“And here we’ve been making such good progress,” Becca said with a wry grimace as her gaze traveled across the books and tubes they’d stacked in a dozen or so piles.

“Amazing progress,” Emily said, “given the circumstances.”

Only a few dozen neatly labeled cardboard boxes remained on the shelves—Mr. Murphy’s beloved thingamabobs. Doorknobs. Hinges. Every box clearly labeled. He’d been such an orderly collector. His method, or maybe it was madness, would spark joy in the heart of any professional organizer.

But, looking at those boxes now, Emily felt unsettled. She’d recently seen a box of padlocks carefully labeled, just like Mr. Murphy’s. It had been disinterred by the police from her own basement, and the sight of it had left Frank visibly shaken.

Frank, who claimed labels were for sissies. Frank, who poked fun at what he called Becca and Emily’s labeling schtick. He liked to compare boxing and labeling clutter to rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic. In his basement and attic and garage, according to Frank, he had no need to impose the kind of orderliness that Mr. Murphy had apparently craved. He knew just where everything was.

So why had that box of padlocks the police pulled out of her basement been tagged with labeling tape? The obvious answer: It wasn’t Frank’s. It was Mr. Murphy’s. Emily remembered how Frank had lit up when Emily had described the contents of the storage unit. How the shelves were chockablock with all kinds of objects collected by a man who’d surely have been Frank’s kindred spirit. Emily had told Frank that she had a key to the storage unit, maybe even showed him where it was, and—

“What are you thinking?” Becca asked.

“Nothing,” Emily said. When Becca looked skeptical, she added, “It’s just this whole situation is such a mess.”

“Your mother was amazing. I think we’d all be in jail if she hadn’t been with us.”

“Emily? Becca?” Lila called from outside. “You all okay if I drive Ruth home now?”

Becca looked relieved.

“Sure,” Emily called back.

“You want me to come back?” Lila asked.

Becca gave a tight headshake.

“No need,” Emily called. “I’ll see you at home.”

Becca held Emily’s gaze until Lila and Mrs. Murphy had driven off. “She knew,” Becca said. She looked vexed, her mouth set in a taut line. “The library had pictures of the pair of them consulting a little notebook that she kept in her purse. Like a shopping list.”

“I was afraid that it would turn out to be something like that. After I saw the coat.”

Becca said, “All those pockets, and it’s not a man’s coat.”