Chapter 6

“This place hasn’t changed in years. Your uncle was a simple man.”

I closed the door behind him, keeping the cold out. Then I told him I didn’t know my uncle very well, that my mother pretty much kept me away from him because she didn’t like the man. I added, “I would have gotten to like Michael, but sometimes life throws you a curve ball and you miss.”

“So true,” he said, oddly still studying the cabin’s interior, maybe looking for something. He craned his neck to the left and then to the right, inquisitive for some odd reason.

Boxes were piled up in the living room like a warehouse. The place still looked like a work in progress: tape gun on the back of the sofa, empty boxes scattered through the room, ready to be filled, and piles of newspaper scattered here and there for wrapping knickknacks and fragile whatnots. Two jumbo Sharpies and extra rolls of tape lay by his boots.

“I was just getting a cup of tea. Would you care to join me, Officer Rexington?”