Peabody stepped in.
“Why dust bunnies? They’re just dust. Why are they bunnies?”
Peabody considered. “Maybe because when you’re not watching, they hop around?”
“Do they? Do they really?”
“I don’t know. I never let them grow into bunnies. Even if I didn’t care, and I do, my mom’s disapproval would reach across the miles and shame me. I found a hundred cash in the kitchen, inside a cereal box.”
“Three-twenty in here. Sweatpants and shoe.”
“Otherwise, she had another bottle of wine like that one, but half-full, an empty AC, some snack food—chips, cookies. Crap coffee, and a bunch of little creamers she palmed from the diner next door. Fake sugar packs, same thing. Salt and pepper packs she probably horded from fast food joints or takeout. No cookware—I mean zero. Other than what’s dirty and scattered around, a couple of forks and a single spoon, one plate, two mugs, two wineglasses, and one regular glass.
“You know what I don’t find anywhere?”
Eve glanced over. “Not a single photograph, nothing that strikes as a family or childhood memento.”
“Exactly. I’ll start on the living room.”
“I’ll hit the bathroom, then join you.”
Eve found the medicine cabinet stuffed with skin care products and over-the-counter meds. A thorough check revealed no illegals.
She found another twenty in an empty face cream jar.
Shampoos and soaps littered the lip of the tub, and a full-length mirror hung on the back of the door.
She went out to join Peabody.
“Another twenty in an empty face gunk jar. Plenty more face gunk, hair gunk.”
“I got fifty so far. The inside of that lamp’s hollow, and she rolled a fifty in there. How the hell did she keep track of where she hid cash?”
“Bigger question. Why did she bother to spread it all over this place? A couple hidey-holes, okay, fine. All this? Pathological.”
“A guess?” Peabody continued to work as Eve pulled off the couch cover. “She figures when someone breaks in—though a place like this isn’t going to rank high for a B and E—and they find a stash, they’ll figure that’s it. Which isn’t pathological as much as stupid.
“Did you ever hide cash?”
“No.” Eve started on the couch cushions. “I figured if someone broke in while I was there, they’d have to get through me. I favored my odds. If they broke in when I wasn’t there, why should I add my hard-earned cash to their haul? Such as.”
She held up more.
“This hundred and fifty zipped inside this disgusting couch cushion.”
Peabody pulled two wrinkled twenties from behind the wall screen. “Add forty more, and I’m now giving you the pathological.”
“She kept her financial records on a tablet, and they’re precise and detailed. Then she hides—what is it?”
“Ah.” Peabody closed her eyes, did the math. “Six-sixty. No! Six-eighty. Pretty sure.”
“Hides six-eighty in more than a half dozen places in this sloppy dump. The woman had issues, but she also had a bank. She had somewhere she kept the bulk of her income.”
“She spent a lot on clothes. They’re cheap—style and value—but she had a ton of them.”
“Add the face gunk, etc. She invested in herself, but it doesn’t come close to what she pulled in. Even adding in rent, food. It probably doesn’t apply, but it’s curious.”
They finished the search, found another twenty inside the vase with the dead rose.
