Robyn
“Would you like to see his room?” Mrs. Smart asked with a hopeful and expectant look on her sagging face. Since the little dog had accepted me, I was now designated family-friend, and privy to their inner sanctum. I wasn’t exactly sure that I did want to see a dead guy’s room, but in an effort to be polite, and in the interest of looking for any further evidence, I followed her into the back hallway, where she opened the door to the bedroom of Richard Smart, Jr.
It was like a time capsule. The room seemed completely untouched since the day that the young man had died. There were m*******a-themed posters pinned to the walls, that probably used to glow in the dark with their trippy background patterns. There was a guitar leaning against the wall with a couple of missing strings.
