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He backed out of the lavatory and studied the chaos of the stockroom.

Some of the damage was clearly self—or rather, Uncle C.—inflicted. He knew from long experience that the unopened mail, invoices, magazines, periodicals, and old-fashioned accordion file folders on top of Uncle C.’s desk predated the falling shelf. Ditto for the precariously balanced stacks of teacups.

He cautiously crunched his way through porcelain bits and pieces, climbed back over the desk, and noticed the answering machine was flashing.

Uneasy instinct made him drop into the leather swivel chair and press Play.

A woman’s voice said, “Hi, Cutty. This is Miriam Labelle. I’ll be down tomorrow to pick up the Hall mixing bowls. Thank you.”

The second message was several seconds of breathing following by a hang-up.

Andy’s scalp prickled.

The deep, determinedly pleasant voice on the third message was only too familiar. “Cutty, this is Marcus. Andy’s partner. Have him phone me the minute he arrives. I don’t care what time it is.”

Andy’s heart began to pound in hard, sickening thumps.

On the one hand, he was astonished that Marcus, the most self-absorbed person he’d ever known, even remembered Uncle C.’s existence. On the other hand, it was only to be expected that Marcus, the ex-cop, had made the logical deduction that Andy was far more likely to retreat to his uncle in Maine than his parents in Palm Springs—which was then confirmed by Clark’s well-meaning but ill-timed phone call.

With a feeling of dread, he listened to the fourth and final message.

Marcus was no longer bothering with the pretense of being pleasant. “Allison, this is Marcus Bok. I know your nephew is there. He needs to stop hiding behind you and talk to me like a grown-up. Whatever problems he thinks we have now arenothingto the problems we’re going to have if he doesn’t show me some respect. Fast.”

Somehow the quietclickthat followed that threat was more ominous than a fist banging on a door.

“Kids…” Officer Wolf studied the stockroom in disgust. “Too bad you didn’t manage to get a glimpse of him. Or her.”

Andy sort of remembered Ruthanne Wolf from happier times. She was in her midforties, tall, lean, and brown-haired. She was one of those women born both responsible and capable. If he remembered correctly, once upon a time she had babysat Quinn—and probably half the other kids in town. Now—well, for the last ten years—she had been Police Chief Millard’s second-in-command.

“Kids?” he echoed doubtfully.

“Sure. They figured the place was empty and decided to grab whatever they could.”

“But…”

“Can you think of anything here that would attract an actual thief?”

“I haven’t had a chance to—”

Ruthanne picked up the fallen great helm and held it up to illustrate her point. “Is this real?”

“It’s a reproduction.”

“That’s my point. Something like this is catnip to a teenage boy. Take it from someone with three of them at home.”

Andy couldn’t help objecting to this summary dismissal of Uncle C.’s life’s work. “There aresomethings of value here.”

Ruthanne said wryly, “And the fact that they’re still here should tell you something.” She closed her notepad and tucked it in the pocket of her black uniform jacket. “Now that they know you’re on the premises, I think that’ll be the end of it.”

“I hope so.”

“I’m sure of it.” She studied his face, said sincerely, “I can’t tell you how sorry I am about Cutty. Everybody’s just sick about it.”

“Thanks,” Andy said.

“It’s a lousy homecoming for you.”

“Is there any progress on the case? Chief Millard said there were a couple of possible suspects.”