“Not a man’s coat.” Emily repeated the words, but she was thinking about Frank. Had he taken the key and snuck into the storage unit after he was sure Emily was sound asleep? Had he helped himself? Had that been before or after Walter Newell’s body was delivered to the storage unit and whoever delivered it changed the lock? Or had Frank helped Quinn move the body and helped himself to a box of hardware as a reward for services rendered? “I can’t believe it,” she said, belatedly realizing she’d spoken the thought.

“I can’t believe it, either,” Becca said. “I knew that we’d have clients who’d make up excuses for what they hoarded. Who’d delude themselves, thinking that it’s healthy to become emotionally attached to inanimate objects. Who’d be pathologically disorganized in all aspects of their lives. But I wasn’t prepared for clients who’d outright lie and get us to help them break the law.”

“So much for trust and integrity,” Emily said.

“So much for my so-called intuition about people.” Becca shook her head and gave a wry smile.

“People can really fool you,” Emily said.

Becca did a double take. “You’re not talking about the Murphys now, are you?” Emily felt her face flush. “Quinn Newell?” Becca said.

Emily faked a surprised look. After all, it was true, at first Quinn Newell had fooled her. “Quinn Newell told me her husband collected the advertising signs and magazine art that’s in their house. But that collection belonged to her first husband, and he disappeared from a cruise ship off the coast of Bermuda while they were on their honeymoon six or seven years ago.”

Becca’s eyes widened. “Disappeared?”

“Jumped. Fell. Or was pushed. Or maybe he just vanished into the night. I can’t tell if his body was ever recovered. Curious, isn’t it, that Quinn never mentioned that she’d been married before?”

Becca tilted her head, thinking. “There could be a lot of reasons for that.”

“The rug we found Walter Newell wrapped up in? I think it came from their garage.” Emily swiped through the photos on her phone and showed Becca the picture that she’d taken of the rolled-up rug the first time she’d been in the Newells’ garage.

Becca looked at the picture and winced. Her gaze traveled to the workbench under which they’d found Walter Newell’s body.

“Thing is, I was just in their garage,” Emily went on, “and that rug’s not there now.”

“You were there?”

“Should I tell the police?” Emily said, watching Becca for a reaction. When Becca didn’t respond, Emily added, “I need a good reason not to.”