Thyme to Live: A We Sisters Three Mystery Read Online Free Page B

my pantry as a shoe rack.
    My gaze traveled over the living space. A tired-looking lumpy sofa and a pale blond IKEA coffee table faced a computer monitor that probably doubled as Helena’s television. A print from the Museum of Modern Art hung over the couch. Some magazines and junk mail spilled off the coffee table in a pile.
    “Helena?” Victor called. His voice wobbled and cracked.
    We listened for a moment. No answer.
    “‘Lena?” he repeated in a louder, stronger voice.
    Silence.
    He glanced at me and inclined his head toward the short hallway that no doubt led to the bathroom and bedroom. I tried to swallow but my throat was suddenly paper-dry. I nodded.
    He reached for my hand as we inched forward. I was surprised by the gesture, but I welcomed it. I was about ready to jump out of my skin, and his warm, strong hand gripping mine provided instant security.
    We reached the tiny bathroom. The door was open, and we stepped inside. It was standard-issue. White subway tile on the floor and walls. A cracked porcelain sink with nowhere for a girl to place her toiletries. Helena, or some previous occupant of the apartment, had combatted the lack of counter space by hanging a small glass shelf under the mirrored medicine cabinet. A toothbrush holder with one lone toothbrush, a hairbrush, and a half-empty tube of toothpaste sat on the shelf. If Helena was anything like me, the narrow medicine cabinet would be filled to capacity with creams, lotions, pills, and potions, jammed inside in a jumble that threatened to spill out every time the door swung open.
    I surveyed the rest of the room. Toilet jammed up against the outside wall. Short tub, too small for a soak, with a shower head sticking out of the tile above. Helena’s shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and razor were lined up on the edge of the tub like soldiers waiting for their orders. I peered down at the bottom of the tub. No water droplets gathered near the drain.
    I reached out and touched the fluffy pink towel that hung from the bathroom’s only hook. Also dry.
    Victor watched me, and then he stretched his arm forward and touched the bristles on her toothbrush.
    “Dry,” he said.
    My heart ramped up even faster. I wondered just how fast it could go before it exploded in my chest.
    “Maybe she went away for the weekend,” I suggested.
    “Without her toothbrush?”
    I didn’t have an answer for that, so I said nothing. I flipped open a white wicker hamper that sat in the corner beside the sink and looked inside. My racing heart stopped for a moment, and I froze.
    “Victor,” I said when I finally found my voice. “You should see this.”
    He gave me a curious look and leaned forward. I knew the exact moment he spotted the blood-soaked pink towel because he inhaled sharply. He reached for the towel, and I placed a hand on his arm to stop him.
    “You shouldn’t touch it. Fingerprints,” I explained haltingly.
    He nodded. Then he just stood there, staring down into the hamper.
    I gave his sleeve a gentle tug. “We need to get out of here and call the police.”
    He didn’t move for a moment. Then he dragged his eyes up to mine. “Let’s take a quick look at her bedroom.”
    Noooooo. Oh, hell, no, my mind was screaming at me to get out of this apartment pronto. But I imagined finding a bloody towel in one of my sisters’ bathrooms and just walking out, and I couldn’t. I knew I wouldn’t.
    I gulped. “Okay, but make it really quick.”
    He gave me a ‘don’t worry about it’ look. “Trust me. I don’t want to hang around in here any longer than we have to.”
    He led the way, and I forced myself to put one foot in front of the other and follow him down the short hallway to the bedroom. The door was slightly ajar but not open wide enough that we could actually see inside the room. There could be anything on the other side of the door. Helena’s bloody corpse. Or an armed, maniacal serial killer. Or ... he pushed the door all the way open with