Page 54 of Max's Mission

“Is it another body?” Max asked.

“No.” Dye ran a hand through his short hair. “There’s no sign of Dale Conroy. But there was a bag of money in plain view on the kitchen table.”

Max blinked several times before his brain processed that. “A bag of money? Like banded bills?”

“Yeah. Whoever that is”—he pointed to where forensics still worked by the shed—“they weren’t killed for the cash.”

Twenty-One

Margot shifted, smothering a yawn as she tried valiantly to stay awake. She never should have sat down. But they’d been here for hours now and she’d been freezing. Once the sun finally eclipsed the horizon, the temperature had dropped dramatically. When Agent Dye told her she was welcome to have a seat in the car, she’d jumped at the chance to bask in the heater’s warmth.

But now she was toasty, and it had made her sleepy.

Yawning again, she sat up and blinked as she peered through the windshield. Half an hour or so ago, Agent Dye had walked up and crooked a finger at Max. He’d asked Margot if she wanted to come, too, but she’d already been rapidly fading and had opted to stay in the car. Max would fill her in on anything she needed to know.

Now, the two men were walking around the side of the house, and Dye had a tan duffel in his gloved hand.

She hit the button to turn off the car and got out. The chilly breeze immediately penetrated her sweater. For a moment, she debated digging her parka out of the back, but it was stuffed—and she meantstuffed—into her suitcase, and she didn’t feel like making a mess of the cargo area.

Hugging herself, she rounded the hood and waited for them to reach her.

“Did you get warmed up?” Max stopped an arm’s length away and ran a soft hand down her arm.

“Yes.” She looked at Dye. “Is that the money?”

“It is.”

Her gaze bounced between the men. She didn’t like the pinch to Max’s expression. “What else did you find? And don’t even think about telling me nothing. I can see by the look on your face there’s more.”

Dye answered, not giving Max a chance. “Another map.”

Margot sighed. Closing her eyes, she lifted one hand and pressed her fingers to her forehead.

“It has handwriting on it.”

Max’s words brought her head up.

“Can you take a look at it? Tell us if it’s Tad’s?” Dye asked.

She dropped her arms. “Sure.”

Walking past her, Dye set the duffel on the hood of the car, then opened his coat to remove an evidence bag. From another pocket, he produced a pair of gloves. “Put these on, please.”

Margot took the purple gloves and put them on while he pulled the map from the bag and carefully unfolded it.

He pointed to the margin. “There.”

Tipping her head, she leaned in, trying to get a better look. Shadows crisscrossed the surface over here away from the bright lights.

“Hang on.” Dye reached into yet another pocket and produced a small penlight.

With the surface illuminated, it only took her a moment to know it was indeed Tad’s handwriting. “That’s his. What does that mean, though?” Scrawled at the edge of the map in black ink was a single word: Chase. Another circle, like on the first map, highlighted an area of interest.

“It’s a bank,” Max said. “We looked at what’s inside that circle. There’s a Chase Bank location.”

“And it was robbed thirteen months ago,” Dye added.

Margot’s knees wobbled. “What?” She turned round eyes on Max.

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