Page 89 of The Me I Left Behind

“Not yet.”

“Well, do.”

Maggie ambled toward the last column and took down the tote on top. “Okay, this one is curious,” she said. “Miscellaneous 2002.” She moved it to the ground and popped open the lid. “Interesting.” She crouched and pulled out a school yearbook.

“What?”

“High school yearbooks from 1992 to 1996. Decatur, Georgia.”

“Georgia?”

“Yeah. Max is from Raleigh. He went to high school and college in North Carolina. As far as I know, he never lived in Georgia.”

Julia rose and left the desk, looking over Maggie’s shoulder. “What else is in there?”

“Looks like a couple of scrapbooks, a box of newspaper clippings and old photographs, and some awards, like 4-H ribbons and scout badges.”

“Scouts?”

“Yes.”

“Boy or girl?”

Maggie blinked and lifted two badges. “Girl Scouts.” She looked up, meeting Julia’s gaze. “Why would Max have Girl Scout badges?”

Julia straightened and stared at the other containers. She went to the ones marked winter and summer clothes, unsnapped both lids, and pulled out a handful of clothing. “Maggie, these are women’s clothes.”

Standing, Maggie stared at the items. “I don’t understand.”

“These aren’t Max’s things, Maggie. They belong to someone else.”

“But who?”

Julia stepped closer. “The woman in the picture?”

Suddenly, Maggie’s throat started closing up, anxiety racing across her chest. “Julia, goddamn it. What the fuck has Max done? Who is this woman and why is Max holding onto all of her things?”

“Since 2002, no less.”

She shuddered. “If we find a fucking body carved up in one of these totes, I’m going to lose it.”

“By now there would only be bones, I’m sure.”

“Julia!”

“Sorry.” Julia faced her. “Look. There are several things rolling around in my head, but I don’t want to jump to conclusions. I need a few more facts, first.”

“Like?”

She crossed the room again to the desk. “Like what might be inside this fireproof lock box. There is no key to be found.” Julia picked it up and showed Maggie.

It was a small box, perhaps ten inches long and four or five inches wide, but she supposed it was large enough to hold some important paperwork.

Maggie pulled her phone from her hip pocket and glanced at the time. “I’m tired of fucking around. Take it with us and let’s let the locksmith have a go at it.”

“Good thinking, Mags.”

Maggie realized it felt good making decisions—even small ones. “And I’ll take this tote, too, with all the women’s memorabilia. Surely, we might find some clues there.”

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