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“Gross!” My brother made a disgusted face. “What are we looking for?”
“Anything that can give us a clue about who she really is. I’ll search the drawers and closet. Do you think you can hack into her computer?”
“Elementary, my dear Watson.” His English accent was perfect—as good as Tanya’s—and I couldn’t help chuckling.
With my brother at her desk, I began my search, starting with the chest of drawers. One by one, I went through them, each one more appalling than the one before. Scrunched-up underwear and mismatched socks were squashed between tops, jeans, and pajamas. Nothing was neatly folded or stacked. As I dug through the clutter, the scent of her perfume wafted up my nose. The same sickening floral one my sister used to wear. Ugh!
With each drawer, I was losing hope. I was hoping to find a passport, her student visa, or her British Airways boarding pass. Even a receipt from Heathrow. Something. Nope. Nada. Maybe she kept that kind of stuff in her backpack, which, unless it was in the closet or under the bed, wasn’t in the room. My guess was she probably took it with her. For a second, I thought about my totaled Jeep and silently cursed her, then let it go.
Disappointed, I moved on to her night table. A half-drunk can of Diet Coke sat on top of it along with the CliffsNotes version of Jane Eyre and a framed photo of her with my mother and father. Oddly, not one photo of her with her father.
I pulled open the single, deep drawer. My eyes widened. Next to a box of Trident gum stood four oversized white plastic bottles, all labeled with batch numbers and names I struggled to pronounce.
Haloperidol…Aripiprazole…Quetiapine…Risperidone.
I twisted off the childproof caps. Inside them were different color pills, each bottle about halfway full.
“Hey, Sherlock. Come over here. You’re gonna want to see this.”
Will joined me and examined the bottles and their contents. “I think they’re meds.”
“Do you know what they’re for?”
“No idea.”
“Should we confiscate them?” I asked.
“No, that would be bad. Take photos of them with your phone and we’ll google them later.”
Once again, Will was the smart one. I agreed with him. “That’s why you’re Sherlock, and I’m Watson.”
“Don’t cut yourself short. You’re a good Watson.”
“Thanks. Have you gotten into her computer?”
“I just did.”
“Have you found anything?”
“Yes. It’s registered to a Mary C. Burton.”
“That’s weird.”
“Indeed.”
“Have you looked her up?”
“Not yet. I can do that later. First, I want to check out what’s on her desktop and try to get into her email.”
I gave him a noogie. “Go back to work, Sherlock!”
He scuttled back to the computer while I pulled out my phone and snapped photos of the meds. Returning the last bottle to the drawer, I spotted something under the box of Trident. I slipped out the slim yellow package and recognized it immediately. Ortho Tri-Cyclen. Birth control pills, the same ones I used. A three-month supply. Our family doctor, Dr. Lefferman, had prescribed them to me to mitigate my menstrual cramps and breakouts, though I knew they’d come in handy later in the year when I said goodbye to my virginity. I looked more closely at the Rx label. They, too, had been prescribed by Dr. Lefferman… on September 7, ten days after her arrival.
Carefully, I opened the box and slipped out the contents. She’d gone through two of the blister sheets and only had one left. I thought back. I’d never heard Tanya complain about period cramps to either me or my mother. And her complexion was flawless. Then it hit me like a brick to my head. Maybe she was taking them for another reason. She’d stolen and demolished my car. Was the next thing on her agenda to steal my boyfriend and demolish our relationship? While I’d told her to her face to stay away from him, I couldn’t trust her one bit. For all I knew, she’d already slept with him. Bile rose to my throat as I put back the pills, making sure they were exactly where I found them so she wouldn’t know I’d ransacked her room.
That’s if she comes back.
Maybe the boyfriend-slash-car thief was on her deathbed. Ha! It would serve her right! The wicked thought calmed me down and, with a fortifying breath, I ambled over to the walk-in closet. Like the rest of the room, it was a major disaster area. Like a Category 4 hurricane had blown through it. I was beginning to think her bedroom needed more than our housekeeper, Blanca. A federal disaster relief organization was more like it.
