“Nonclassified,” he said.
Eventually he found a plastic tub buried under old CD cases. He wrenched the top off and dug into the contents with both hands. After a minute’s searching, he pulled out a globe, an old-school faded and dinged model, probably with the USSR still on it. He turned it upside down and twisted the base. A tiny compartment opened, and a silver key the size of his little finger tumbled out.
“That’s a lot of precautions,” I said.
Trey went to the file cabinet. “They’re warranted.”
I watched as he twisted the lock and the cabinet creaked open. He did a quick search of both drawers, looked confused, then performed a more thorough examination of the files, one by one.
He straightened. “They’re not here.”
“What’s not there?”
“The files. But they have to be here. These locks are UL-listed high-security. Pick- and drill-resistant, with keys that cannot be duplicated without my permission. All the other files are here, but not those. I don’t…this doesn’t…”
He started pacing the narrow width of the apartment, six steps, pivot, six steps, pivot. I shoved my hair from my face. Even the normally cool basement was hot.
I tried to keep my voice calm. “Okay. Let’s stop and think for a second. Did anybody else have keys to that cabinet?”
“No.”
“What about to the basement?”
Trey pulled out his phone and hit speed dial. He spoke quickly, without preamble. “The Talbot files are missing. What did you do with them?”
I could hear Garrity on the other end of the line, sounding baffled. Of course he was. Trey had started mid-story with zero explanation. I felt the first twist in my gut. Finn was wrong. Getting involved in this case was not going to be for his own good. There were depths here, cold murky ones.
Trey pressed his thumb to the middle of his forehead. “Yes, yes, I know. Regardless, they’re missing, and I need to know…Oh. Right. Of course.”
He hung up, stared at the phone.
“Well?”
“It wasn’t Garrity.”
“Who was it?”
Trey closed the cabinet, locked the door, slipped the key into his pocket. “Gabriella.”
Chapter Seven
Despite its location in the heart of Buckhead, Gabriella’s cottage was fairy-tale cozy, with weathered plank siding the color of ripe plums and exuberantly overgrown flower beds. Late summer roses scented the evening air, and a single lantern illuminated the porch. Trey marched right up the path to the front door with me right behind.
“You should try calling her again,” I said.
“She’s not answering.”
“Then at least text her.”
He ignored me. He was reaching for the doorknob when he caught himself. Straightening his shoulders, he took a step back and knocked three times. On the other side of the beveled glass, I saw the blur of movement, heard the patter of bare feet against muted jazz. The door swung open.
Gabriella snatched a sash around a white satin robe that barely reached the top of her thighs. She’d cut her hair since I’d last seen her, razoring the red ringlets into an angled bob. With her pale skin and cat-green eyes, she looked straight out of a 1920s speakeasy. And—something else new—she had large black dog at her side. A greyhound.
She pointed to the ground. “Sit. Assis!”
The dog remained standing, its eyes large and doe-like. I held my hand out, fingers curled down in a loose fist. The dog gave me a polite sniff.
Gabriella’s frown vanished when she saw the expression on Trey’s face. “What is wrong?”
“Where are the Talbot files?” he said.
“The what?”
“The files from the Jessica Talbot case.”
Comprehension washed over her features. “Oh, those. I don’t know why you think I—”
“Garrity said he didn’t move the things from my personal office. He says it was you.”
“Yes, but Garrity packed everything first.” She ran a hand through her hair, thinking back. “I simply picked up the boxes and the furniture and took them to the basement. That is all.”
“And the file cabinet?”
“If it was in your apartment, yes.”
“Did you open it?”
“Of course not.” She looked my way. “Tai, what is happening here?”
I shrugged. “You’re getting the story as coherently as I am.”
She sighed and put the back of her hand to her forehead. Somewhere inside the house a clock chimed the hour.
“I don’t have your files,” she said.
He fixed his gaze on her. “Say it again.”
Her eyes flashed. “Trey Seaver! You are not standing on my own front porch and accusing me of lying!”
“You’ve lied before. You took my gun once. And then there was that time—”
“Enough!” She belted her robe tighter. “These files, they are that important?”
“They are.”
She opened the door all the way and waved us in. I noticed then the wisp of a chemise under the robe, the whisper of scent about her, the artful tousling of her hair. A bottle of Viogner sat on the coffee table, open, with two crystal goblets side by side. The lights were low, and candles burned on the side table.
We hadn’t woken her up. She was expecting company.
Once we were inside, Gabriella turned down the music and switched on the overhead light. She folded her arms and glared at Trey. “Quickly.”
And so he explained. As he did, I watched her expression grown less stern. She glanced at the clock. Sighed.
“I don’t have any files,” she said. “I didn’t open the file cabinet. I simply had it placed in the basement.”
“By yourself?”
She looked at him as if he were deranged. “Of course not. I hired Peter from the shop. Very trustworthy.”
Trey opened his mouth, but she held up a single finger.
“And, no, I never left him alone with anything. No one has opened that file cabinet since you went into the hospital, not to my knowledge. Does anybody else have a key to the basement?”
“No,” he said. “Except for…but that’s not…”
“Who?”
“The church secretary. Mary Elaine. The basement is technically my property, but the rest of the house belongs to the church, so I thought it prudent to…” He pulled out his phone. “Excuse me for a second.”
He went back to the porch,
