re making deliveries. I’m quick, and I wanted to see. And he talks on his new ’link a lot, quiet, so you can’t hear even when you try.”

“What new ’link?”

“He bought one when he was walking. A toss-away.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeeeah. So something’s bogus, but he didn’t kill the dead girls because of the halo. I think he feels really bad about them being dead, especially since he knew a couple of them.”

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