Page 59 of Diem

“Penny—“

She stalks to the door and reluctantly I follow, glancing around warily. What if whoever did this is out there?

What if they’re watching me right now? Shit.

Penny slashes through the tape like it’s no big deal. Meanwhile, I can’t help but wonder if we’re committing a crime.

When she pushes through the door, I step in behind her, spying the blowup bed still on the floor with dozens of candles surrounding it.

Black dust covers the surfaces and I step away from the wall where a macabre handprint rests before it occurs to me that this substance was used to look for fingerprints.

So, whose palm is on the wall?

I avoid looking at the blood stains on the floor as visions of Dixie dancing in the candlelight dance through my head.

I miss you so much, friend.

Penny raises the half-filled blow-up bed and peeks beneath it before rifling around the detritus of many a party left behind.

Frozen, I watch from the doorway fighting off the panic squeezing my lungs. We shouldn’t be here.

“Let’s check upstairs,” she says, brushing past me, and I turn to watch her go.

“Penny…? What are we looking for?”

“Anything that has to do with Kenny,” she mutters from the landing.

With a last glance around the bottom floor, I ascend the stairs slowly, saying, “Wouldn’t the cops have already found it?”

“Not if they don’t know what they’re looking for.”

“And we do?” I mumble, stuttering to a stop behind her.

All the hair on my nape stands on end and I grab her arm. This room is lived in. There’s a bed. A lamp. A fucking rug.

Someone was staying here. Did they spy on us while we partied? Is it him? The murderer.

“We should go,” I say but she brushes me off and steps further into the room.

Backing away, I grab the door jamb, every particle of my being telling me to go and now.

She drops to her knees and lifts the mattress, pulling free a series of papers that flutter from her hand and drop to the floor.

Kneeling down, I join Penny who picks up one of the pink notes. The spicy scent of vanilla tickles my nose and an image of Dixie rises. That was her favorite perfume.

Penny opens one of the letters and spreads it out on the floor. Dixie’s scrawling loops and swirls assault me, and I sit back, covering my mouth. There’s no way the police didn’t see these. Does that mean they were put hereafterthey searched everything?

“Penny…” I rasp when she picks up another letter and a picture falls free.

I pick it up and stare, the image burning my retinas. It’s Dixie with a man, but the picture is blurred as though he was moving when it was taken. She has a pretty smile on her face, but her eyes are dark with something I can’t identify.

Whoever is in the picture with her is tall. That’s all I can see, which I determined from his position before her. Dixie was small and petite. This dick almost envelops her with his size. He’s also wearing a hat, I note with frustration before the image slides from my fingers and flutters to the floor.

“What was that?” I ask, whipping around when I hear the distinct sound of the old wooden door downstairs opening.

Backing away, I look around frantically while Penny shoves the letters under the bed and looks up at me with wide eyes.

Fuck. Did we just walk into a trap?

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