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Brenda trailed in behind me. Tom remained by the fireplace. I doubt he could have fit in this room with us comfortably.
My actions drew Brenda’s attention to the photo, as I’d hoped. Even better, it seemed to draw her closer and closer. I took several more shots of her looking at the photo — never touching it — without her showing awareness of having her picture taken.
I tracked Tom moving around near the fireplace, and thought I heard clicks of his phone camera, too. It was really sweet of him to add to the cover story, though it didn’t make sense that he’d take photos for my mythical editor.
Several more photos, with me moving around the small space as if I could outdo Diana with a few clicks on my phone.
Although a couple shots of Suzie Q, lying on the hearthrug, head on paws, staring dolefully straight ahead might capture the essence of the mood. If the technology kept it in focus, because I sure didn’t.
“That should cover it,” I said brightly.
Brenda blinked and turned from her extended consideration of that decades old photo.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”
I’d hoped for another moment in the kitchen without an audience, but she made it clear she wasn’t leaving first.
“Keefe would be rolling over in his grave — if they’d let us put him in his grave. All these people in and out of his cabin. Not you, Tom. I’m sure he’d be okay with you. But not that Randall Kenyon.”
That hurt, being lumped with Randall.
“Don’t care if Robin did give Keefe the computer and the DNA test. And I don’t care what Wendy says about how she’s told Randall no when he talks about buying Elk Rock. That man sure seems to think he’s welcomed here any time he wants, anywhere he wants, acting all high and mighty and sweeping out and saying he was buying the place, when he was already acting like he owned it. C’mon out of here,” she said to Suzie Q.
Brenda was past militant with evicting the dog.
Suzie Q whined without raising her head.
“Fine, stay here, then. But I don’t have the time to come checking on you every two minutes.” She followed us out and closed the door firmly.
Without a farewell, she went toward her cabin. But she watched until we drove away in Tom’s truck.
“Poor Suzie Q,” I said, feeling the lump safely in my pocket from the outside. I wasn’t going to risk taking it out until we were where I could look it over carefully.
“Brenda will see to physical needs, no matter what she says, but Suzie Q was so much Keefe’s dog, it’s going to be tough for her. Here—” Steering one-handed on a road that would have taken both my hands — and possibly both feet on the brake — he pulled out a wad of paper towel from a pocket. “This might cheer you up.”
He opened his fingers and the paper towel unfurled enough to show what it covered.
Tom had pocketed the other old tin that we hadn’t had a chance to check yet.
I grinned at him.
“There’s more,” he mumbled, going one-handed into another pocket. Another paper towel covered a folded up sheet of paper. Even when the paper towel fell back, there was nothing on the paper to see. But this was the back of the paper and there certainly could be something on the other side. “It was behind the painting. We have to take all this to the sheriff’s department.”
“We will. As soon as we’ve had a chance to look at it in good light at the house. And take photos.”
He groaned. “Wayne’s going to have my head on a pike, too.” But the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes gave him away.
****
“Hurry up,” Mike said.
“Be quiet. Or next time, we won’t call you until it’s all over.”
“Next time?” Tom repeated bemusedly.
“You don’t think there’ll be a next time she finds documents hidden in nutmeg tins or you find something hidden behind a painting?” Diana asked. She’d dropped her Saturday chores to join us at my house.
“I’m afraid to think.”
