And what is lying on Odette’s pillow? I step closer. Another plastic bag. Small. Maybe from the cookbook. No. I haven’t seen it before. It’s clouded with brown-red stains. I should call Rusty, right? This bag could be evidence that needs to be preserved. It feels light as a seashell. It feels like a trick. I tell myself don’t as I dump what’s inside onto the soft, white cloud of Odette’s bed.
A new piece of evidence is left there, clearly by someone who snuck in to do it and could still be around - but instead of grabbing it and running, you stop to examine. Girl, no survival instincts and at this point I don't care who the murderer is or if they wipe out this entire town.
