CHAPTER NINE
I ascended steep stairs with Elva McKutcheon huffing ahead of me. The wallpaper was a faded rose print, but the place reeked of stale cigarette smoke and grease—hardly roses.
Elva opened the door and swept an arm, as if to say “Behold.” I entered. The room was neat, furnished with utility in mind: a single bed, an old chest of drawers, a dresser with a microwave, hot plate and TV on it, a dorm-size fridge, and a small suitcase, open on the floor. I peered in. A jumble of men’s underwear and socks. All the comforts of home.
In the bathroom, I found a clean sink, razor, miniature can of shaving cream and a bar of soap. I checked the cabinet. Half a bottle of Aqua Velva.
I started pulling out chest drawers, one at a time. Cooper hadn’t bothered to unpack. In the third draw
