Legacies, she thought as she closed the door. Hopkins left one of unfulfilled ambitions, which to her mind carried on the one left by his father.

Bobbie Bray’s granddaughter had worked hard to shut her own heritage out, to live simply. Didn’t want to be Bobbie Bray’s legacy. Eve recalled.

Who could blame her? Or anyone else for that matter.

„If you’re handed crap and disappointment -inherited it,“ Eve amended, „what do you do?“

„Depends, I guess.“ Peabody frowned as they headed down. „You could wallow in it and curse your ancestors, or shovel yourself out of it.“

„Yeah. You could try to shine it up into gold and live the high life – like Hopkins. Obsess over it like Bray’s daughter. Or you could shut the door on it and walk away. Like Bray’s granddaughter.“

„Okay. And?“

„There’s more than one way to shut a door. You drive,“ Eve said when they were outside.

„Drive? Me? It’s not even my birthday!“

„Drive, Peabody.“ In the passenger seat, Eve took out her ppc and brought up John Massey’s military ID data. She cocked her head as she studied the photo.

He’d been young, fresh-faced. A little soft around the mouth, she mused, a little guileless in the eyes. She didn’t see either of his grandparents in him, but she saw something else.

Inherited traits, she thought. Legacies.

Using the dash ‘link, she contacted police artist Detective Yancy.

„Got a quick one for you,“ she told him. „I’m going to shoot you an ID photo. I need you to age it for me.“

Eve had Peabody stop at the bank Hopkins had used for his loan on Number Twelve. But there was no safety deposit box listed under his name, or Bray’s, or any combination.

To Peabody ’s disappointment, Eve took the wheel when they left the bank.

She couldn’t justify asking Roarke to do the search for a safety deposit box, though it passed through her mind. He could no doubt pinpoint one, if one was there to be pinpointed, faster than she could. Even faster than EDD. But she couldn’t term it a matter of life and death.

Just a matter of irritation.

She put in a request to Feeney to assign the task to EDD ace, and Peabody ’s heartthrob, Ian McNab while she and Peabody headed back to Bygones.

„McNab will be so completely jazzed about this.“ Smiling – as if even saying his name put a dopey look on her face – Peabody wiggled in the passenger seat. „Looking for a ghost and all that.“

„He’s looking for a bank box.“

„Well yeah, but in a roundabout way, it’s about Bobbie Bray and the ghost thereof. Number Twelve.“

„Stop saying that.“ Eve wanted to grip her own hair and yank, but her hands were currently busy on the wheel. She used those hands to whip around a farting maxibus with a few layers of paint to spare. „I’m going to write an order forbidding anyone within ten feet of me from sayingNumber Twelve in that – what is it – awed whisper.“

„But you just gotta. Did you know there are all these books, and there are vids, based on Number Twelve, and Bobbie and the whole deal from back then? I did some research. McNab and I downloaded one of the vids last night. It was kind of hokey, but still. And we’re working the case. Maybe they’ll make a vid ofthat – you know, like they’re going to do one of the Icove case. Completely uptown. We’ll be famous, and – “

Eve stopped at a light, turned her body slowly so she faced her partner. „You even breathe that thought, I’ll choke you until your eyes pop right out of their sockets, then plop into your open gasping mouth where you’ll swallow them whole. And choke to death on your own eyeballs.“

„Well, jeez.“

„Think about it, think carefully, before you breathe again.“

Peabody hunched in her seat and kept her breathing to a minimum.

When they found the shop closed and locked, they detoured to the home address on record.

Maeve opened the door of the three-level brownstone. „Lieutenant, Detective.“

„Closed down shop, Ms. Buchanan?“

„For a day or two.“ She pushed at her hair. Eve watched the movement, the play of light on the striking red. „We were overrun yesterday, only about an hour after you left. Oh, come in, please. I’m a little flustered this morning.“

„Overrun?“ Eve repeated as she stepped into a long, narrow hallway brightened by stained glass windows that let in the winter sun.

„Customers, and most of them looking for bargains. Or wanting to gawk over the Bobbie Bray collection.“ Maeve, dressed in loose white pants, a soft white sweater and white half boots led the way through a wide doorway into a spacious parlor.

Tidy, Eve thought, but not fussy. Antiques – she knew how to recognize the real thing, as Roarke had a penchant for them. Deep cushions in rich colors, old rugs, what looked to be old black-and-white photographs in pewter frames adorning the walls.

No gel cushions, no mood screen, no entertainment unit in sight. Old-world stuff, Eve decided, very much like their place of business.

„Please, have a seat. I’ve got tea or coffee.“

„Don’t worry about it,“ Eve told her. „Your father’s here?“

„Yes, up in the office. We’re working from here, at least for today. We’re buried in inquiries for our Bray collection, and we can handle those from home.“

She moved around the room, turning on lamps with colored shades. „Normally, we’d love the walk-in traffic at the shop, but not when it’s a circus parade. With only the two of us, we just couldn’t handle it. We have a lot of easily lifted merchandise.“

„How about letters?“

„Letters?“

„You carry that sort of thing? Letters, diaries, journals?“

„We absolutely do. On Bobbie again?“ Maeve walked back to sit on the edge of a chair, crossed her legs. „We have what’s been authenticated as a letter she wrote to a friend she’d made in San Francisco – ah… 1968. Two notebooks containing original lyrics for songs she’d written. There may be more, but those spring to mind.“

„How about letters to family, from her New York years?“

„I don’t think so, but I can check the inventory. Or just ask my father,“ she added with a quick smile. „He’s got the entire inventory in his head, I swear. I don’t know how he does it.“

„Maybe you could ask him if he could spare us a few minutes.“

„Absolutely.“

When she hesitated, Eve primed her. „Is there something else, something you remember?“

„Actually, I’ve been sort of wrestling with this. I don’t think it makes any difference. I didn’t want to say anything in front of my father.“ She glanced toward the doorway, then tugged lightly – nervously, Eve thought – on one of the sparkling silver hoops she wore in her ears. „But… well, Mr. Hopkins – Rad – he sort of hit on me. Flirted, you know. Asked me out to dinner, or drinks. He said I could be a model, and he could set me up with a photographer who’d do my portfolio at a discount.“

She flushed, the color rising pink into her cheeks, and cleared her throat. ‘That kind of thing.' „And did you? Have drinks, dinner, a photo session?“

„No.“ She flushed a little deeper. „I know when I’m getting a line. He was old enough to be my father, and well, not really my type. I won’t say there wasn’t something appealing about him. Really, he could be charming. And it wasn’t nasty, if you know what I mean. I don’t want you to think…“

She waved a hand in the air. „It was all sort of friendly and foolish. I might have even been tempted, just for the fun. But I’ve been seeing someone, and it’s turning into a thing. I didn’t want to mess mat up. And frankly, my father wouldn’t have liked it.“

„Because?“

„The age difference for one, and the type of man Rad was. Opportunistic, multiple marriages. Plus, he was a client and that can get sticky. Anyway.“ Maeve let out a long, relieved breath. „It was bothering me that I didn’t mention it to you, and that you might hear about it and think I was hiding something.“