I stop dead in my tracks when I see the greenhouse.
The campus map on my phone calls it theLydia Chambers Greenhouse, but what’s most striking to me is the arrangement of flowers by the front entrance, as well as the distinctive bench.
I pull Rachel’s diary out of my backpack and flip past the grisly murder images to one of the earlier pages. As I’d thought, it’s the same greenhouse as in the photo she’d taped into the page.
There’s another photo of some kind of flower near it, and a note that says,‘he showed me his dahlias! They were gorgeous!’
The motherfucker who killed her wooed her with flowers like some old-timey gentleman.
I put her diary away again and make my way to the greenhouse. It’s open to all students, apparently, but there’s a note about respecting the plants and signing up for a plot if you want to use it.
I head inside. The air is instantly a few degrees warmer and a lot more humid. I see large trees in pots and tables with seedlings. There are plaques near some flowers explaining which class bred them and what their genealogy is.
Dyschord’s botany department is one of the best in the northeast,if my conservative roommate is to be believed. She’d gone off on me when I’d asked about her plant books. I don’t know enough about plants to care either way, although I do spot something interesting among the plants near the windows: a small garter snake, basking in the secluded sunny spot.
“How are you going to get out?” I ask it, crouching down.
The snake has one eye on me, keeping perfectly still.
“Do you have an easy feast in here?” I glance around. I’m not sure if frogs and toads can get in here, but it’s quiet at this time of day, and if the botany department grows veggies or fruit, that’s sure to attract at least something edible for the snake.
“If you’re still here when I leave, I’ll help you get out,” I promise the snake. After a few more moments of staring, I get up and keep walking around.
I’m surprised at how empty it is, but it’s in the middle of a class period. I’m sure most students, even botany students, have other things to do.
Toward the back end of the greenhouse, I find a locked door. I look around, but the one other person in here is cooing over some saplings and seems too busy with their work to pay attention to me.
Thankfully, it’s a key lock and not a combination lock or, worse, an electronic lock. Very old school of them—and potentially more secure, since it’s harder to casually find a key than to memorize a door code.
Too bad for them that lockpicking was part of my education. I find the lockpick I keep in my backpack and get to work. It’s way too easy to unlock it, and I make my way into the private section of the greenhouse, the door slowly shutting behind me.
This is where all the plants not ready to be moved are set up. I wander the smaller aisles until I find the dahlias.
Not just any dahlias either, but the same one from the photo. It’s yellow with thin red stripes through the petals, where the ones out in the main greenhouse only have solid colors.
Rachel had thought this flower was pretty. I don’tremember her ever talking about plants at all, and I wonder how much else she’d hidden from me.
Did I even know her? Was I too caught up in myself to ask Rachel whoshewas as a person? I remember how she usually went along with my suggestions, how our outings were the ones I’d picked, and I always assumed that meant she liked the same stuff I did.
Maybe I steamrolled her.
I find my eyes prickling, and I blink quickly to clear my vision.
I’m not here to go down memory lane. I’m supposed to find clues.
If somebody showed her these flowers, that means they had access to this portion of the greenhouse. I try to find a label, but there’s nothing in the vicinity of the dahlias.
I’m still looking when I hear the footsteps. I stand up straighter and get back to looking at flowers, pretending I’m definitely supposed to be there.
“Pandora? What the fuck?” Blaze’s familiar voice asks.
I inhale sharply and turn to look at him. “Blaze? What are you doing here?”
“That should be my question. You aren’t a botany major.” Blaze gets close to me and puts his arm around my shoulder, drawing me away from the plants.
“Do I need to be?” I ask, my heart pounding in my chest.
“I came to check on the dahlias,” Blaze says casually.
