When Rachel woke up, the room was silent apart from the faint drone of a vacuum cleaner in the corridor outside.

She checked her mobile again. No new messages. She deleted the text from her sister without answering it.

The phone rang. ‘Morning, Miss T.’

Rachel scrunched her eyes, pushing her hair back off her face. ‘Is it?’

He laughed. ‘I take it you didn’t sleep too good? That’s what comes of sleeping alone.’

She groaned.

‘Grab yourself some coffee and meet me downstairs in half an hour, okay?’

She groaned again.

‘Okay, an hour. And bring your stuff. We’re checking out.’

---

Cameron Park was a gracious neighbourhood of manicured lawns and stately older homes, its streets lined with more trees in blossom, reminding Rachel of the American small towns in old black-and-white movies. It could have been Bedford Falls. The Downeys lived in a small, neat white colonial with a porticoed porch.

The door was opened by a young woman of around thirty. She had mousey hair scraped up in an untidy pony tail, and her freckled face was pale and drawn.

‘Is Melissa Downey’s mother here?’

The woman shook her head.

‘Her father?’

‘They’re staying with relatives right now. She just lost her daughter.’

‘Yes, we know that. So sorry.’ Rob flashed his badge. ‘And you are?’

‘Meghan Downey. I’m Melissa’s cousin. I’m just here taking care of things for them. Minding the dog, while… you know…’ A fat, wiry-haired dog appeared at her side to prove the point.

‘Could we come in for a moment?’ Rachel asked. ‘I promise we won’t take too much of your time.’

‘Okay,’ Meghan sighed wearily. ‘Can I get you coffee?’

They refused the offer, but she led them into the kitchen and switched on the coffee machine anyway. The dog followed them, its claws clicking on the wood floor.

‘He knows there’s something wrong,’ Meghan patted him sadly. ‘Don’t you, boy?’

‘We were hoping to talk to Mrs Downey about Melissa,’ said Rob. ‘It’s come to light that she sublet her apartment through CasaMia. Do you know anything about that?’

Meghan poured coffee. ‘You think that has something to do with…’ Her voice trailed off.

‘It’s a line we’re following,’ Rachel nodded.

‘Supposedly Lissa was on her way to a Miss Glamour pageant in Florida. From what my aunt said, she had someone taking the apartment for a few days while she was gone. She travelled a lot to pageants, so when that CasaMia app started she was quite excited. She told me she planned on renting out her place as much as she could to cover the expenses… there are entrance fees, hair and make-up, and those fancy sequinned gowns can run to, like, thousands of dollars. My uncle and aunt helped her out too.’ Her voice grew thick. ‘They were so proud.’

‘Was she successful?’ asked Rachel.

‘You know what: I don’t know much about that whole pageant world, but she seemed to win quite a lot, yeah.’ Meghan pointed them to the dining room, where professional portraits of a glossy, groomed Melissa lined the walls, wearing elaborate tiaras and sashes, holding sparkly trophies.

‘See that one,’ Meghan pointed to a very young Melissa in a shiny lilac coloured gown. ‘That was the first one she won: Miss Teen North Carolina. It was at the Fairfield Theater.’ She hesitated. ‘Where, you know…’

‘Where her body was found,’ confirmed Rachel.

Meghan nodded slowly. ‘It weirds me out. It’s like they knew.’

They went back into the kitchen. ‘What kind of a girl was Melissa?’ Rachel asked. ‘Apart from the pageants.’

‘She was just a regular kid, you know… bubbly, fun, outgoing, just a sweetheart.’ Tears welled up in Meghan’s eyes. ‘Sorry.’

Rob waited a few seconds for her to compose herself, and then asked, ‘How about at high school?’

Meghan found a well-used tissue in her pocket and dabbed her eyes. ‘I don’t know all that much; she was younger and we were at different schools anyway. I mean, she wasn’t the brightest academically. Not a straight-A student by any means.’

‘And with the other kids?’ persisted Rob.

‘I think she was pretty popular. She seemed to have loads of friends.’

‘Do you know if she was ever involved in anything… negative?’ Rachel asked.

Meghan looked confused. ‘Negative?’

‘Bullying, for instance?’

She shook her head vigorously. ‘No. Nuh uh. Not Melissa; never. She was one of the kindest people I knew. A total sweetheart.’

---

In the car afterwards, Rachel said, ‘I suppose it’s logical when you dissect it. Phoebe’s working as a model-slash-actress and her body is dumped with a load of shop dummies. Tiffany is the school sports star, and hers ends up in her high school gym. And Melissa, the pageant queen…’

‘… fetches up at the theatre where she won a beauty queen title.’

‘So the killer’s hatred or resentment is targeted at what they did with their lives.’

‘Like I told you; it’s a case of the victims pointing us back to the killer. Victimology 101.’ Rob turned and grinned at her.

Rachel was quiet for a few seconds. ‘I’m trying to focus in on what these three girls have in common. They’re good-looking and conform to a certain physical type. Phoebe and Tiffany were the school mean girls… but apparently not Melissa.’

‘It didn’t sound like it.’

‘It doesn’t seem to fit,’ Rachel mused. ‘I guess her adoring, grief-stricken cousin might not have been aware. Or not believed her capable of being nasty. I guess we’d need to talk to her friends.’

Rob shrugged. ‘I don’t think that’s a priority. For right now, let’s think about the stuff the three murdered girls do have in common.’

He turned the car off the freeway at the exit for Raleigh–Durham International Airport.

‘Such as?’

‘Okay, come up with some adjectives that describe all three of them.’

Rachel considered this. ‘Pretty. Popular. Spoilt. Self-centred.’ She paused a beat. ‘Entitled.’

‘Exactly. The killer is sourcing victims from a group that could roughly be described as entitled.’

They were at the rental car drop-off now, and Rob took their bags from the boot and handed the keys to a waiting agent. ‘Come on,’ he said, taking Rachel’s hand, ‘the shuttle to the terminal is just over there.’

‘Are we going back to DC?’

He shook his head.

‘Where then?’

‘Think about it, Detective. What’s the other glaringly obvious thing that all three victims share?’

The shuttle bus pulled up, air brakes hissing. They climbed on, dumping their bags in the luggage rack and finding seats for what seemed like an absurdly circuitous journey to the terminal.

‘They all rented out their homes using CasaMia.’

‘Precisely, my dear Watson. We’re taking a little side trip to San Francisco.’