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There were a couple of thriving live green plants on her windowsill in pink and white pots. Obviously Rayleen didn’t tire of the color scheme. Or had no choice in it.

Eve was voting for the former.

The kid had more clothes than Eve could have claimed for all the years of her own childhood put together. All as neat and organized as her parents’ had been. There were dance clothes, dance shoes, a soccer uniform, soccer shoes. Three identical school uniforms, dressy clothes, casual clothes, and play clothes, all with appropriate shoes.

There was a forest of hair ties, bands, clips, pins, and ribbons, all meticulously kept in a designated drawer.

At least nothing was tagged to indicate where and when she’d worn anything. But a lot of items—notebooks, bags, stickers, writing tools, art cases, and so on—were labeled with her name.

A big decorative pillow on her bed had PRINCESS RAYLEEN splashed across it, as did a fluffy pink bathrobe and the matching slippers.

She had her own date book, with all of her activities and appointments plugged in, her own address book with the names of schoolmates, relatives, her father’s various ’link numbers.

Eve bagged them.

“How come you’re allowed to take that?”

Eve turned, though she’d known Rayleen was there. “Aren’t you supposed to be someplace else?”

“Yes.” A smile curved, charming, conspiratorial. “Don’t tell. Please? I just wanted to watch how you searched. I think maybe I’ll work in crime investigation one day.”

“Is that so?”

“Daddy thinks I’d make a good lawyer, and Mom hopes I’ll go into art, or dance. I like to dance. But I like to figure things out more. I think maybe I’ll study to be a criminalist. That’s the right word, because I looked it up. It’s somebody who studies evidence. You gather it, but then other people study it. Is that right?”

“More or less.”

“I think anyone can gather it, but studying it and analyzing it would be important. But I don’t understand how come my address book and stuff could be evidence.”

“That’s why I’m the cop, and you’re not.”

The smile turned right down into a pout. “That’s not a very nice thing to say.”

“I’m not very nice. I take things because I need to look at them when I have more time. Your father will get receipts for anything that leaves the premises.”

“I don’t care. It’s just a stupid book.” Rayleen shrugged. “I remember everyone’s numbers and codes anyway. I have an excellent head for numbers.”

“Good for you.”

“I looked you up and you’ve solved lots of cases.”

“It’s ‘closed.’ If you’re going to work with cops, you have to use the right term. We close cases.”

“Closed,” Rayleen repeated. “I’ll remember. You closed the one where those men broke into a house and killed everyone in it but a girl, younger than me. Her name was Nixie.”

“Still is.”

“Did she give you clues? To help you close the case?”

“As a matter of fact. Shouldn’t you go find your mother or something?”

“I’ve been trying to think of clues for this one.” She wandered to a mirror, studied her own reflection, fluffed her curls. “Because I was right there and everything. I saw, and I’m very, very observant. So I could help close the case.”

“If you think of anything, be sure to let me know. Now scram.”

Her eyes met Eve’s in the mirror, a quick flash, then Rayleen turned. “It’s my room.”

“It’s my warrant. Beat it.”

Rayleen narrowed her eyes, folded her arms. “Will not.”

The kid’s face was a study of defiance, arrogance, confidence, temper. And Eve noted, challenge. Make me.

Eve took her time absorbing it all as she crossed over. Then she took Rayleen by the arm, pulled her out of the room.

“Taking me on’s a mistake.” Eve said it quietly, then closed the door. Locked it.

In case Rayleen got ideas, Eve strode down to the bedroom door, closed and locked that as well.

Then she went back to work.

She was undisturbed until Peabody knocked. “Why’d you lock the door?”

“Kid got under my feet.”

“Oh. Well. I had the guys haul some of the boxes we’re taking out. They’re labeled,