“I don’t need it anymore. I memorized the engraving.”
He went through Eddie’s wallet several times, then actually turned the leather inside out. It produced nothing except expired credit cards, Eddie’s driver’s license—he examined the laminate to make sure it was sealed all the way around—and Social Security card. There were pictures of her and Emily that had been trimmed to fit the clear plastic sleeves.
He picked up the empty key ring and dangled it in front of her face. “A key ring without keys?”
“I took off the house key and hid it outside in case I ever lock us out. The keys to the squad car and Eddie’s locker were returned to the police department.”
“Do you have a safe deposit box?”
“No.”
“Would you tell me if you did?”
“If it guaranteed Emily’s safety, I’d drive you to the bank. But I don’t have a safe deposit box.”
He continued to examine and question her about each article arrayed on her comforter, which he’d soiled with his muddy clothes. But it was an exercise in futility as she’d known it would be. “You’re wasting your time, Mr. Coburn. Whatever you’re looking for isn’t here.”
“It’s here. I just haven’t found it yet. And you can drop the ‘mister.’ Just plain Coburn will do.”
He came off the bed, planted his hands on his hips, and made a tight circle as he looked around the room. She had hoped he would quickly find whatever it was he was after, then leave without harming either Emily or her. But the fruitlessness of his search was beginning to frustrate him, and that didn’t bode well. She feared that she and Emily would become the scapegoats for his mounting frustration.
“Bank statements, tax records. Where’s all that?”
Afraid not to cooperate, she pointed overhead. “Storage boxes in the attic.”
“Where’s the access?”
“In the hall.”
He dragged her along behind him as he left the bedroom. Reaching high above his head for the slender rope, he pulled down the trapdoor, then unfolded the sectioned ladder and motioned to her. “Up you go.”
“Me?”
“I’m not leaving you down here alone with your daughter.”
“I’m not going to run away.”
“That’s
right. I’m going to see that you don’t.”
To protest his logic would be futile, so she started up the ladder, acutely aware of her exposed legs and the view he was getting of her backside. She climbed as quickly as possible and was actually glad to be stepping up into the attic, when it had always been a place she would rather avoid. She associated attics with cobwebs and rodents. And attics were sad places, dark depositories where the cast-off articles of one’s life were sent to molder.
She yanked the string on the bare bulb in the ceiling. The file storage boxes were right where she knew they would be. She picked up the first one by the open slots in its sides. Coburn waited in the narrow opening to take it from her and carry it down. They repeated the procedure until all had been removed from the attic.
“This is pointless,” she said as she dusted her hands and reached for the string to turn off the light.
“Wait a minute. What about those?” He’d poked his head up through the opening and had taken a look around, spying the boxes that Honor had hoped would escape his notice. They were standard packing boxes sealed with tape. “What’s in those?”
“Christmas decorations.”
“Ho-ho-ho.”
“There’s nothing in them that you’ve asked to see.”
“Hand them down.”
She didn’t immediately obey. Looking down at him, she wondered if she could jam her foot into his face hard enough to break his nose. Possibly. But if she missed, he might trap her up here in the attic, leaving him alone with Emily. As galling as it was to take the coward’s way, Emily’s safety demanded it.