���Maybe we’ll get lucky before we have to worry about the heat.��� She dove into the box and began removing things item by item. She held every sweater by the shoulders and shook each piece vigorously. ���Just in case Belinda hid something inside,��� she told him when she found him watching her, one eyebrow raised. ���And check every pocket. You never know what you’re going to find.���
She straightened up, a red hooded sweater over her arm. ���You can start any time now, you know.���
���I just like watching you.���
���Watch me later. We are going to get through all these boxes today.���
He pulled one of the cartons closer and pushed the lid all the way open. ���This one had a bunch of skirts and pants and jackets.���
���All things with pockets.���
���Right.��� He stuffed his hand into the pocket of the pair of black pants he’d drawn out of the box. When he was convinced that it held no hidden treasure, he folded it and set it aside.
���She sure had a lot of stuff,��� he muttered.
���Girls that age do,��� she smiled. ���Clothes��� can there be too many clothes? Shoes. Oh, and bags��� I’m still fighting my addiction to good bags.���
���Bags? You mean, like handbags?���
She nodded and shook out another sweater.
���One of these boxes only contained handbags.���
���A girl after my own heart.���
���What’s with that?��� He frowned. ���You can only use one at a time, right?���
���This from a guy who thought nothing of having nineteen cars? Dare I say you can only drive one at a time?���
���Hey, it was only seventeen. And I sold most of them.���
A knock on the back door was followed by a voice calling for Nick.
���That sounds like my neighbor, Herb,��� he told Emme. ���In here, Herb. Front hall.���
���Nick, I’ve got the estimates for the repairs to the��� oh, hello.��� Herb Sanders stopped midway through the door. ���I didn’t know you had company.���
���This is Emme Caldwell. Emme, meet Herb.��� To Herb, Nick said, ���Emme’s helping me look for Belinda.���
���You a cop or something?���
Yes was on the tip of her tongue, and then she remembered. ���No, I’m a private investigator with a firm working with Nick.���
���Well, it’s nice to meet you.��� Herb nodded. ���I hope you find that girl. Seems she’s been missing a long time.���
���We’re doing our best.���
Herb waved a fat envelope at Nick and said, ���I have some estimates here for you to look at. Three for each of the projects you asked about. I’d have a fourth, but Greg Burton, he said he wanted to take another look at that back wall in the barn, so he’ll be stopping out. Want me to just leave these on the kitchen table? You can give me a call when you’re free, and we can go over them.���
Nick glanced at Emme hesitantly.
���I can go through this stuff by myself,��� she told him. ���Go do what you have to do.���
���It shouldn’t take too long.���
���It’s okay.��� She turned back to the box she was working on and resumed sorting. When she was finished, she repacked the sweaters and dragged the box into the living room, then started on the next box, this one filled with books. She dragged it over to the stairs where she sat and began to search through every book and notebook.
���Find anything?��� Nick came back into the foyer with two bottles of water. He handed one to Emme and put the other down on the top of an old desk that sat to one side of the front door.
���Not yet.���
���It’s getting stuffy in here. There’s no breeze outside.��� He stood at the window. ���I’m sorry we don’t have any fans. And obviously, no AC. I keep thinking I might do that, one of these days. But someone would have to be living here full-time to justify that kind of expense, and as long as the property stays in the family, that isn’t likely to happen.���
���It’s a charming house,��� she said, looking up from the book she was holding upside down. She fanned through the pages, then closed it and set it next to her on the step. ���I love the old woodwork in these places, the high ceilings, the big rooms with the big windows and the fireplaces.���
���Yeah,��� he agreed. ���The entire property has a lot of charm. There’s a pond and what’s left of my granddad’s peach orchard. They sold off most of that parcel a long time ago.���
���How many acres did they have?���
���When my granddad was farming, they had over two hundred. Wendy sold some to Herb after she inherited it. Now, we’re down to about sixty, and Herb uses most of that for his corn. I guess we have about a dozen acres that we use, between the garages and the pond.���
���I noticed an old cemetery on the road as I drove up. Is that your family’s?��� She shook out another book but nothing fell out.
���It’s on the property, but there aren’t any Perones buried there. The family my grandparents bought this place from had owned it for almost two hundred years. Their name was Sawyer. They’re all buried down there.���
���None of their descendants wanted to keep the farm?���
���I don’t think they had any children. My granddad showed me where the folks he bought from were buried-Mary Alice and Henry Sawyer-and he was careful to keep the graveyard respectfully mowed and the weeds out.���
���That was nice of him. It looked pretty tidy when I drove past,��� she said.
���Herb kind of took that over after my granddad died. Wendy would never have thought to do it, and I wasn’t here.���
���Herb sounds like the ideal neighbor.���
���He is. He and his wife are the best. They keep an eye on the place for me. Last time I was out here, I noticed that we’re in need of a lot of repairs. Herb lined up some contractors to come out and look things over and write up some estimates. That’s what he was dropping off. The barn needs work, the pond house my granddad built for Wendy and me-remind me to show you that before we leave-that needs a new-���
���Oh,��� Emme exclaimed as several sheets of folded paper fluttered from a book she’d turned upside down. She bent over to pick them up and straightened them out. She looked them over quickly before handing them off to Nick. ���Emails from Blondebelle to aspark1010.��� She looked up at Nick. ���Belle to Aaron.���
He read through them. ���This is stuff we already knew. Donor 1735 was of Scandinavian and Irish descent. Oh, here’s stuff Hayley hadn’t told us. He was born in Philadelphia on August first, 1961, and he’s a lawyer.���
Emme leaned around him to read for herself, and he put his arm around her to bring her closer.
���So all we have to do is find a lawyer who was born in Philly on August first, 1961. Hey-piece of cake,��� he said dryly.
���Right. It’ll be a snap.��� She pointed at the box that sat at his feet. ���Keep looking.���
���Here’s the box with the bags in it.��� Nick pulled out a black leather clutch and looked inside. ���It seems to have a lot of pockets in it. Maybe you should look through these.���
���Because I said I liked bags?���
���No. Because you’ll know where to look for the pockets.��� He opened another box. ���Looks like��� stuff girls wear that guys don’t. Sorry-this creeps me out a little. This one’s yours.���
���Okay. You finish up on this box of b
ooks and I’ll do the bags and the girly stuff.��� Emme pushed a carton aside to make room to walk. She peered inside the box Nick had relinquished to her. She was through it in less than five minutes. ���No place to hide stuff in any of these things.���
She moved that box into the living room and moved on to the box of handbags.
���Wow. Belinda really did have a lot of bags.���
She began to sort through them, finding sticks of gum in some, pink packets of sweetener in others, pens in most, but no papers that would bring them closer to finding Donor 1735.
When he finished with the box of books, Nick said, ���Want to take a break? It’s getting hot in here.���
���No, I’m good.���
���Maybe there’s a fan in the attic.��� Nick wiped sweat from his forehead. ���I’ll be right back.���
Emme glanced up to see him take the stairs two at a time. Overhead, she heard first his footsteps, then the creak of a door being opened, followed by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. A few minutes later, he came back down.
���Nothing. I don’t know how anyone lived in this house in the summer without even a damned fan.���
���We only have four more boxes to go.��� Emme pointed out. ���I think we’ll survive.���
���Not without cold drinks,��� he grumbled and went into the kitchen. The refrigerator door opened, then closed.
���The cupboard is really bare,��� he told her. ���I have an idea. Let’s drive into town and pick up some lunch.���
���You go,��� she said. ���I’ll keep working here.���
���You sure? You’re not dying from the heat?���
���No, I’m fine.���
���Sandwich, all right?���
���Whatever. I’m not fussy. Just get me whatever you get for yourself.���
���That’s easy enough. I’ll be back in twenty, thirty minutes.���
���Fine.��� She looked up and smiled. ���I’ll be here.���
He left through the back door and she heard the Firebird rumble softly as it passed the window to her left. The house grew very still, and she became aware of a clock ticking in one of the other rooms. She wished there was music, a radio, an iPod, anything to cut through the silence. It was just too quiet.
She finished going through the bags-Belinda had excellent taste in bags, she’d give her that. There were several in that box that Emme had admired, but none of their zippered pockets had hidden secrets. She folded over the top and dragged the box into the living room with the others.
It was a nice room, a comfortable room. She could see a young Nick sitting on that sofa-now covered with a well-worn sheet-with his grandfather, watching TV. She peeked at the books gathering dust on the shelves that flanked the side windows. He’d mentioned his grandmother reading something��� ah, here it is. The Joy Luck Club. She lifted the book from the shelf and opened it. Angela Curcio Perone was written in a beautiful script inside the front cover. She wondered which of the sheet-covered chairs his grandmother had sat in to read. The picture in her mind was a gentle one, one of two generations of a loving, happy family enjoying each other’s company on a hot summer night. It must have been nice to have that, she thought with a tiny stab of envy.
Emme replaced the book and went back to work. She looked inside several boxes, and decided to go with the one containing books. Sliding the box on its side, she sat cross-legged on the floor and reached inside and pulled out the top book. Geometry. The only math course she ever did really well in. She thought if she were superstitious, she might take that as a sign, but she wasn’t, and the book held no surprises. She pushed it to her right and tried again.
She heard the car before she saw it. Standing and stretching out the kinks, she went to the window and watched the Firebird slide past. Just below the windows on that side of the house, a bank of roses grew leggy and wild and covered with blooms. She went out the front door to get a better look.
���Em,��� Nick called to her as he got out of the car. ���Is something wrong?���
���No, I just came out to get a better look at these rose bushes.��� She walked toward him.
���My grandmother planted them about a million years ago.��� He shifted the bag from the deli from one hip to the other. ���Wendy tried to get them under control, but I’m sorry to say no one’s tended to them since she died. There’s always been something else that seems more important. I’m surprised old Angie-that was my gram-hasn’t come back to haunt me over it. She really took a great deal of pride in them.���
Don’t offer to prune them, Emme commanded herself. You have other things to do that are more important. Besides, you won’t be back here again. Let it go. Tempting as it may be���
���You can cut some before we go, if you want, to take back to your room.���
���Maybe a few for Trula for helping out so much. Thanks.���
���Trula has her own rose garden,��� he reminded her as she came toward him. ���I think Emme and Chloe could use something pretty to brighten up that hotel room.���
���Thanks. I do love roses.��� She looked back over her shoulder and thought about which colors she’d pick. Definitely the light pink ones, and some of those lavender ones as well.
���Let’s take our lunches down to the pond house and eat there,��� he suggested. ���It’ll be shady, and cooler than the house.���
���Sounds good. Should we lock up the house?���
���There’s no one around to break in. Let’s just walk.���
He held out a hand to her and she took it, matching him stride for stride. They walked through a field that sloped downward toward a large pond. A tiny cabin sat on its bank and a narrow dock jutted into the water.
���This is beautiful,��� she told him. ���So quiet it’s almost scary. How do people sleep out here?���
���Very soundly.���
���I guess I’ve gotten used to hotel noise over the past few weeks. Our room overlooks the parking lot and the main road into Conroy, so there’s always road noise. And there’s always someone coming in around one or two who slams the door to their room. And the elevator pings when it hits our floor whether it stops or not. We’re two rooms down from it, so I hear it all night long.���
���Sound to me as if the whole hotel thing is wearing thin.���
She braced herself for the slope, tugged at the hem of her short skirt, and tried not to lose her footing in her sandals.
���I’m not really dressed for this,��� she muttered when they reached the dock.
���I think you look great,��� he said, making no effort to pretend that he wasn’t looking at her legs. ���This is the pond house my granddad built for Wendy, but she’d outgrown it by the time I came along. It was the best playhouse you could imagine.���
���Did you have playmates here?���
���Just my granddad.��� He smiled. ���He made for one hell of a pirate.���
He pushed the door open. ���It needs a lot of work, as you can see. One of the estimates Herb dropped off was for this place.���
���Are you going to go to the expense of renovating it? I mean, since no one’s used it in a long time.���
���It’s not my first priority-that would be the house-but yeah, I’m going to take care of it. Someday maybe there will be kids to play in it again.��� He backed out of the doorway and she followed. ���Besides, my granddad built it himself.���
He handed her the bag holding the food and said, ���I’m going to run back to the house and get us a blanket to sit on. I’ll be right back.���
; ���Can’t we sit on the dock?���
���Sure. If we want to spend the afternoon picking splinters out of each other’s butts.��� He smiled. ���Which, maybe on second thought, might not be so bad������
���Go get a blanket.���
He took off up the hill at a trot. Emme sat the bag on the wooden planks that formed the dock and watched a duck and her ducklings bob and weave between the reeds.
���I didn’t realize how much of Gramma’s stuff Wendy kept,��� Nick said, making his way down the slope. ���For some reason, I assumed she’d gotten rid of most of the old stuff and replaced it with new things of her own.��� He held up a mostly blue quilt. ���I found this at the foot of one of the beds. I remember it from when I was a kid.���
���Why would you assume your sister would have gotten rid of it?��� She helped him spread the blanket on the dock.
���I guess because everything else about her was very hip, very contemporary. It surprises me that the second floor looks just the way I remember it.���
He knelt down and reached for the bag and opened it. ���I hope this is okay. I figured burgers would be good, since everyone likes burgers, but then I thought they’d get cold on the way out here. So I went with cold sandwiches.���
���I’m sure whatever it is will be fine. Thanks.��� Emme sat opposite him on the blanket and opened the foil packet. She stared at the contents for a moment, then asked, ���Ah��� just for the record, what is this?���
���Chicken, avocado, field greens, and sprouts on whole grain.��� He stared at her. ���What’s it look like?���
���That, what you said.��� A tiny smile played at the corners of her mouth and she peered into the bag as if searching for something. ���Did you get chips, by any chance?���
���That’s them, in that foil bag.��� He held it up, then tore it open.
���Let’s see that. Oh. Sweet potato and beet chips. Yum.���
���Don’t knock ���em till you try them.��� He laughed and twisted the top of his water bottle.
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