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The woman handed her the albums, and Savannah snapped pictures of the old photos too. Savannah could see her book morphing with this previously unpublished information.
She stopped at a faded image of three burlesque dancers. “What can you tell me about this photo? They were from New Orleans, correct?”
Savannah knew the story, of course. A fire started during a burlesque show, and its aftermath turned up unpaid taxes. Willard vanished before he could be arrested. The school’s trustees knew the tarnished university wouldn’t survive without major intervention, so they changed the name to Tupelo Grove University and tried to erase its unsavory beginnings.
Helen bristled, but before she answered, the sound of a door opening managed to push its way past all the boxes, and a man’s voice called out, “Gram!”
A thirtyish man with sandy-brown hair and his grandmother’s brown eyes burst out of the narrow path through the boxes. He pointed a finger at Savannah. “Gram, this woman isn’t who you think. She’s a Legare!”
Helen gasped and put her hand to her neck. “B-but her name is Webster. Are you sure, Deke?”
“Her married name. Her father is Pierre Legare.” He pointed in the vicinity of the front door. “Get out and leave our family alone. You should have known better than to come here after you evicted Gram.”
“She was evicted from her house?”
He sneered. “Your innocent act doesn’t fool me, Savannah Legare. You knew exactly what you were doing. The Legares have taken advantage of our family for years. You won’t get away with it forever, you know. Your sins will find you out eventually. All of you, especially your father.”
The bad blood between the Legares and the Willards was long-standing, so Savannah didn’t bother trying to defend herself or her father. At least she had her notes and pictures of the letters and old photographs.
* * *
Savannah’s phone rang when she reached her vehicle, and she tensed when she saw the detective’s name on her screen. Her hands shook as she slid into her Honda Civic, and she set her head against the steering wheel. Don’t answer. She swallowed and waited until the ringing stopped.
A few moments later, her phone chirped with a message, and she read it in her text app. Augusta wanted to know when they could finish their conversation. Never, if Savannah had her way. Why couldn’t Augusta realize she had nothing to do with Abernathy’s death? Savannah felt penned in and hopeless. Was this how every defendant felt before they were arrested? How did she clear her name?
Everything in her longed to call Hez. He’d know what to do. But she’d sent him an email about working at the university, and he hadn’t answered yet, and it had been five days. Maybe he was going to turn her down, and she would have to figure this out herself.
The dash lights glowed when she switched on the engine. It was only nine, and a plan sprang to life. She could search the warehouse. Maybe she could examine the Willard Treasure room and find a clue as to who had done this. Abernathy’s murder had to be tied to the sale of artifacts.
She drove back to Tupelo Grove and got to the warehouse just before ten. A few students lingered on the park benches and near the pond, but the streets and sidewalks were mostly empty. Fall classes would start on Monday. She parked behind the warehouse and dug out her key card. One quick swipe and she was inside and out of sight of curious eyes.
The place smelled of age and dirt. She felt along the wall for a switch and found it. The dim fluorescents overhead flickered as they turned on, and the hum was a welcome distraction from the too-quiet space. She’d been inside the Willard Treasure room a hundred times over her lifetime. Her father had often taken her here to wander through the treasures his predecessor had accumulated. She had loved wandering through the stacks of boxes.
Her feet unerringly led her to the room in the back of the warehouse, and she unlocked it and stepped inside. She locked the door behind her, then switched on the light. The rows of boxes and statues seemed much the same as the last time she’d been in here. Or did they?
She studied the enormous stone carvings and frescoes torn from the walls of Aztec tombs. Where was that huge one that had been her favorite for so long? He was so ugly she’d felt sympathy and a real connection to him. Oh, there he was, hidden behind boxes. Had someone moved him? She snapped pictures as she walked along the rows past boxes labeled “Assorted Pottery from Building 3” and another row of boxes with the itemized contents labeled.
By the time she was done, she was sure items were missing. She couldn’t be sure how much had been stolen because boxes and artifacts had been moved around, probably to hide the thefts. But who was the thief? The log of who had accessed the room should be in the front office by the door. She flipped off the light and crossed under the humming lights to the office. She unlocked it and went to the computer.
It required a password, so she typed hers in, and the screen accepted it. Someone else would be able to tell she’d been in here, but that was all right. She taught classes on the ancient peoples of the Americas, so she had every right to examine anything in this warehouse. She navigated to the visitors’ list of the Willard Treasure room. There were more than she’d expected. Who would have such interest in the old artifacts?
She pulled out her phone and took a snapshot of eight names. Several of them had legitimate interest, including some of the professors in her department, but three of them gave her pause. Why would they be in here?
She went to the next page, but there was nothing else of interest, so she closed the page and left the computer idle like she’d found it. A soft, sliding noise came from her right as she exited the office, and she froze. Her blood pounded in her ears, and she barely breathed. She waited for what seemed an eternity, but there was no other sound.
Maybe it had been her imagination. Or a raccoon. The thought of an animal being in here with her wasn’t much of a comfort, and she retraced her steps to the back of the building. Her breath came fast as she strained to hear any movement behind her. Maybe coming here alone hadn’t been a good idea.
She reached the door and exhaled in relief. She started to unlock the warehouse’s outer door and it opened when she touched it. It hadn’t even been latched. She’d locked it after she entered, hadn’t she? Her pulse rocketed again, and she hurried outside and pulled the door shut without bothering to turn off the lights.
With the door shut, darkness pressed in on every side and her anxiety increased. She had to get home where she could breathe again. Her hands shook as she locked the door and turned to run to her car.
Something rustled to her right, and somebody struck her on the head. Darkness rushed down to claim her in its folds.
* * *
Something jolted Hez awake. It took him a few seconds to recognize his phone’s ring. He opened his eyes and blinked from the light of the iPhone screen a foot from his face. Jessica Legare was calling. Cody barked at the phone.
He groaned. A conversation with Jess was never fun, especially not at—he glanced at the clock on his bedside table—1:23 a.m. What could she be calling about at this hour?
