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“What photos?”
Hannah pulled a face. “Oh, right. You don’t remember anything about that day.” She shook her head. “Sorry, I forgot. At my session, I gave you a USB with photos from my mom. I hooked her up with Kenesha Wallace, the teen from Detroit who transfers physical photos and old videos to digital ones and creates these beautiful scrapbooks from them? Remember me talking about her?”
Thatdidring a bell. Amelia felt a touch relieved. “Your mother has as many pictures as she does recipes.”
Hannah laughed. It was a running joke that the First Lady considered herself quite the chef but never actually cooked. That didn’t stop her from collecting recipes from her travels, as well as thousands of photos and videos of the family on the various campaign trails and precious few vacations. “I’ve tried to Marie Kondo her, but it isn’t working. Kenesha is slowly but surely going through all of our family pictures and recordings and organizing them. She does great work and I anticipate she’s going to get lots of press over this. Mom’s been singing her praises on social media.”
Amelia’s tea was tepid now, but the mint flavor soothed her. “And you gave photos to me? Why?”
“Copies of shots from a fundraiser near your hometown years ago. I was eight, so you were, too. Some major investors set up a bird sanctuary outside of town and my parents were on the campaign trail—when weren’t they? Your dad was there. Did you know he was into birds?”
Amelia set the cup down a bit too hard, the clang setting her teeth on edge. “My dad? Nah.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s him.” She pointed to the photo on Amelia’s fridge trapped by a magnet. “His hair is longer than it was there and he’s wearing a nice suit, but I’m pretty sure that’s the same guy.”
Amelia blinked. “He wasn’t a bird watcher.”
“Apparently it was a big deal because the mayor at that time, C. Ray Jones, ran a huge logging company that was accused of endangering Bluebirds. There was a lot of mass clear cutting in your state. One of Dad’s stops canceled, Charleston I think Mom said, and since he was pushing his environmental agenda and they weren’t due at the next one until the following day, his campaign manager thought an event to raise money and awareness about the birds was a great photo op.” She finished her tea and rubbed her sore arm. “I’m not sure it’s him, but I thought you’d want to see the pictures. I know you don’t have a lot of him.”
Was it true? Had her father been there and been caught on camera? “That’s wonderful. I can’t wait to look at them, but… I don’t know what I did with it.”
“Crud! It was in your Binni bag.” Hannah smacked her forehead. “I’ll have Kenesha make another copy for you.”
Something clicked in Amelia’s brain and a searing pain cut from temple to temple. She sucked in a breath and closed her eyes, opening them again when Hannah grabbed her hand.
“Hey, are you all right?”
Flashes of memories slammed into her. “Sure,” she lied, reeling. “Just tired.”
Hannah stood. “You’ve overdone it and it’s my fault. I better get out of your hair. Thank you so much for the tea and taking a look at my wrist. I owe you.”
Amelia pasted on a smile and walked her to the door, barely noticing that Agent Masden hung back. Her chest felt tight and she couldn’t decide whether to rub it or her head. “Remember to take care of it,” she reminded Hannah.
“See you tomorrow night,” her friend called as she headed for the exit. “Get some rest.”
Where is Masden? Amelia turned, expecting him to be right behind her. She found him in the kitchen wiping down the table and cup with a dishtowel. “What are you doing?”
He pocketed the cloth and marched past her without giving an answer.
“Hey, that’s mine,” she yelled. He kept going, the door closing behind him with a firm bang.
“Weird,” she muttered.
Trudging to her bedroom, she found Rory lifting tape from the windowsill.
“Well?” She sank onto the bed. If only she could take a nap. “Any luck?”
He held up the tape, with its traces of black powder, near her bedside lamp, examining it. “No.”
She sat straighter, eyeballing the lack of swirls on the tape. “No prints?”
“Not a one.” He let out an exasperated grunt. “Someone wiped it. Just like the pipe.”
Beatrice had told her about the suspected weapon found in the dumpster. Her stomach clenched. “Masden just wiped down the table and cup,” she murmured.
“He didwhat?”
She nodded but the movement cost her, and she rubbed her temples. “It’s a security procedure, right? Because of who she is?”