Jo went locker by locker. She opened the ones without locks—finding nothing more than an occasional tampon or pair of shower shoes. Whenever she came across a combination lock, she checked the locker number against the rental list. She’d brought the pad of Post-its with the idea of marking each locker that wasn’t officially rented but was still being used. In the end, there were only two, and one of them held a pair of riding shoes she’d purchased as a surprise gift for Lucy, who’d soon be heading to summer sleepaway camp. The second locker was in an unpopular spot in the middle of a bottom row. The lock was a simple five-letter-combination sort that would be no match for a pair of bolt cutters. Jo pulled out her phone to text an employee to run out and pick up a pair at the hardware store. Then she stopped midsentence and put the phone down on a nearby bench. She squatted in front of the lock and dialed the letters until they read FAITH. Then she closed her eyes, gripped the base of the lock, and pulled downward. When the lock opened, Jo fell back on her ass in surprise.
Before she’d had time to fully recover, she was on her knees and inching forward. Jo peeked inside the locker and immediately slammed it shut again. Her fingers were trembling so violently that she could barely replace the lock. Then she grabbed her phone and fled to the opposite end of the changing room. She wanted to be as far as possible from what she’d just seen.
“Nessa,” she said when her friend answered. “Get Harriett and come to the gym.”
“I’m in the middle of—”
“Leave your daughters in charge of the reception,” Jo said. “You need to get over here right away.”
Then she hung up the phone and went outside to wait. Ten minutes later, she was still pacing back and forth when her friends pulled into the parking lot.
“Come with me,” she told them.
Nessa caught Harriett’s eye. She’d never seen Jo in such a state.
“Rosamund Harding died this morning,” Jo said as she marched through the gym. “They say she crashed her car into a pole. Her husband had the police come collect her things from her locker. After the cops were gone, I started wondering if she might have been using another locker off the books.” Jo pointed down at locker 165. “This one was never officially rented. There’s no way to know whose stuff is inside. Except for one thing.” She showed them the combination lock that read FAITH.
“Whoa,” Harriett said.
“Exactly,” Jo agreed. “There’s more.”
She pulled off the lock and took a step back.
Nessa hesitated. “Tell me there’s not a severed head in there,” she pleaded.
“Just look,” Jo ordered.
Nessa stepped forward and opened the locker. Inside was a Polaroid of a naked girl. She stared blankly at the camera, her eyes wide with terror and her arms held out to the sides as if someone had ordered her not to cover herself. “Oh my God.” Nessa dropped down onto a bench. “Is that her?”
Harriett, wearing a pair of latex gloves she’d found in the supply closet, was the one to pull the photo out. “It’s her,” she announced.
The girl in the picture was the one they’d just buried.
Nessa rubbed at her eyes as if trying to scrub away the image they’d seen. “Why would your client have a picture like that?”
“I think her husband took it,” Jo said. “Rosamund must have found it and—”
“Jo?” Harriett interrupted. “Hold on for one second. Where did those flowers come from?”
All three heads swiveled toward the enormous vase of white lilies that stood on one corner of the changing room counter. They were identical to the ones Harriett had received at her house.
“I don’t know.” Jo felt the blood drain from her face. She hadn’t noticed the flowers until that moment. She stuck her head out of the changing room door and called for Heather, who immediately rushed over. “Do you know where that bouquet came from?” Jo asked.