“Oh, okay. Sure. We can get the records for you.” Flagg pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’ll call my assistant right now and get her moving on it.”

  He was surprisingly courteous to the person he was talking to, even thanking them. He might call them minions, but at least he seemed to respect this minion.

  Flagg balanced his phone on his knee and looked at Londyn again. “I’ll let you know when my team locates them.”

  She gave a swift nod. “Is there anything unusual about this house that we should know?”

  “Unusual? Not really. I think Karen liked it the best. She didn’t want to leave.” His forehead creased. “Maybe if we’d stayed there, she wouldn’t have cracked up the way she did.”

  “Speaking of Karen,” Ian said. “She told the patrol officers at the scene that the gun she used was yours, and she’d never fired a gun before.”

  “True. We had a break-in at our last house. Kind of spooked me, so I bought a gun. Can never be too safe.”

  “Did you keep it locked up?”

  He shook his head. “Kept it in the nightstand. No kids around. Figured it wouldn’t be a problem. Guess if I’d locked it up, she couldn’t have gotten to it, but who could predict she would lose it.”

  “Is there anything else she told you about Junior and his connection to Olivo or Snipes?” Ian said.

  “Not that I can think of.” Flagg shook his head. “I still can’t believe everything that’s happened. Losing Junior and Karen.”

  “You haven’t lost Karen.”

  He looked confused for a moment. “Well, sure, but she won’t be in my daily life anymore. Might have to get a live-in housekeeper.”

  Yeah, this guy was about as deep as a kiddie pool, but it didn’t seem like he had anything to do with the Rices’ deaths. It was time to move on.

  Malone was tired and dirty from digging through boxes. And she was sad. Looking at things from her past had brought back memories. When she’d reviewed the items with Ian, fond memories played in her mind, but today, a lot of the items seemed like anchors weighing her down. Trying to keep her in the past instead of letting her move forward.

  Before she put this house back on the market, she would have Reed spend a day with her to review every item. They needed to decide what to do with the contents of the boxes. She would make four piles. Trash, give away, keep for her, and keep for Reed. Her pile would be small, the items that made the cut significant.

  She didn’t need all her old toys. All the stuffed animals. Or even the Barney sheets for her twin bed. It all had to go. The mere thought of a fresh start helped replace the sadness.

  She dug into the next box and lifted out a hardcover journal in a fresh mint color with a large silver cross in the middle. She didn’t remember this book. Hesitant but eager to see one of her parents’ personal thoughts, she sat on a stack of boxes and opened the cover. She immediately recognized her mother’s penmanship. Her beautiful cursive letters had swirly flourishes on some of the capital letters.

  Malone remembered running her fingers over the letters as a child, hoping someday she could write as beautifully. She’d traced her mom’s signatures on school permission slips, report cards, and other items signed by her mom and placed them safely in her backpack to return to school. All next to Malone’s Barbie lunchbox that held a daily handwritten Bible verse tucked inside and an I love you note from their mom.

  Tears threatened again, but she shook off the memories and flipped through the book, that was dated the year her parents had died. Malone turned to the last entries, hoping they would shed some light on what had happened at the end. Her mom had written each day, and it was in diary form. She’d started the entry on the day they died with a Bible verse, 2 Corinthians 5:17. So whoever is in Christ is a new creation: the old things have passed away; behold, new things have come.

  The verse was exactly what Malone needed to see. The old things were gone. New things had come. She was new. So was Ian. They were both believers. Surely they could work things out and pursue a relationship. She had to tell him about this. It was almost as if God was speaking the exact words they needed to hear.

  She would call Ian, but first she would finish these boxes in case she located anything he needed to know about. She read down the page that talked about Reed and Malone heading off to school and their father starting the demolition on the wall. It ended there, so Malone turned the page. But a ragged edge told her a page had been ripped out, and the next one was torn off at the bottom. There were indents in the page from whatever was written on the missing page. She flipped another sheet. Nothing.

  She went back to the entry. The very last words her mother had written. Malone could see her sitting in the fluffy chair she’d always chosen for making notes and paying bills. She would’ve had a pen braced between her teeth as she thought about what to write, her legs tucked under her.

  How I miss you, Mom. More than words can say. I want to talk to you. See you. Hold you. Let you hold me.

  Malone couldn’t stop her tears now and let them flow.

  She could almost hear her mom say, I’m in a wonderful place, and I will see you again. Hold you again. Now move on and thrive. Live like there might not be another opportunity, because we aren’t guaranteed tomorrows.

  Malone swiped away her tears and looked at the book again. The torn page was the right size and shape to be the paper found in their car. Could what had been written on the missing page tell them what had happened? Why they were in the car?

  She knew forensic staff could process the indents to reveal words. They could also compare the torn page to this one. She took out her phone and looked at the photo Ian had taken of the note in the car and sent her.

  Yes, it looked like it would line up.

  She had to send Ian a message. She typed a text. I found a diary where my mom might’ve written something about where they were going the day of the accident. I think you’ll want to see it. Call me ASAP.

  She stared at the screen, waiting for a reply, but it went black.

  “Come on. Answer. Please.” She kept watching, willing her phone to light up. One minute. Two. Three. Five. Ten.

  Okay. She couldn’t just sit there. He was a busy detective, and she had no idea when she might hear back from him. She jammed her phone into her pocket and set the journal aside, then dove back into the box.

  Her phone chimed, and she nearly jumped to her feet. The text was from Ian.

  Londyn is on her way over to pick up the journal. She’ll get it to forensics, and we’ll let you know what they find.

  That was it. Nothing personal. Nothing asking how she was doing. And he was sending Londyn instead of coming himself. Malone’s heart hurt, but he was just doing what he’d told her he was going to do. Keep things platonic. She was the one who’d changed her mind. She needed to tell him what she’d discovered and how it might help him consider entering into a relationship. But that needed to be an in-person conversation.

  She typed a thank-you, finished the last box, and carried the journal into the kitchen, where she set it on the counter to free her hands to wash up. It was cold and gray outside, so she brewed a pot of tea. The doorbell rang just as she finished putting out mugs and honey.

  Londyn stood on the front stoop as Malone had expected. She wore a brown coat with a fake fur collar, not at all practical in the rainy Oregon weather, but she looked very fashionable, and Malone could appreciate that.

  “Thanks for coming.” Malone stepped back. “I just made some tea. Would you like a cup?”

  Londyn smiled. “That would be great.”

  “Then follow me. We can put your amazing coat on the sofa if you’d like.”

  Londyn slipped it off, revealing a lovely eggplant-colored suit with a white blouse underneath. She took an evidence bag and gloves from the pocket.

  “Love your coat, and the color of that suit,” Malone said. “I think we could be fashion friends real easily.” Malone waved a hand over her attire. “If you don’t take this outfit into account.”

  “I don’t dress like this all the time.” Londyn draped her coat on the sofa arm. “In fact, I prefer your attire. This is more of a uniform for me.”

  “The prettiest uniform I’ve ever seen.”

  “I work in a man’s world. I can try to fit in and hope they don’t notice me or stand out and make sure they remember me.” She mimicked a model pose. “Obviously, I chose the second one.”

  She laughed, and Malone joined her.

  She led Londyn to the kitchen and motioned at the stools. “Have a seat, and I’ll pour the tea.”

  Londyn sat near the journal. “Is this what I’ve come to pick up?”

  Malone nodded and set a mug in front of Londyn. She didn’t pick it up, instead slipped her gloves on.

  “The torn page is about two-thirds of the way into the book.” Malone set down her own mug, poured honey into it, and stirred. “I think it matches the torn page Ian found.”

  “Me too.” Londyn held the book up to one of the garish pendant lights hanging over the island. “And you’re right on the indentations. You might really be on to something here.”

  Londyn put the book in an evidence bag and took off her gloves.

  “Would you like milk or honey?” Malone asked.

  She shook her head. “I’m a purist.” She laughed again, and Malone was coming to see that this woman had a nice sense of humor.

  Londyn took a sip of the tea. “Odd that Ian didn’t want to come get the journal.”

  Malone didn’t answer right away and considered what she might say. She didn’t want to get Ian into trouble for mixing his personal life with business.

  “Ah,” Londyn said. “I thought there was something between you two.”

  Malone blinked at her. “How did you know?”

  “Your expression speaks louder than your words. You got this dreamy look in your eyes.” She waved a hand. “Relax. I don’t care if he has feelings for you. He’s doing his job, and that’s what matters to me.”

  “Oh, good.” Malone appreciated Londyn’s straight talk.

  “You two going to go for it?” Londyn picked up her mug. “Not that it’s any of my business, but when you have two sisters, you learn to get nosy about things like this.”

  “We decided to keep things platonic.”

  Londyn’s perfectly plucked eyebrows rose. “I don’t know Ian all that well. This is the first time we’ve worked so closely with each other. But you become a detective, and you learn to read people. He’s a great guy. Committed. Compassionate. And he still wants to make a difference when a lot of law enforcement officers become jaded after the years of service he’s put in. He’s one of the most hardworking detectives in our department.”

  “Sounds like there’s a but coming,” Malone said.

  “But I think he works so many hours to forget how empty his life is outside the job. I can recognize it because I do the same thing.”

  “You’re not in a relationship?”

  Londyn shook her head, her eyes clouding over. “Was until recently. But this job is hard on relationships. I hate to tell you that and add another reason for you and Ian not to get together. But often the job has to come first, and you have to find a partner who can handle that. I haven’t, and honestly, I’ve given up.”

  Malone didn’t know Londyn well, but she squeezed the detective’s hand. “I’m sorry about that.”

  Londyn shook her head. “Listen to me. This is so far from professional. I don’t know what’s come over me.”

  “Must be that we share the fashion connection.” Malone grinned and pulled her hand back. “And maybe the fact that Ian and I can’t have a relationship either.”

  Londyn cupped her mug and looked at Malone. “Don’t let what I said deter you. I think Ian has the strength and determination to overcome whatever is put in front of him. Plus, his faith is strong, and that helps us all set priorities, right? So don’t give up hope.”

  Malone sipped her sweet tea, letting the warmth coat her throat. She wouldn’t lose hope, even if Londyn pointed out that she had more strikes against a relationship. But Londyn reminded her, Malone and Ian had God on their side. She just needed to help Ian see that.

  19

  Ian stood in Junior’s apartment with Londyn and tried not to yawn. He’d spent a sleepless night, his dreams filled with Flagg Sr. coming on to Malone and attacking her as Junior had done so many years before. The kid probably learned the behavior from his dad. More proof for Ian that children could become just like their parents. But then the Flaggs didn’t believe in God. Didn’t seek to be better people because of their love for God. They did as they wanted, exactly like his parents. If not for having gone to a church youth event to get away from his family one night, he could’ve become them.

  Had he really escaped a lifetime of living decadently like Flagg Sr. and his son did? The shallowness of it all still twisted his gut. Like this condo. Ostentatious. Money spent on every expensive furnishing, but what good did that do anyone? Didn’t help Junior or Karen.

  Ian had lived years on a police officer’s salary, and he had everything he needed. More than he needed, and unlike his parents, who lived for gaining additional wealth, he was content being who he was and with what he had.

  Yeah, he could be the man Malone needed him to be. The man God wanted him to be. He’d left his past in the past. The only thing he’d carried with him was the fear of letting the past take over his life. Now he could leave that too.

  Resolved to talk to Malone in person as soon as possible, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly to return his focus to work. In the few days since Ian’s and Londyn’s last visit to the condo, the air had turned stale, and a hint of mustiness permeated the space.

  “Exactly what do you hope to find here?” Londyn asked as she snapped on latex gloves.

  “I don’t know. I just have a feeling Junior hid something that will explain how he learned about the Rices’ accident.”

  “He could have a storage unit or used a storage facility paid for by Olivo.”

  “But you wouldn’t want to go to a storage unit every time you needed something to do your job, would you? A cell phone, for example. I know we have no proof he communicated with Olivo and think they may have used drones, but if he really was Olivo’s lieutenant, he had to talk to someone to move the product, right? Plus, where’s the drone he used to deliver the finger?”

  “You’d think so.” She glanced around the room that had black fingerprint powder on most surfaces. “I figure once they crack his computer, it might tell us about where he kept things, but this place has been searched as has his storage locker downstairs. They could’ve communicated by email, but I doubt they’d put their actions in writing.”

  “Humor me and let’s look for hidden storage.”

  “You mean like floorboards that come up?”

  “Like that, but not in the floor. Condos are built on concrete slabs, so unless the entire floor is raised—which I doubt—there’s no room underneath the wood.” He looked around. “Check cabinets for false drawers, hidden spaces behind pictures. Stuff like that. You take the living area. I got the bedroom again.”

  He headed down the hallway, tapping the walls along the way and looking behind pictures.

  In the bedroom, he went straight to the walk-in closet. The space was the size of a small bedroom. Deep brown closet organizers filled all the walls, and a small island sat in the middle. Ian remembered the drawers of the island held expensive watches in one of the drawers, socks and underwear in another. The others were empty. He pulled out each one and felt for false bottoms. Nothing.

  He went to the hanging racks. The clothing varied but was mostly T-shirts and jeans. Ian went to the hamper to check pockets again but came up empty. He ran his hands over the cabinets, feeling for a hidden or trap door. He searched the inside of closed cabinets. Slid clothing out of the way and felt the walls behind. Felt in pockets of the hanging clothes and folded items. Dumped out shoes to look for hidden objects like a key for a storage unit as Londyn had suggested.

  Nothing. Not one hint of what Junior did for a living or how he learned about Malone’s parents.

  How had he done such a good job of hiding his occupation? In Ian’s experience, the guy wasn’t that smart.

  Ian went to the bedroom and dumped out nightstand drawers and checked under the mattress and bed. He gave the bathroom a thorough search.

  Frustrated, he went into the hallway to rip things out of the linen closet he’d passed on the way in and check the back wall. He felt every inch. No hidden crevices.

  He thought about the condo layout from an elevated view. This closet backed up to the main closet, but there wasn’t a bump-out in the main closet to accommodate this one. The builders would’ve had to build out the wall in the main bedroom and put the closet in front of it.

  Had they created a hidden storage area, or had they been lazy, not wanting to deal with the extra framing cuts that a bump-out required?

  Eager now, Ian ran back through the main bedroom to the closet and estimated where the void would be located.

  A unit with slanted shelves holding a variety of colorful sneakers took up the space. He shook it, and the wood under his hand moved a fraction. The other cabinets had felt more solid. This section could simply be poorly installed, or he could be on to something.

  He swept all of the shoes onto the floor and felt around and over the shelves. He tugged on the middle shelf, and the wood rose in his hand.

  The unit slid out and pivoted, revealing a door. Holding his breath, he pressed the top corner. The door popped open.

  “Got something,” he called to Londyn.

  He heard her hurrying down the hallway to the closet, and he felt around the wall for a light switch.

  “A secret storage area,” he said, still feeling the inside wall for a light switch. “Flagg Sr. gave the condo to Junior. He remodeled it so his dad could’ve built this in. Gotta wonder what the old man hid here.”