Later.

After backing out of the dresses, I positioned the ladder. Then, with Ryan acting as my spotter, I scampered up the rungs.

Three tugs and the duffel came free. Its weight suggested there was little inside.

I lowered the duffel to Ryan, who handed it to Ollie. We retraced our steps to the living room. Running water behind the bathroom door suggested Devereaux was still engaged in her morning toilette.

Ollie gestured for me to do the honors. I spread the duffel’s handles and yanked the zipper.

The bag held four objects. A pair of cheap plastic sunglasses with one cracked lens. A snow globe with a panda and butterflies inside. A rusty Bic razor. A tire-tread sandal probably dating to the Woodstock era.

“Our job is easy now.”

Ryan and I looked at Ollie.

“No way she’s not coming back for these jewels.”

No one smiled at Ollie’s joke.

“What about the front compartment?” Ryan suggested.

I checked. It was empty.

We were standing there, mute with disappointment, when the bathroom door opened. We all turned.

Devereaux’s hair was combed and sprayed into a blond updo, and her face was a Gauguin palette of color. Green and lavender lids. Rose cheeks. Red lips. Had her situation not been so sad, I might have found it comical. Like Toddlers & Tiaras.

Ignoring us, Devereaux crossed the room, dropped to her knees, and yanked a suitcase from under the bed. With angry movements, she began tossing in clothing from the shelves and floor. No folding or layering. A wrinkle-free look was not a priority.

Lowering my voice, I told Ollie and Ryan what I’d seen behind the suitcase in the closet.

“The panel is removable?” Ryan asked.

“I think so.”

“May provide access to the bathroom pipes,” Ryan said.

“You’re thinking another dead baby?” Ollie’s expression was grim.

My gaze slid to Devereaux. She was emptying a dresser drawer, oblivious to our conversation.

I nodded.

Wordlessly, we returned to the closet. Ollie and I watched as Ryan dragged the suitcase from behind the clothes.

The panel was approximately twelve inches square, attached to the wall by nails at the corners.

My eyes did a three-sixty. Landed on a pair of orange stiletto pumps. I grabbed and handed one to Ryan.

Hooking the tip of the heel onto the edge of the panel, Ryan pulled with the body of the shoe. The nails slid free with little resistance.

It was Saint-Hyacinthe all over again. I held my breath as Ryan inserted his fingers, levered downward, and pulled the panel free. The opening gaped black and foreboding.

Ollie produced a penlight. Ryan thumbed it on and aimed the beam into the darkness. As expected, the tiny white oval landed on pipes. They were dark and wrapped with frayed insulation.

I watched the oval probe. It crawled up a vent stack. Over a flange. Left across a horizontal.

Banging down the hall told me Devereaux was checking the kitchen drawers and cabinets.

Banging in my ears told me my pulse had gone apeshit.