Page 34 of Half Baked

“I’m not a little girl,” I shot back, “and for what it’s worth, it’s none of your concern what happens after you hand over the box. After that, it’s on me.”

He released a chuckle. “You’re a spitfire, ain’t ya?”

Noah sidled up next to me. “We just want the box, and then we’ll leave you in peace.”

Ignoring Noah, Pitcavage eyed me up and down with a gleam in his eyes. “Fine. It’s your funeral. Wait here. It’s gonna take a minute to retrieve.” He went back inside the house, leaving us on the front stoop.

“What were you thinking coming out here like that?” Noah snapped under his breath.

“Cool it, Noah,” I grunted. “I’m not the little girl Pitcavage thinks I am, and I’m the one who hopefully got results.”

He grumbled under his breath, obviously not happy, but he couldn’t argue with me either.

It took more than a minute. In fact, after about five minutes, I wondered if he was coming back at all and mumbled as much to Noah.

“He’s coming back, and the longer he takes means he’s less likely to show up with a shotgun and shoot us.”

Sure enough, about thirty seconds later, Pitcavage opened the door holding a small brown cardboard shipping box with the wordwhite rabbitwritten on the side. He marched down the steps and shoved it at me. “That’s all Bergan gave me, but if you tell anyone I’ve been holding it all these years, I’ll hunt you down and kill ya myself.”

I grabbed the box, nearly dropping it when I felt how light it was. Was there anything in it? The slight rattle suggested the answer was yes, but it wasn’t much.

Noah stood taller, and I knew he was about to say something in my defense, but I grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the car. “Thank you. I’ve already forgotten who you are.”

He gave me a satisfied nod as I turned around and headed to the passenger side door. Noah backed up until he reached the side of the SUV and opened the door. He was inside when I got in, his hand on the gear shift to put the vehicle in reverse.

Pitcavage stood on the porch, watching us drive away, and I couldn’t help wondering what could make a man his size so nervous about another man.

And here I was, rushing straight toward the boogeyman.

ChapterNine

Maddie

Iwas eager to open the box and search the contents, but Noah convinced me it would be better to open it together. After he drove a few miles, he pulled onto the widened shoulder of the county road next to a historical marker.

“Let’s open it,” he said as he shifted the SUV into park.

I expected him to try to take the box from me, but he gave me an eager look, waiting. My heart swelled. I couldn’t help thinking he’d been placating me by “letting” me start the interview with Howard Bergan. But the fact he was letting me open the box suggested he saw us as partners in this.

The packing tape keeping the box closed was brittle and yellow. I grabbed a loose end and pulled it off the top of the box. The flaps partially opened, and I pushed them the rest of the way down. Inside were several small clear evidence bags.

I started to reach in for them, but Noah said, “Wait,” as he pulled out his phone and snapped a few photos of the contents. Then he turned on the phone’s flashlight and shone it inside. “There might be spiders. Who knows where it was stored.”

I nearly tossed the box off my lap, but he seemed satisfied after his examination. “It looks clear. Go ahead.”

I pulled out the first evidence bag and held it up so Noah could see it. There were preprinted lines on the plastic. Numbers and letters were handwritten on them in black marker. But the bags themselves were translucent, the contents easily visible.

“A gold key,” Noah said, tilting his head to get a better look. “Looks like a house key.”

“Why would they keep a key as evidence?” I asked.

“She must have had it on her person or close to her at the crime scene. They would have kept it as potential evidence if they couldn’t figure out what it opened. I know it’s been a long time, but do you think it could have been a key to your house?”

“You just said they probably kept it because they couldn’t figure out what lock it would open.”

“True, but we’re dealing with a lazy, incompetent, crooked detective and his cronies.”

I pushed out a sigh. “Honestly, I’m not sure, and I don’t know how we’d find out. We sold the house a few months after Mom died, and surely the new owners changed the locks.”

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