Page 37 of Max's Mission

“Sure.”

He took off the blue gloves he wore and shoved them into his pocket as he headed for the door. Margot picked up the sack, but then had a thought.

“Max.”

He paused in the doorway and turned.

“What do we say about this box? Someone let Tad into it and shouldn’t have.”

Max drummed his fingers on his leg for a moment. “I think nothing for now. Let’s find out what’s in the other box, then contact Gallagher. And my attorney. This stuff is in your possession and shouldn’t be. We—you—need representation.”

Her shoulders drooped, but she didn’t argue. He was right.

If it weren’t for the fact Tad was already dead, she’d wring his neck.

Fifteen

Traffic noise swirled around them on the cool wind in downtown Dallas as they walked the few blocks to the bank listed on Tad’s keychain. Max spotted the drugstore where he’d bought the gloves and the Ziploc bags and had a thought. Grabbing Margot’s hand, he steered her toward the store’s entrance.

“What are we doing?”

“We need to preserve the prints on that key.” The doors swished open, and they stepped inside.

“Oh. How?”

“Makeup and packing tape.”

“Makeup and—” She sighed. “Max, maybe we should call Gallagher now. If we lift the prints, they won’t hold up in court.”

He paused near a rack of Maybelline foundation. “Hell.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I really don’t want the cops involved until we know what’s in that box.”

“I don’t, either. But I don’t think we have a choice. What if there are prints on it and they belong to Tad’s murderer? What if it’s the only connection to the guy, and we blow it because we wanted to play Miss Marple?”

Max sighed. She was right. “Fine.” Turning around, he led them out of the store.

“So, where to?”

He paused, thinking. “We could go to the FBI offices here.”

“Okay. Where is it?” Taking out her phone, she looked up the address and mapped it. “I think we’ll have to take an Uber. The closest DART station to the building is an hour walk.”

Max looked down the street, another possibility churning through his brain. “Or, we could see if we can get an agent to meet us at the bank.” He glanced back at Margot. “We might have better luck getting the feds to let us see what’s in the box if we’re already there. Especially if you’ve got access to it.”

“I like that idea.”

A passerby bumped Max’s arm. They were in the middle of the sidewalk. Tugging on Margot’s sleeve, he tipped his head. “Let’s stand over here out of the way.” They moved under the store’s awning and leaned against the building.

“Do you have Gallagher’s card on you?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s in my bag.” She slipped her phone into her coat pocket, then raised her arm slightly, dipping her hand inside.

A furrow formed between Max’s brows. “How do you find anything in there? It’s like one of those magician’s bags. Or Santa’s present sack.”

Margot laughed. “It is not.”

“Yes, it is. You’re looking for a two-by-three square of cardboard in that giant thing.”

Chuckling, she rolled her eyes, continuing to dig. “You just don’t know how to use the magic.” In seconds, she held the white rectangle between her fingers under his nose.

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