I put my hand on his. “Thank you. For letting me do this my way. And for listening. And for so many other things.” I paused. “Do you think Logan is guilty of anything? And will he go back and talk to the police?’
“Maybe. There’s little evidence of anything. Of course, it’s easy for us to say that he should have gone straight to the police and told them the whole story, but even the police know that people can panic and do stupid things. I told him I’d back him up if there was trouble, but I do think he’s basically honest. He’s a good guy who got caught in a bad situation.”
“You are a kind and decent man,” I told him—and meant it. “Isn’t it ironic that a whole bunch of us waded through over a hundred years of documents only to find out in the end that this was a simple theft that had nothing to do with anybody’s history? And along the way we may have solved a pair of 1907 murders?”
“Sometimes the simplest solution is the right one. Now eat.”
I ate. James was right: I felt better after eating. “You want to go upstairs and investigate that Neanderthal side of yours a bit more?”
“What about the dishes?” he protested in mock dismay.
“Tomorrow’s Saturday, and the dishes aren’t going anywhere.”
—
As predicted, the dishes were still sitting there the next morning when we ambled downstairs in our weekend grubbies, and James made coffee while I washed up. We were just ready to sit down with some breakfast when we heard what sounded like a piece of heavy equipment lurching its way up our driveway. I peered out the kitchen window and saw a large truck parking in the driveway next to the house. “Are you expecting anyone or anything?” I asked James.
“No.” He joined me at the window in time to see Marty climbing out of the passenger side of the cab. “Uh-oh.”
I went around to the front door to intercept her. “Good morning, Marry. You’re out early. What’s this all about?” I waved vaguely at the truck.
“I have a little surprise for you two. Come on.” She led me to the back of the truck, and when the driver climbed out I recognized Henry Phinney.
“Yo, Nell,” he greeted me with a grin. and then unlocked the back doors of the track and swung them wide. The interior was stuffed to the ceiling with bulky items wrapped in quilted moving blankets.
By now James had wandered out to join me. “Good morning, Martha. What’s going on?”
Marty looked smug. “You two need furniture to fill this Victorian barn. I’ve got furniture. Well, no, not me—but the Terwilliger family sure does. And before you protest, this is all stuff no one is using and doesn’t want—call it the family rejects collection. Henry and I have been gathering it up for days now. You can take your pick.”
“Wow.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
James could. He cocked an eyebrow at Marty. “No strings?”
“Nope. Well, somebody in the family might be miffed it you started a bonfire with it, and family gets the right of first refusal if you want to get rid of it. Otherwise, do with it what you will.”
James eyed the bulging contents of the truck with a critical eye. “That’s a lot of stuff to move.”
Marty waved his objection away. “I’ve even taken care of that. I hired a couple of local football players to do the heavy lifting. They should be here by ten. With all of us, I think we can manage.”
James and I exchanged a look, and I think his mouth twitched. “Marty, this is amazing,” I said. “Can I offer you coffee? Or breakfast?”
“Sure. Henry, come on in—you can drool over the original woodwork in the house.”
“Happy to. You still got knob-and-tube here?”
“Uh—you tell me,” I said happily. I felt like a kid at Christmas, wondering what might be lurking under all that padding in the truck.
“Thank you, Marty,” I told her as we walked toward the house. “You okay?”
“Sadder but wiser, I guess,” she said. “At least we know what happened last week—and in 1907. And I’m glad of that, even if I don’t like it much. So let’s go fill up your house!”
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Privy to the Dead Page 25
