Gone But Knot Forgotten by Mary Marks Read Free Book Online Page B

“So, you and Crusher. Are you two, you know, a thing now?”
    Malo paid particular attention.
    See what I mean? Who can tell what guys talk about?
    I crossed my arms. “I thought Crusher was dating one of the Kardashians.”
    â€œDude!” Malo howled with laughter and slapped his knee. “Crusher warned me you were tough.”
    Before he left, Malo wanted to examine the house in the daylight, so I took them all on a quick tour to get the layout. In each room, the two men checked the windows and doors. Everything was locked tight.
    The five of us ended up in Harriet’s large closet. I pointed to the hole in the carpet and the stain on the floor. “This is where she died.”
    Birdie turned green and walked out to the hallway.
    Lucy followed her. “If it’s all the same to you, Martha, let’s start downstairs first. I don’t think Birdie’s ready for this room.”
    Good thing I vacuumed up the flies . “Of course. Let’s go back downstairs.”
    Two sets of biker boots clumped heavily down the stairs. One of them slowed down to help Birdie.
    When we got to the foyer, Malo started to leave, then stopped. “What about the garage?”
    I’d completely forgotten about the garage. “I’ve never actually been inside.”
    We walked to the kitchen and found a door I’d overlooked the day before. Malo flipped the dead bolt and turned the knob. Overhead lights flickered on in the ceiling of a spacious and nearly empty three-car garage. White cupboards lined one wall and held household cleaning supplies, a floor scrubber, a carpet cleaner, a shovel, a ladder, and a child’s fishing pole. A late-model black Lexus sat in the middle of the nearly empty space. No matter how much money she enjoyed, Harriet never would have owned a German car.
    My own garage bulged with junk. Piles of dusty sacks and boxes of stuff accumulated over the last twenty years reached the rafters, along with old furniture, household detritus, and half-empty paint cans. Before she moved to Boston, my daughter, Quincy, claimed half the garage as her free storage facility.
    â€œThe garage door locks electronically,” said Carl. “Nobody can get in without a code.”
    Birdie twisted the end of her white braid. “Well, now we can be certain of the POE.”
    Lucy’s head jerked up. “Huh? What’s POE ?”
    Every eye focused on Birdie.
    â€œPoint of Entry, dear. The intruder must have used a key on the front door.”
    Carl chuckled and Lucy rolled her eyes.
    We decided to work our way from one end of the downstairs to the other starting in the library. Carl set up his laptop on the table, and Lucy plugged in her equipment. I reached into my purse and retrieved the insurance rider listing every piece we needed to locate and label.
    I shook my head. “I don’t know how a private person can collect books like the ones we’re about to look for, but these are truly treasures.” I showed them the list.
    Birdie gasped. “Are they real?”
    I nodded. “I know, right? The insurance company says they’re real.”
    Lucy said, “We’re not going to be putting sticky labels on those.”
    We began to search the library shelves for the four-volume original edition of Memoir, Correspondence & Miscellanies: From the Papers of Thomas Jefferson, published in 1829; ten volumes of The Works of John Adams, Second President of the United States, published 1850-1856; and The Private Life of the Late Benjamin Franklin, French edition published in 1791.
    Since Lucy reached nearly six feet tall, she took the job of reading the top shelves. “Was Harriet interested in Early American history?”
    To accommodate her arthritic knees, Birdie sat on a chair and inspected the lower shelves. “Well, I guess so. Consider the books we’re hunting for. All authored by the Founding Fathers.”
    I scanned titles on the