Chapters (65)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty–one
- Twenty–two
- Twenty–three
- Twenty–four
- Twenty–five
- Twenty–six
- Twenty–seven
- Twenty–eight
- Twenty–nine
- Thirty
- Thirty–one
- Thirty–two
- Thirty–three
- Thirty–four
- Thirty–five
- Thirty–six
- Thirty–seven
- Thirty–eight
- Thirty–nine
- Forty
- Forty–one
- Forty–two
- Forty–three
- Forty–four
- Forty–five
- Forty–six
- Forty–seven
- Forty–eight
- Forty–nine
- Fifty
- Fifty–one
- Fifty–two
- Fifty–three
- Fifty–four
- Fifty–five
- Fifty–six
- Fifty–seven
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgments
- Also by Becky Masterman
- About the Author
- Newsletter Sign-up
“I don’t know. I can’t say as I ever opened this drawer.” I peeked in there now, feeling as if I was invading a space, and feeling silly about feeling that way. My eye went to a pair of wedding rings, a man’s and a woman’s, tied together with a bit of yarn. Jane.
Max said something.
“Hm?”
“Medicine cabinet?” he repeated.
“I didn’t see it opened.” I went into the bathroom area and checked. What drugs we used were still there, some sleeping pills and Valium that I only take when I can’t rest and need to be on my game the following day. Carlo’s blood pressure meds. All there.
We came out of the master bedroom area and went into my office at the front of the house. I pointed out the filing cabinet drawer. Looked through that quickly, and pulled out the other three. “I wouldn’t know from this if he took out a single paper or something, but it didn’t look like he found the files important.” I thought about it. “Why would a burglar leave an emerald ring but take the time to look through a filing cabinet?”
Without an answer handy, Max went into the next room, the library. Whether or not you’re doing an investigation, I find there are two kinds of people in the world: those who look at the books that others have on their shelves, and those who don’t. Max and I were both of the latter kind. He walked up and down the rows that the metal shelving formed down the center of the room, ignoring those titles as well as those on the bookshelves that covered the walls from floor to ceiling on three sides of the room. He stepped around the closet door that was in the middle of the room and pulled aside the door that was still standing upright, to expose some large plastic bins, three of them stacked on top of each other. Max looked at me expectantly.
“As far as I know, these are manuscripts of books that Carlo has written, materials for the classes he taught, things like that. I’ll find out more when he’s back home if you want.”
“Where is he?”
“Overnight at Kitt Peak.”
“Nice.” Then Max shrugged, clearly as puzzled as I had become. Why would someone paint a gang sign on the wall and then look through file cabinets and libraries? This guy wasn’t looking for valuables or even prescription drugs. Whoever had been here was looking for information.
They were looking for something in particular, and they were either not professional or in a hurry. Maybe we surprised them. Or maybe they didn’t care if we knew.