“Not much up here.” Stan rubbed a hand over his chin. “Joyce and I cleared out everything we were interested in when she first inherited. Louella already had everything she wanted. If you haven’t been up,” he continued, peering slowly around, “how do you know anything’s missing?”

“I don’t. It’s this.” For the second time, Maggie crossed the dusty floor to the trunk. This time it was she who crouched down and pointed.

Stan bent down over her, close enough that she could smell the simple department-store aftershave he wore. She recognized it and, on a wave of nostalgia, remembered her mother’s driver had worn it, too. For no other reason, her sense of trust in him was confirmed.

“That’s curious,” Stan murmured, careful not to smear the faint outline. “Did you open this?”

“Neither of us touched it,” Cliff said from behind.

With another nod, Stan pushed the button on the latch. His other hand came up automatically, stopping just short of gripping the trunk in the same spot the handprint was. “Looks like somebody did.” Cautiously, he put his hand on the closure and tugged. “Locked.” Sitting back on his haunches, he frowned at the trunk. “Damn if I can remember what’s in this thing or if there’s a key. Joyce might know—more’n likely Louella, though. Still…” With a shake of his head, he straightened. “It doesn’t make much sense for somebody to break in and take something out of this old trunk, especially now that the house is occupied for the first time in ten years.” He looked back at Maggie. “Are you sure nothing’s missing from downstairs?”

“No—that is, I don’t think so. Almost everything I shipped out’s still in crates.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to take a good look.”

“All right.” She started back toward the second floor, realizing she hoped something would be missing. That would make sense; that would be tangible. The faint handprint on the trunk and no explanation gave her a queasy feeling in the stomach. A cut-and-dried burglary would only make her angry.

With the two men following, she went into her bedroom, checking her jewelry first. Everything was exactly as it should’ve been. In the next bedroom were crates that at a glance she could see were untouched and unopened.

“That’s all up here. There’s more crates downstairs and some paintings I haven’t had reframed yet.”

“Let’s take a look.”

Going with the sheriff’s suggestion, Maggie headed for the stairs again.

“I don’t like it,” Cliff said to Stan in an undertone. “And you don’t think she’s going to find anything missing downstairs.”

“Only thing that makes sense is a burglary, Cliff.”

“A lot of things haven’t made sense since we started digging in that gully.”