I continued my search, but found nothing more of interest. I looked at my watch. It was almost eight. Time to head home. I carried the box downstairs, turned off all the lights, locked the door, and set the alarm. I carried the box back to my car, gun in hand.

But I wasn't accosted, and was back in my apartment by ten.

I was exhausted. It had been a long, strange day. I was due to meet Sabrina at ten the next morning, so I decided to get to bed early. If I woke up early enough, I could look through some of the material in the satchel before meeting with her. I had already decided to be totally forthcoming with her. If I wanted her help, I needed to be.

I set my alarm and noticed that my door to the fire escape had been fixed. A nice job, too. A better job than my friend Steve had done on my father's door. There was a note on the table from Mo: I had Amy replace your shit lock. And your deadbolt? What a joke! So she replaced that too. She put in the best of the best. Hope your father left you a lot of money! Lol. Here are the keys. Hey, who was the gorgeous babe leaving your house today? Whoa, I'd do her in a second!

I smiled. Nothing subtle about Mo.

*****

I couldn't sleep. Whether it was adrenaline, a little fear, curiosity about the contents of my grandfather's belongings, or the anticipation of seeing Sabrina again, whatever the reason, I was wide awake at 1:30. I made a cup of coffee and took a quick shower to clear my head, then sat at the kitchen table and emptied the contents of the satchel in front of me.

In addition to the papers I had seen a few hours before, was a collection of medals, the usual Army Air Corps items: wings, lieutenant bars, and a couple of patches, so I moved on to the papers.

It took me a couple of hours to read over all of the material to fully understand the timeline of my grandfather's military career. The short of it was that his B-24 crew was part of the 392nd Bomb Group. They arrived in Wendling, England in the fall of 1943. Their plane was the Lonesome Cowgirl. My grandfather died in March of 1944 on his 19th mission. Included in the papers was a copy of the telegram my grandmother got from the Army telling her of the death of her husband. It gave no details, only that he had died bravely in combat over Germany.

There was a lot missing, so I Googled the 392nd Bomb Group and discovered a website devoted to it. I found the whole thing fascinating, and felt myself getting a little sad that I had known none of this growing up. But again, I really couldn't blame my father. I wondered how much of his father's material he had even looked at himself.