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“In front of the sales desk. I was…cleaning up.”

Quinn’s brows drew together. He turned and headed for the back of the store, Andy right behind. Andy couldn’t help thinking it was kind of like those dreams he’d had after Quinn had disappeared. Dreams where he was forever following Quinn through the woods, along the shore, through the shop, never quite able to catch up to him…

They reached the long, red, brown smear of Uncle C.’s blood. Quinn studied it without emotion—and Andy studied Quinn.

“Is Cutty still a night owl?” Quinn asked finally.

Funny Quinn remembering that.

“As far as I know. I haven’t been back in years.”

“No? You used to come every summer.”

“It’s different when you’ve got a job and responsibilities.” Which was true, but…

“You’re in Philadelphia now?”

Andy nodded, wondering where Quinn had learned that.

“And you’re…a museum director? Is that what I heard?”

Heard from whom?

“Curator. At the Worley Foundation.”

Quinn grunted, though it was unlikely the Worley Foundation meant anything to him. “Where’d he get in last night?”

It took him a second to realize Quinn was referring to Uncle C.’s assailant. “They picked the front lock. That was last night. The first time. This morning, they—someone—came in through the bathroom window.”

Quinn said absently, “Sounds like a song.”

Oh, right. Quinn had been a Beatles fan back when the Beatles were no longer cool. Andy had been into Al Stewart, Aimee Mann, and OneRepublic.

Quinn moved behind the long sales desk, squatted down, and opened the drawers. He removed the ledgers, flipping quickly through as he scanned the pages. “Are these up-to-date, do you think?”

“I can’t be sure. The last shipment recorded was two weeks ago, which makes me think no.”

“Great.” Quinn chewed his bottom lip, replaced the black and gold inventory log and the green receipt book. He closed the drawer and rose, studying the alcove entrance to the staircase. “Cutty must have heard something and started downstairs. I wonder why our guy didn’t clobber him when he stepped out. Did he not hear him coming?”

“You keep sayinghe.”

“It could have been a she.”

“You don’t think there was more than one person involved?”

“This was a solo act. And, just my opinion, it wasn’t a kid.”

Andy agreed, but had to ask. “How can you be sure?”

“Millard always had fingers on the pulse of this town. Actually, it was more like a stranglehold. I don’t get the feelingmuch has changed, so when did gangs of nameless kids start roaming the streets of Safehaven?”

“Good point.”

“Secondly, the biggest mess in here came from processing the crime scene. The idea that a gang of youthful offenders broke in but didn’t disturb anything doesn’t jibe with assault and battery on an old man.”

There was something to that. There was no evidence of an actual fight in the shop. It seemed like Uncle C. had come downstairs and been attacked without ever having a chance to defend himself.

Quinn added, “In fact, the idea that a group of kids could go anywhere and not make a mess is hard to believe.”