Page 21 of Max's Mission

The car looked like something Tad would drive. Sensible. Unassuming. Neat. Even though it was old—much older than anything she’d ever seen him drive, including when they were in college—it was well kept.

Max walked toward it, circling the vehicle. He paused near the driver’s door and peered down at the windshield.

“Do you recognize it?” Gallagher’s gaze traveled between him and Margot.

“No.” She moved forward as Max continued his circuit around the vehicle. Looking in the windows, she didn’t see much. It was empty of everything that didn’t originally come with the car. “Where’s all the stuff you said was in it?”

“This way.” Gallagher flicked his head to the side, then turned and walked deeper into the maze.

Margot glanced at Max, and they shared a quick look of trepidation before following the man. Nearing the rear of the building, she saw another door. Gallagher walked up to it, entered a code into the keypad on the wall, then led them through into a giant storage room. A long table filled the space directly in front of them. Beyond that and behind a wall of chain link sat rows and rows of metal shelving, each laden with boxes and items in evidence bags.

Gallagher walked up to the fencing and pulled a set of keys from his pocket, unlocking the gate. He stopped on the other side, propping the door open with his foot so he could slide boxes and a suitcase wrapped in plastic wrap and sealed with evidence tape through the opening.

Max stepped forward to pick them up, setting each one on the table. Margot wandered over, hands stuffed in her jacket pockets, and peered inside the white cardboard boxes. They were full of evidence bags. The writing and the haphazard way the items were boxed made it difficult to see what was inside.

The gate clanged shut, then Gallagher walked over. “You can take things out and look. Just don’t remove the items from the evidence bags. When you’re ready, I’ll open the suitcase.”

“Got it.” Margot reached into the first box, pulling out bag after bag of clothing. She paused as she withdrew a t-shirt. Herlower lip quivered and moisture gathered in her eyes. It was the shirt she’d given Tad for Father’s Day last year. She’d painted the girls’ hands and feet, then stamped the shirt.

“That shirt mean something to you?”

Gallagher’s voice interrupted her thoughts, and she looked up. “Um. Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “It’s Tad’s. These are our daughters’ hand and footprints.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. I made the shirt myself last year for Father’s Day. It was his first, since they were born just after Father’s Day the year before.”

“I see they get their love of fingerpainting naturally.” Max’s dry tone made her smile. She glanced over to see him smiling at her. The teasing light in his eyes told her he was remembering the tile incident from a couple of months ago.

She chuckled. “I’ve encouraged it, yes.”

Putting the shirt down, she dug through the rest of the box. It was mostly more clothes. “Did you take the stuff out of his suitcase?”

Gallagher crossed his arms, tipping his head as he studied her. “No. That was all laying in the backseat. Probably dirty laundry.”

A quick pang went through Margot’s heart at the thought he’d been wearing the shirt with the twins’ prints on it.

Oh, Tad. Why did you leave the girls?

With a quick sniff, she moved on to the next box. It was more of the same, but nothing gave her pause this time. The third box contained non-clothing items the agents found in the car. Receipts, a phone charger, sunglasses, a book, and a postcard.

She frowned as she lifted the latter out of the box. The scene on the front was of a tropical beach. At the bottom, written in fancy script, were the words Costa Rica. A jolt of curiosity zinged through her. “Max.”

“What did you find?” He stepped closer.

Agent Gallagher edged closer, too, but hung back.

Margot showed Max the postcard.

His gaze sharpened when he saw the text. “Is there anything written on the back?”

She turned it over. “‘The people down here are great. It’s a shame you left.’ Signed, F.” Margot frowned, looking at Gallagher. “Who’s F?”

“Don’t know. Do you?”

“It’s not ringing any bells, no.”

“Does Tad have any friends whose name starts with an F?” Max asked.

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