Drue smiled. “That’s a nice story, Jimmy. I wish I’d known it before.”

He started to say something, but shook his head.

“What?” Drue asked. “What else aren’t you telling me?”

“It’s nothing,” Zee said.

“Please tell me,” she begged.

He put the sunglasses on again. They were, she realized, his personal invisibility cloak.

“Did you find anything else up in that attic at the cottage?”

“Not really. An old sewing machine, some boxes of baby clothes, my grandmother’s photo albums. Mom wasn’t really a saver.”

“See any luggage up there?” he asked casually.

“As a matter of fact, yeah. I think I did see some old suitcases. Why do you ask?”

He reached into his pocket and placed a crisp fifty-dollar bill on the tabletop. Then he stood up, the cardboard box tucked under one arm.

“You’re the detective now,” he said. “Check it out. Understand?”

“No,” she said. “I don’t understand at all.”

“You will.”

When she got home, she stripped down to her camisole and a pair of shorts and climbed up into the attic. The heat was palpable. She’d brought a flashlight, but there was still enough sun shining in through the west-facing attic window that she easily spotted the stack of luggage.

Nothing interesting, she thought. A graduated set of blue Samsonite suitcases, the heavy old kind nobody wanted anymore because they didn’t have wheels. She pulled each case out, snapped the latch and looked inside. Nothing except for satin lining and some dried-up silverfish carcasses. It wasn’t until she’d pulled out the biggest suitcase that she spotted it—a cream-colored train case, shoved all the way back into the eaves and covered with a thick coat of dust.

Sweat poured off her face and down her arms. She grabbed the suitcase, sat cross-legged on the rough floorboards and opened the lid. The top was mirrored, and when she saw what was reflected inside, it took her breath away.

Stacks and stacks of banded bills. She lifted a bundle out and saw that there were more bundles beneath. She remembered the yellowing newspaper clippings her mother had squirreled away all those years ago.

Jimmy Zee was wrong. It didn’t take a detective to figure this out. She was looking down at the money Colleen Hicks had withdrawn from the bank on the last day of her life. Her running-away money. She rifled the bills, twenties, fifties and hundreds.

“Now what?” she wondered out loud. “What the hell do I do with all this money?”

63

Drue called Jonah from the attic. “I know this sounds crazy, but is there any way you could come out to my house tonight? I promise there won’t be any more armed maniacs skulking in the bushes. Oh, and bring your laptop.”

“Sure,” he said. “I’m leaving right now.”