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“I’m settling his mind,” she said tartly.
All three of them gazed into the narrow space divided by shelves holding precisely folded sheets, pillowcases, towels and washcloths. Extra blankets and a chenille bedspread claimed the top shelf, surplus toiletries in a clear rubber tote the floor. It was magazine-worthy. The two men appeared bemused.
Suddenly, Navarro laughed, deepening creases in his cheeks. “Even my mother would be dazzled. You should hire out.”
The skin beside Phil’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “It is pretty impressive.”
Beth flushed, as much from the effect of seeing Tony laugh as from the compliment. “It’s easy to keep space neat when no one else ever messes it up.”
Tony’s smile faded. “You change his bed and do laundry here?”
“Well…sometimes.” Weekly.
“I hope your father appreciates you,” he said quietly.
Without commenting, she backed away. Passing her again, he entered the bedroom and walked around for a minute, not touching anything.
“Has this carpet been replaced since your mother disappeared?” Died.
Beth shook her head. “It’s at least fifteen years old.” She calculated. “Eighteen. It really needs to go, but we should do it throughout the house at the same time, and everything would have to be moved out. It’ll have to be done before the house is sold, but as long as Dad doesn’t care…” Becoming aware of the faintly surprised looks on both men’s faces, she trailed off, embarrassed at her rambling.
Tony disappeared into the bathroom. She heard cupboard doors, drawers and the medicine cabinet being opened and closed. When he came back out, he wore thin latex gloves on his hands. Without looking at her or Phil, he went methodically through the dresser drawers, lifting clothes and putting them back. He pulled the dresser out an inch or so to see behind it. He got down to look under the bed, checked the drawer on the bedside table then started in on the closet.
Barely glancing at the closet floor—Dad owned only four or five pairs of shoes—Tony moved the clothes on their hangers, slid his hand into suit-coat pockets, rifled through the sweaters on a canvas hanging organizer, then removed one box after another from the long closet shelf.
Phil went in and sat at the foot of the bed. Beth remained planted in the doorway, her arms crossed.
The first rubber tote held extra blankets and pillows. Another held trophies and plaques. Even as a child, she’d been surprised to discover that her father had played lacrosse in college. Mom had been a competitive swimmer and later played golf in occasional ladies’ tournaments. Tony lifted a number of these out and studied them before putting them back.
Another box held books for young children. Mom would have stored it on this shelf. Beth supposed her mother would’ve thought books might not withstand the cold or damp in a garage.
And finally, he came to the one filled with children’s drawings and the like. Report cards were in there; she saw the detective take one out and study it, the corner of his mouth lifting. Hers, undoubtedly. She’d never been very good at math. She could still hear Mom saying, “But if you’d just try!”
He dug through this box more carefully. It felt weird, watching him. That was her life he was sifting through, hers and Emily’s and Matt’s, not Dad’s. Keeping her mouth shut was hard.
When he at last put the lid back on the box, he lifted his head to look straight at her. He must have seen all the complicated things she felt because he ducked his head in a kind of acknowledgment, or apology. Phil glanced at her speculatively but didn’t comment.
Once Tony slid the box onto the shelf, he peeled off the latex gloves. “I’m done in here.”
Without a word, Beth turned and walked to the living room. She didn’t see her father, even in the kitchen; he almost had to have retreated to the family room. Had he been bothered to know someone was going through his drawers, inspecting his medicine cabinet?
At the front door, Phil said, “I won’t hang around while you look through the garage. Unless you want me to, Ms. Marshall?”
She would have laughed, if her mood had been better. “You’d be here for the next two weeks.”
