Sara Medlar
“Nice.” He put back the book. He looked to see if anything else was inside but there were only more books by other authors. “Just trash.”
They opened three more boxes and unloaded two shopping bags before they saw the box. They hadn’t seen it at first because it was buried under eight cartons of old canning jars. It was one of those sold in craft stores: shiny surface with pictures of pink roses and white ribbons.
Kate held it up. “I bet this belonged to Cheryl.”
It was growing lighter outside but they still needed the big bulbs. They moved closer to a lamp and Sara slit the tape that was all around the lid.
When Kate looked up, she saw that, like her, blood was pulsing in their throats. Slowly, she opened it. Inside was a gray metal box, the kind that was used for cash. It was closed with a lock that needed a key. On the top, in red nail polish, was painted Private. CAM.
“Cheryl Ann Morris,” Jack said.
With glove-encased hands, Kate lifted out the cash box and held it reverently. “Is there a key in there?”
Sara pulled out the contents of the decorative box: dried wildflowers, pink tissue paper, a snippet of blue silk. “No key.”
“So what do we do?” Kate asked. “Pry it open?”
“Sure,” Jack said.
But Sara put out her hand. “Don’t freak, but I think we should take it to the sheriff. Unopened.”
Kate thought of the ramifications of their opening the box now. What proof would they have that they hadn’t tampered with it? She looked at Jack.
“Agreed.” He sounded reluctant.
Jack called Gil, who was getting ready to go to work, and asked him to get security put on the house. Now that they were sure the contents belonged to Cheryl and her mother, it needed to be protected.
Even though it was very early Sunday morning when they got to the sheriff’s office, it was fully lit up. During the night, all calls were transferred to the Broward County offices, so the office should have been empty.
“Think he knows we’re coming?” Sara was making a joke.
“I just pray that another body hasn’t been found,” Kate said.
Jack snorted. “The bastard killer saves those for us.”
The front door was unlocked and at first they thought no one was there. But then Sara saw Sheriff Flynn sitting at his desk, arms across his chest, eyes on them. She nudged Kate, who elbowed Jack.
Silently, they went into his office. Jack put the flowered box on the desk and they sat down and waited.
“I’ve been expecting you,” Sheriff Flynn said. “I got to wondering what all those big lights were doing at the Morris house, so I called Gil and asked him. He said you’d bought a whole garage full of trash. Said he offered to take it to the dump but you laughed at him.” He paused, waiting for an explanation, but Jack said nothing.
“Anyway, I figured things out. Captain Edison’s report of his visit to the Morris house with an eleven-year-old Jackson Wyatt mentions a missing van full of household goods. If the women died and it was left behind, it figured that a penny-pincher like Lester Boggs would be the one to take it. I called his son and was told of you busybodies buying all the junk in his mother’s garage. I gathered it had something Morris-related in it.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Since you know what you’re looking for, I knew I just had to wait until you found it. I had to use poor Mrs. Bruebaker to nudge you along, but I had faith in you. My only worry was that you’d find something and keep it to yourselves.”
Kate, Jack and Sara were blinking at him in silence.
“You got nothing to say?”
“What about the fight when Dan was found?” Sara asked. “You threatened us.”
“In front of Cotilla? Of course I did. But since when did a Medlar ever take good advice? Randal would never—” He looked at Kate, then cleared his throat. “So what do you have for me?” He nodded at the box.
Kate spoke up. “Inside is a metal cash box that belonged to Cheryl. We’re hoping to find out who her boyfriend was.”
The sheriff stood up and started to lift the top, but Jack’s question stopped him.