It's always a good idea to research where it is you're going before actually going there. Naturally, that's the first thing I do when I get back home.

I grab my laptop from under my bed, search 'Elsyium', and write the definition down in my casebook in interest, a small frown on my face.

Elysium:

Elysium, also called Elysian Fields or Elysian Plain, in Greek mythology, originally the paradise to which heroes on whom the gods conferred immortality were sent. By the time of Hesiod, however, Elysium was a place for the blessed dead, and, from Pindar on, entrance was gained by a righteous life.

Also, a state of great happiness.

So, Greek mythology. Or just a complicated word for happy. It all depends on who the owner is, and since it's not too late in the afternoon, the shop's bound to be open. Lewes Road is basically five minutes away, and Clarissa could decide to turn up to work tomorrow. I may have spooked her a little, but then again, she could be exactly who caused all this mess, so there's no feeling sorry just yet. Even so, I'll be warmer with her the next time I see her. I doubt she's said anything to Paul and Lorraine, and I make sure to keep up appearances as much as I can with people, so I should be fine.

I am a careful person, killer or no killer. And, if more people were as careful, there'd be fewer wars.

I haven't even taken my shoes off from visiting Clarissa since I only got in the door ten or so minutes ago. Now I'm going back out to seize the opportunity of letting a few questions slip with Clarissa's co-workers, and I go back down the stairs, bumping into Lizzie on the way.

"Hello," she says with a smile, her eyes kind and a little tired. "You alright, Holls? Going out for a bit of fresh air again?"

"Yeah, it seems to help," I respond with a half-smile. "How are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm alright, love, don't you worry about me. It's you that should be the priority now, isn't it?"

"Well, I appreciate all the help and work you're doing, Lizzie. Thank you. But you can go home, if you need to."

"It's really not a bother," she insists. "To be honest, I do have to pop home to grab a few things, but I'll stay for another night if it helps. And it just might, you know? Sometimes it's nice having someone else, someone familiar nearby. The house doesn't seem nearly as big and ominous as it does with that, I've found."

I don't want to put her in danger by being here, but at the same time, it's nice having her around, and I don't think I'm ready to be entirely alone and exposed just yet. And the killer isn't after Lizzie. It's after me.

I nod, giving her a small smile. "You're right. And, also, the house is pretty big for me, so... well, I don't even know if it's my choice to keep it. They'll treat me like an adult anyway, won't they? I am eighteen now."

"I have been wondering about that," she agrees, a thoughtful frown on her face. "But my friend works for the council, and she reckons that you'll probably get benefits, seeing as you're still in college. You'll be on your feet once you get a job, though. Anyway, don't go worrying yourself about that now. I'm sure that the right people will be there to give the right advice and all. They'll know more about it than I do."

"I need to start going through their things soon, too," I tell her with a small sigh, half dreading and half interested in digging through the CSI-swept basement and storage around the place.

"Well, you do that when you're ready. There's absolutely no pressure, you hear me?"

But there is pressure. Soon enough, I'll be in stark office rooms where strangers with thick-rimmed glasses, piercing eyes and fake smiles are going to talk me through the wills, with my parents' house and cars and money, which they've probably left most of to me. There'll be enough, though, for now.

Do I even want this house? Modern white furniture, big wide rooms and long fancy mirrors, a garden big enough for a small pool. Sure, it's my home, it's always been my home, but there's nothing... homey about it. Not anymore. Maybe when I was younger, but not anymore. Besides, my Mum and Dad were murdered in their own basement, so that's not exactly a comforting thought to go to sleep with in the room above.

And, seeing as it's August now, and next month means back to college, that's another pressure. I stayed for a year of sixth form in high school, and now I should be going to college when everyone else does. Criminology, and carrying on psychology. That's what I'd decided.

I push open the front door, glancing back at the hallway and imagining myself on my birthday, wandering upstairs to look for Mum and Dad, who were down in the basement at the exact same time as the murderer, who probably crept back upstairs and left the house. The whole thing is almost as ironic as the "They're behind you!" kids' game, where they're all screaming and pointing over the supposed oblivious person's shoulder. I hated that game as a kid, and I hate it now.

I find Elysium in under ten minutes of looking, the long road of takeaways and cafes and shops almost hiding the small, dinky clothes shop, the outside painted a peaceful sage green, with elegant lettering above the open door, two long potted plants standing at its sides. The windows display simple but stylish dresses and outfits on headless mannequins, the colours hinting at autumn for next month.

Two women are inside with nametags, one behind the counter and the other helping out a customer. There's only one customer inside at the moment, so now is the perfect time.

Overall, Elysium doesn't disappoint. It's a simple shop, with polished, light wood flooring and long shelves taking up all the wall space, shoes and bags and scarves set out neatly on them. Clothes racks are positioned tidily around the shop, a turning one in the centre with all the highlights of their collections and a dress from the window. It's clean and calmly trendy, in no way a fancy place mimicking Greek mythology... which is kind of a relief.

The customer leaves, and I take a deep breath in before smiling at the woman behind the counter whose nametag identifies her as 'Ellie'.

"Hi."

Ellie looks over at me through her leopard-print glasses and smiles brightly, the freckles on her nose scrunching slightly.

"Hiya. Are you looking for anything in particular?"

"I'm not sure yet," I respond, glancing around at the clothes for sale, all with surprisingly moderate price tags. "Someone I know works here - um, Clarissa?"

Ellie nods in recognition, her smile widening. "Oh, Clarissa Newman? Yeah, she's lovely, isn't she? A little shy, but..."

For a moment, I wonder if it'll be a good thing or not if Ellie mentions my coming here to Clarissa, when she decides to come back to work. I mean, she can't tell me off for it, it's a public shop, but it might make her a little more cautious and defensive. Or, if she's my RoseBlood Killer, a little more panicked.

People can give away a lot in panic, but they could also decide to kill their victim, clearly catching on, quicker, in my case. So I could say I'll lay low after this, which I'll try my best in doing, but it's not exactly easy when I'm detecting a case like this.

"She's been having a really bad migraine recently, though," I mention, and Ellie winces as if she's getting one herself.

"Poor thing," Ellie says with a sigh. "Those are just awful."

"Yeah, they literally make me wanna throw up," the other worker pipes up sympathetically, her name 'Martha'. She's got dark hair and tanned skin, with kind brown eyes. It's a good thing Ellie and Martha are fairly chatty and not strictly professional, because it makes casual but crucial questions like these a lot easier to slip into the conversation.

"How'd you know her?"

"My parents worked in houses and property and stuff," I explain as simply as I can. "They helped her get her place when she moved here."

"Oh, I see."

"You might have seen them around - Bobby and Judith Cassia?"

"I think I've seen your Mum before," Martha ponders with a faint smile. "She came here every so often for new outfits for her work and whatnot. She seems nice. Is it weird if I say you've totally got her eyes?"

I huff out a laugh at that, shrugging. "Not really."

"And I might have met your Dad," Ellie adds, frowning in thought. "I don't know, we get a good number of customers... but I remember him coming in once, I think, soon after Clarissa started working here. Just checking to see how she was getting on."

"That's nice," Martha acknowledges with a smile, and Ellie nods, her smile wavering ever so slightly in uncertainty. Her eyes meet mine, and I'm almost certain we have the same thought.

Yeah. Very nice.