his breakfast, startled. He looked back and forth between them, eyes wary, ears pointed, until Josie said, “It’s okay, boy.”
Noah held up both hands. “I’m sorry. I really was joking.”
“I know,” Josie said. “She’s just having a rough time.”
Noah’s brow furrowed. “Is she going to be okay? She’s kind of all over the place.”
“You don’t say,” Josie said with a sigh. She glanced at the microwave clock. She would have to start getting ready for work soon. “I’ll go talk to her. Can you take Trout for a walk?”
Noah followed her into the foyer where he grabbed Trout’s leash, the dog racing after him. Josie walked up the steps, her feet heavy. She had never seen Trinity like this. For a moment, she wondered if she should call their mother, Shannon. She had over three decades’ experience dealing with Trinity – a significant amount more than Josie – and all the ups and downs that life brought. But Trinity hadn’t gone home to their parents’ house to lick her wounds. She’d come to Josie. She heard Trinity moving around inside the guest room as her hand gripped the doorknob.
“Trinity?”
She pushed the door, but it didn’t open.
“Go away,” Trinity yelled.
Josie pushed at the door again, realizing there was something on the other side that was preventing her from opening it. “Did you block the door?”
More noises came from the room. The shuffling of papers, the sounds of muted thuds. Was she throwing her clothes around? Finally, the door swung open and Trinity stood before her, face ashen. Her blue eyes were wide with anger and something else. Before Josie could put her finger on it, Trinity said, “I’ll be out of your way in a few minutes.”
“Trinity, really,” Josie said. “You’re overreacting. You can stay here as long as you want. You know that. Noah was joking.”
“What is it they say about jokes?” Trinity shot back. “There’s always some truth behind them?”
Josie opened her mouth to speak again, but the state of the room behind Trinity stopped her cold. Her suitcase lay on the double bed, open, and piled full of clothes and shoes. A letter box sat on the dresser across from the bed, pages spilling out of it. Another letter box lay on its side on the floor, papers and other items—what looked like clothing, jewelry and office supplies bursting out of it. The television that Noah had mounted on the wall over the dresser was covered in colorful Post-it notes. Plastered across the cream-colored walls were papers and photographs. Josie tried to take it all in, but her mind couldn’t process it all at once. She pointed to a series of photos taped to the wall behind Trinity. “Is that a skeleton?”
Trinity turned away from her and scrambled across the room, tearing the pages from the walls and stuffing them into the letterbox on the dresser. “Never mind,” she told Josie.
Josie took a step into the room, nearly tripping over a Louis Vuitton stiletto. “This looks like a war room. What is all this?”
Trinity continued to rip the pages from the walls before Josie could get a read on what they were about. She thought she recognized pages from an autopsy report and some from what looked like a police report. She tried to read some of the words before Trinity snatched them away and stuffed them into the box. The words “psychological profile” flashed before her as Trinity took down the last of them, leaving small flags of torn paper in her path. Next, she went to the television and began to attack the Post-it notes. Josie only had a chance to read a few of the notes before those too were relegated to the overstuffed letter box.
Symmetry?
Mirror killings?
OCD?
“Trinity,” Josie said. “What the hell is all this?”
Trinity slapped the lid onto the box and went to the other box, stuffing its contents back inside before righting it. “I told you. None of your business.”
“Is this your big story? The story that’s going to get you back in the good graces of the network?”
Trinity didn’t answer as she scoured the floor for strewn shoes and clothes, tossing them into her suitcase.
Josie folded her arms across her chest and regarded her sister seriously. “Trinity. This looks like a murder case. Is that what it is? You’re trying to solve a cold case? Why don’t you get some sleep? You need it. You’ve been up all night. When I’ve finished my shift, you can bring your box downstairs and we’ll