He couldn’t have asked for more than that.

Cass came out of the kitchen carrying a large spray bottle of water and a scraper, when she heard a car pull into the drive. She went to the dining room window and watched the driver of the Camaro get out. She tapped on the glass and pointed to the front door.

“Hey,” she said as she opened it.

“Hey, yourself.” He kissed her, then stepped inside and looked around. “What are you up to?”

“A lot can happen in three weeks.”

“I’m sorry. I was out of the country. I couldn’t get in touch. I figured rather than call and try to make excuses on the phone, I’d drive up here and make excuses in person.”

“Apology accepted.” She closed the door behind him. “You know, I never thought I’d step back inside this house, let alone ever consider living here. But it was the strangest thing, after that night… I don’t know, I just wanted to be here. I thought if I got rid of the…”

She motioned in the general direction of the second floor and the kitchen.

“You know, the telltale signs. If the walls and the floors were cleaned up, maybe it could be all right. I had someone come and clean out the bad stuff-take out the old carpets and clean the walls and the kitchen, and it’s as if all the bad karma is gone now.”

“I have to admit I was surprised when I stopped at the police station and Denver told me you were thinking about living here again.”

“Lucy wants to live in Gramma’s house, which she is totally entitled to do. She wants to move down here with her boys for the rest of the summer, once they finish up at camp. She isn’t going back to David. I could certainly stay there with them, but it’s going to be a bit crowded. I got to thinking that I have another place to live. I wasn’t sure I could do it, but once I came back, it seemed the ghosts were gone. The bad ones, anyway. I can live with the others. I’m not one hundred percent certain, but I want to try. I thought giving the rooms a new coat of paint would be a good place to start.”

“Well,” he said, looking around, “you have your work cut out for you. Fortunately for you, I’m an expert at home repairs-and a whiz at painting. Did I ever tell you that I paid for a summer in Vienna by painting houses? No? Well, remind me to tell you about that sometime. For now, I’m all yours. You just tell me where to start.”

“Don’t start something you don’t intend to finish, Agent Cisco.” She poked at him with the wallpaper scraper, then started up the steps to the second floor.

“Don’t you worry, Detective Burke.” He grinned and followed her up the stairs. “I’ve got two weeks’ vacation saved up. More than enough time to finish whatever it is you’ve got in mind.”

Regan lifted the last box and hoisted it against her chest before starting down the basement steps. She figured her father’s old papers had rested quite comfortably in the basement for all these years, they could remain there for a few more. She’d hoped to get more sorted out, but she was running out of time. She had promised her editor a first draft of the book about the Bayside Strangler in ten weeks. She’d have to go through the remaining boxes another time-right now, they were proving to be a distraction.

She slid the box onto the storage shelf and turned to go back up the steps, when her foot caught on the edge of a smaller box that must have fallen from a nearby shelf. She tripped over it and landed on her hands and knees.

“Damn.”

She picked herself up and leaned over to lift the box. The bottom, having apparently spent too much time on the damp basement floor, fell out, spilling its contents.

“Shit,” she muttered, and knelt down to gather the papers that littered the floor.

She scooped them together, stuffing them back into the file they’d slid from, then she realized what she was looking at.

She took the file to the light, and read the name. Puzzled, she gathered the rest of the papers and carried them upstairs, where she deposited them on the top of her desk.

Old elementary school report cards, all bearing the name of Edward Kroll.

Odd…

The doorbell rang and she left the file on the desk while she went to the front hall. She opened the door, to find Mitch Peyton on the other side.

“You’re late,” she said. “I thought you’d be here a couple of hours ago.”

“Oh, sorry. I got caught in traffic on I-95. Is now a bad time?”

“No, it’s not a bad time. Come in.” She stepped aside to permit him to enter. “I have the items you were looking for, they’re all ready for you.”

“I can’t believe I left all those reports here. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

They went into the office and she handed him a fat brown envelope. “Everything’s in here.”

“Thanks, Regan. I appreciate it.”

His gaze fell onto the papers that were stacked upon the desk. “You started the book already?”

She nodded. “I did, but that file isn’t part of it. I don’t know what that is.”

“What do you mean?”

“I found a box downstairs that held some old report cards. Look, they’re all for someone named Edward Kroll, who, back in the forties, attended St. John the Baptist Elementary School in Sayreville, Illinois.”

“Who’s Edward Kroll?”

“I have no idea. I’ve never heard the name before.” With a finger, she drew out first one, then another of the report cards. “I can’t imagine why my father would have had them.”

“Maybe Kroll was someone your dad was investigating.”

“Maybe.” She picked up one of the report cards and read a written comment aloud. “’Eddie is an asset to the class. He has an aptitude for math, is inquisitive, and is an excellent reader.’ Signed by Sister Mary Matthew.” She flipped the card over. “Second grade.”

“Well, his name is sure to turn up again, if your father was interested in him enough to keep his report cards from grade school.”

“That’s what I thought, too. I’m sure there must be other files. But…” She dropped the report card on the desk.

“Right. With your dad’s filing system, who knows where they might be.”

“Same old story.” She laughed. “It certainly makes going through his papers an adventure. I never know what I’m going to find. Sometimes I wonder if he didn’t plan it that way, just to keep me intrigued.”

“I guess I’ll get this to my car.” Mitch patted the envelope and headed for the door. “Thanks again, Regan. I appreciate it. I don’t think my boss would be too happy if he knew I’d left some of my investigative reports here.”

She walked him to the door, and watched him open the trunk of his car. He dropped the envelope in, then walked to the driver’s side.

Closing the front door, Regan wished she could think of something to say that would bring him back inside, if only for a while. She’d been thinking a lot lately that the house seemed so quiet, so empty, since the Strangler case had been wrapped up and Mitch had returned to Maryland, and she was once again alone.

The doorbell rang.

Wondering what Mitch could have forgotten, Regan opened the door.

He stood there, a dark blue blazer slung over his shoulder.

“I was just wondering-now that we have work completely out of the way-if you’d like to go out to dinner with me. If you don’t have other plans for tonight, that is.”

“You mean, like a date?”

“Yes.” He grinned. “Like a date.”

“Oh.” She smiled, waved him inside, and closed the door behind him. “Give me a minute to change.”

“You don’t have to change. You look perfect.”

“Well, I’ll need my keys…” She disappeared into her office and returned with her handbag.

“So,” she said as they walked to the door, “what did you have in mind?”

“I was thinking about this Mexican place outside of Princeton. I had dinner there one night and thought maybe you’d like it. They have one of those sort of traveling trios that roam around the restaurant, singing to the customers.”