PETUNIA’S ROOM WAS sparsely decorated and organized flawlessly. I sifted through the pressed clothes hanging nicely in the closet, and the crisp, folded clothing in the dresser, wondering if they had just been bought. It was hard to believe anybody actually lived there.
“Petunia was a bit . . . particular about things,” Gus said, watching me. “I know it’s weird. I just wanted her to be a kid, get messy, throw her stuff everywhere, but Petunia wouldn’t have any of it. She needed things just so.”
There were no posters on the walls or makeup on the vanity, but I did find a little notebook next to her bed, sealed with a tiny padlock.
“Do you know where this key is?”
“No idea,” Gus replied, shaking his head.
I opened the dresser on her bedside table and found a single key lying in the othe
