Emily unfolded the printouts she’d made of the photos that illustrated Quinn’s first husband’s articles on collecting. The moment she entered the front hall she found a match, the metal sign at the bottom of the stairs that advertised Sunlight soap. When she’d been there last, the content hadn’t registered—only the hole in the wall that it covered. Halfway up the stairs she found another match, a sign for Omega watches. The striking image was of a gold pocket watch viewed from the side, with the word OMEGA in stylized black letters on a bright red background. Peeling enamel revealed the sign’s rusted metal base.

Emily photographed both signs. Then she made her way to Walter Newell’s study. There, hanging on the walls, she found many of the magazine covers reproduced in another of Michael Safstrom’s articles. Not magazine covers, Emily confirmed when she slipped behind the desk and examined them close up. They looked to be artist-signed, original art. The MAD magazine cover alone had to be worth a small fortune.

Emily took another picture and lowered her cell phone. She felt satisfied that she had what she’d come for, evidence that the objects that took pride of place in Walter Newell’s house had been collected by his wife’s previous dead husband. Which meant that Walter wasn’t the crazy jealous husband Quinn made him out to be. Maybe he was just rich and inconvenient.

Emily hurried through the kitchen and into the garage. But before she could close the door behind her, the cat darted past and was instantly lost in the shadows.

Emily cursed her own carelessness. If she didn’t get the cat back in the house, Quinn would know someone had been here. “Here, kitty kitty kitty.” She didn’t even know the damned cat’s name. She dropped her gear bag and fished out her cell phone. She turned on its flashlight and shone the beam from one end of the garage to the other. “Come on, you stupid cat.” Emily made kissing sounds and held the kitchen door open, but the cat was having none of it.

Emily went back into the kitchen, poured a saucer of milk, and brought it out to the garage. She clicked her tongue and rattled the saucer on the concrete floor. Crouched. Listened. At last, a faint rustling sound seemed to come from the pile of belongings that Quinn had claimed her husband kept her from bringing into the house.