Angie rested her hands on her hips. “I don’t know.”
“You have no idea what’s here?”
“None.”
“You’ve known about this place for seven years, and you’ve never been curious?”
“I wasn’t fond of the museum.” She shook her head. “That’s not true. I hated that place.”
“Why?”
“The museum had my father’s heart. I knew it, and I think my mother did as well.”
He shook his head. “Then why keep this place?”
“I don’t know. There was a lot I didn’t understand about my father. I guess I hoped one day I might have the strength to see what was so important to him.”
“Let’s start front to back.”
“Right.” There had to be forty crates of varying sizes. Their search would take the better part of the afternoon.
Malcolm hefted his crowbar and wedged it under the lip of the first box. With a quick jerk of his wrists, the nails securing the corners came free and the top opened. Foam padding stuffed the box. A little digging and they found vases wrapped in the foam.
“This is going to be a long afternoon,” she said.
“Welcome to the world of a cop. We dig through a lot of hay to find that golden needle.”
The next several boxes revealed much of the same: a dusty collection of spears, a collection of muskets, paintings, and shards of pottery. Finally, they opened a box that held lots of pictures. They weren’t arranged in any kind of order, but each had been marked on the back with a brief description of the scene.
The odd collection appeared to have been taken thirty-plus years ago. Angie discovered an image of her parents.
“That your mother?” Malcolm stared over her shoulder.
“Yes.”
“You look like her.”
“That’s what Eva says, but I don’t remember her from her younger days. She was always tired and worn in my memories.”
“You have pictures, don’t you?”
“No. Father never allowed pictures of Mother in the house. Bad memories for him.”
“What about you?” No missing the anger in his voice. “A kid has a right to a picture of her mother.”
“Once when I visited her, I took pictures. Dad found them and tossed them. She must have shattered his heart.”
“That didn’t give him the right to rob you.”
She traced the outline of her mother’s smiling face. “She was so happy. And young. And Dad never smiled like this.”
“Why save the pictures?”
“Who knows? He never even told me about this unit.”
There was another picture of Angie as a small child. She had a bright, wide grin as she held both her parents’ hands. “This is like staring at an alternate universe. These people look like people I knew, but they sure don’t seem to act like them.”
“What do you remember about the time your parents were together?”
“Mom stayed out a lot. Dad finally got mad about it. They fought more and more.”
“Where was he?”
“Always at the museum. He loved that place.”
“What happened after they fought the last time?”
“Mom said she was going to the drug store. She said she’d be right back. But she never did return. It was another five months before I saw her again.”
“How old were you?”
“Four. I figured out later that Mom must have been pregnant with Eva. She left Dad and went to live with Blue. After that, I only saw her once in a while.”
She studied the pictures taken of her parents. She went silent.
Malcolm shoved the crowbar under the lip of another box and rammed his arm up with brutal force. Wood splintered and cracked. He dug into the box, pushing the batting aside. “Look what we have here.”
“What?”
“Looks like employee records.”
“Really?”
He thumbed through a file. “A list of anyone who ever worked at the place. The board members are all listed.”
“Dad knew all the employees by their first names. He even remembered the names of wives and children.”
Malcolm frowned.
“What?”
“Your father can recite chapter and verse on an employee but can’t keep a few lousy pictures of his kid’s mother.”
“He did the best he could.” She set the pictures aside and picked up the crowbar and shoved it under the lip of another box.
“Right.” Malcolm glanced at the names.
Her face tight with growing anger and frustration, she drove the tip under another box lip. This time she wrenched so hard the wood on the top of the box splintered.
“Shit,” he said.
“What?”
“Louise Cross was a board member at the Talbot.”
The edge of the crowbar skipped, and she stumbled forward. She’d have fallen forward if she’d not had the box to steady herself. Her hand slipped into the crate. Immediately, her hand recoiled. “Oh, God.”
Malcolm looked up from another journal.
Her face paled. “It’s a box of bones.”
Inside the storage unit a lightbulb flashed. Paulie Sommers snapped pictures. “Kier, you have radar.”
Malcolm pushed away from the wall inside the unit and moved toward the door. Finding the bones had triggered calls to forensics and Garrison.
“How so?”
“My ass hits a soft chair, and you call. No other cop has that talent.”
Malcolm grinned. “I do try.”
He glanced down the hall to Angie, who stoo
d silent, her arms folded over her chest. They had barely spoken since the bones had been discovered. He’d tried to strike up a conversation, but she’d been too tightly controlled to speak. She’d sunk into a sullen silence that bothered him. She was afraid, and he had the sense she clung to her composure with a death grip.
Dr. Henson appeared at the end of the hallway, ducked under the yellow tape, and strode toward them. She was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, both of which were covered in splashes of robin’s-egg-blue paint. She’d swept her auburn hair into a ponytail.
The doctor paused when she reached Angie. “Ms. Carlson. What brings you here?”
Angie straightened and let her arms fall to her sides. “The contents of the unit belonged to my father.”
The doctor’s brow wrinkled. “Memory serves, he passed away about seven years ago.”
Angie nodded. “You’ve got a good memory.”
“I visited his museum several times. Quite interesting. You spend much time there as a kid?”
“No,” Angie said. “My father didn’t want me around the place.”
Dr. Henson let the comment pass. “So let me have a look.” In the unit, she extended her hand to Malcolm. “Two crime scenes in a week. We’re setting some records here, Detective.”
He shook her hand. “Sorry to say, yes. What did we pull you away from?” Malcolm said. He wasn’t sure why, but he wanted to lighten the mood for Carlson’s sake.
“Painting my library.”
“I heard you moved in to a new house.”
“I did.”
“Got a lot of books?”
She shrugged. “A couple thousand.”
“A couple thousand. Really?”
“Sure.”
“Anyone else and I’d have called bullshit on them, but you, Doc, I’d believe it. A couple thousand books. Damn.”
A frown creased her forehead. “I don’t see the humor. Everyone has books.”
Angie arched a brow as she came up behind the doctor. “I bet Detective Kier has three and the first two have pictures.”
Paulie grunted out a laugh.
Dr. Henson smiled.
Malcolm let the quip pass. Good to see some of Angie’s fire return.
The doctor moved past him into the room and went directly to the crate. She glanced into the box.