Legacy of Silence. Flo Fitzpatrick
on my phone telling me where to look. Apparently, he had better things to do. So, even a decent lock wouldn’t have mattered.”
A quick interrogation began, initiated by a tall, bald-headed cop who identified himself as Officer Burroughs and introduced his partner as Officer Williams. Miranda gave her name and her reason for going to a house she didn’t yet own at 9:00 p.m. Russ stayed silent although Hernandez had signed Burroughs’s questions.
After Miranda explained about the two wills and the scheduling problems, Burroughs laughed. “The judge was Winston Rayborn, right?”
“Yep. I gather he’s known for coming up with interesting Solomon-like solutions?”
All three officers nodded and grinned. Burroughs added, “For someone fondly referred to as a nutcase.”
“So, I assume you never had cause to bust open the lock to the attic?” Officer Williams asked.
“No! Seriously? It’s broken?”
Williams nodded. “We found a window open on the right side of the attic. It looks like your intruder left through the window and shimmied right down the old sweet gum tree that’s about to take over the roof.” He pointed and added absently, “That thing needs a good pruning.”
Burroughs pulled out a notebook. “Do you think you’d be able to tell if anything’s missing?”
Miranda held back the laugh she feared would lead to hysterics. “Missing? Have y’all seen the rooms downstairs? I have no idea what some thief might have taken.”
Hernandez turned to Russ and signed, How about you? Any ideas on what might be missing?
Russ shook his head. “From what I remember, the attic has some old Hanukkah items, rocking chairs, about fifty very small lamps and a couple of old mannequins that still had dresses on them. There were some trunks, too, but they were locked pretty tight so if they’re not broken then I’d imagine no one else got into them. I didn’t see anything else in plain sight and I have no idea if Virginia stored anything valuable up there.” He paused then added. “I’d imagine the thief was hoping to find an original Auttenberg.”
Officer Burroughs raised an eyebrow. “What’s an Auttenberg?”
Russ explained to the policemen that Virginia had been married to the late artist Benjamin Auttenberg and that his works were worth a fortune, assuming any had survived. Miranda felt a knife twist in her stomach. How had Russ known about Virginia’s marital status? Because she told him, you dummy. She trusted him more than she trusted you.
The officers promised to do all they could to find the intruder, but they weren’t optimistic since no one had a clue whether or not anything was missing. The only thing tampered with—the broken padlock on the attic door—had been wiped clean of all fingerprints. Rounding up all the wannabe felons in Jefferson County wasn’t an option. Ted Hernandez suggested that Miranda or Russ call their respective lawyers first thing the next morning and ask for better locks and an alarm service. He gave Miranda a friendly hug, shook Russ’s hand, told them to call if they found anything useful and then followed his fellow officers out the front entrance.
“Well, should we get to work?”
She whirled around. Russ and his grinning canine were staring at her. She crouched and began petting the dog, who immediately reciprocated with moist kisses. Miranda glanced up at Russ.
“Can I have a minute to breathe? I’m still nervous knowing this house was broken into.”
“Too fast! Plus, you seem to be mumbling,” Russ growled. “Hand gestures would be nice. Word has it you’re a good actress. You might consider facing me directly and doing a little pantomime.”
She straightened up. “Sorry.” She repeated her statement and pointed to the house miming someone smashing windows or jimmying the door, then put her hands to her face in an imitation of the child in the movie Home Alone. Finally she put both hands over her heart and began to pant.
She wasn’t sure how much Russ had understood since he stared at her without speaking for a good thirty seconds.
“I got about three words,” he said. “Basically you’re scared.”
She nodded. For a few moments there was silence. Finally Miranda gestured down at the medium-size yellow and tan canine, who appeared to be a mix of Labrador, shepherd and some sort of terrier.
“Name?”
A reluctant smile crossed Russ’s attractive features and Miranda’s heart began pounding harder than it had when she first realized someone had broken into Miss Virginia’s house. “You’ll appreciate this, I’m sure. Miranda, meet Prospero. Spero for short.”
“A lover of the Bard? Or just The Tempest?” She mimed the burst of a storm as best she could while slowly asking the question.
Russ obviously understood either the lip movement or her actions.
“Both. And Spero the dog truly is a magician in many respects.”
Miranda wanted to ask if Spero was a service dog but wasn’t sure if that would be offensive. As if Russ had read her mind he said, “Spero’s trained to help me manage my hearing loss.”
Russ reached down and patted the dog on his head. Spero’s tail thumped wildly in response. The dog began to excitedly nuzzle Miranda’s knee in an unabashed attempt to receive more affection. She gave it readily, squatting back down and hugging him. Just the act of feeling warm fur and inhaling the faint doggie odor made her feel safe and comfortable.
She looked up into Russ’s hazel eyes. “What kind is he?”
Russ’s small smile grew a bit broader. “No one knows. Including his vet.”
“Well, he’s a sweetie.”
“He is.”
They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.
Miranda moved first by giving a thumbs-up and pointing to the house, which she hoped he’d figure out meant, Are you up for this? Inventory? Tonight?
“I’d give that a yes if you mean am I ready to work. We’re here. We might as well get started. The sooner we finish this, the better.”
He held the door open for her. Or, Miranda thought with amusement, for Spero, who trotted ahead of Miranda and made himself at home on the nearest chair.
Russ pulled a notebook out of his backpack, then grabbed the nearest box, opened it and began to write.
It was going to be a long night.
MIRANDA AND RUSS spent the next forty minutes opening boxes, taking quick peeks inside, then labeling the outsides with the stickies Miranda had brought. Russ jotted notes regarding larger items such as furniture and mirrors and oddities like the umbrella stand and the hat rack filled with Fedoras from the 1940s.
Then there was what Miranda considered the most incongruous item for a ninety-five-year-old former seamstress to own. Miranda started laughing when she uncovered a state-of-the-art laptop computer from under an antique quilt covered in cat hair. Russ was buried nearly waist deep into a box so she tapped him on the shoulder.
“What?” he growled.
“Look! I had no idea she was this high-tech.” She stopped. There was no way Russ was going to lip-read that last comment, so Miranda lifted the computer to where Russ could see it. “Cool, huh!”
The corners of Russ’s mouth turned up just long enough for Miranda to take advantage of the slight thaw in his icy attitude. He even responded. “Virginia was an avid online shopper. I believe she was on a first-name basis with customer service at the three largest booksellers.”
Miranda smiled. He might well shut