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“Shh.” I ordered them all.
Jennifer was the only one not harassing me as I used the fork trick again to tackle the paper Tom found first. It wasn’t as tightly crumpled as the two from the nutmeg tins. It also wasn’t wrapped in plastic, so I tried that first.
She was otherwise occupied with copies of the pictures Tom and I took today.
We would turn those in to Shelton. He’d huff and puff about deleting them from our phones.
If he wanted to get really picky, he could get tech types to track the copies we sent to Jennifer. But they’d never find what she did with them next.
Neither would I, for that matter. But I didn’t need to as long as Jennifer could retrieve them.
I had the paper flat enough now, with the edges held down by knives, that we could all read it. Diana held my tablet over it for Jennifer and Mike.
It was a printout. Including the Keefer at the top and the name at the end.
In between, it said:
You can’t just say it’s over after all these years and expect me to accept it. I won’t stand for it.
Wendy
Mike whistled.
“That’s motive,” Jennifer said.
“Could be.”
Mike jumped on my words. “Only could be?”
Diana filled in my lack of answer. “How did you find it, Tom?”
“When Elizabeth and Brenda went into Keefe’s office, I stopped by the fireplace. Looked over and saw something white.”
“Behind the frame?” Jennifer asked.
“No frame,” Diana and I said together.
We all looked at Tom.
“Sticking out past the edge of the painting. Reached behind it and the paper was tucked into the corner of the stretcher.”
Diana and I looked at each other. She said, “I didn’t see it, but it was dim in there. I’ll check the footage.”
“Send it to me,” Jennifer ordered. “I have a way better program than KWMT does to enhance for low light.”
“Good,” I said, as Diana began that process. “And ditto on not seeing it, but not not seeing it either.”
“Probably just the angle from where I stood,” Tom said modestly.
“What about what was in the nutmeg tin?” Mike asked, trying to peer through the screen.
“Starting now.”
I moved down the countertop to where we’d set one of the plastic-wrapped wads from the nutmeg tin. This was tighter and dirtier.
“How’d he get something in there?” Mike asked.
Tom said, “It’s neatly cut around the bottom. Fits back together very snug. Like some can openers can do with cans. But I’d say this was done by hand. Had to be cut in exactly the right spot. There’s a light glue, but that didn’t do the main job of holding it together...”
