Half the canvas had rotted away, but I could make out letters embroidered on the flap: K. A. H.
"How 'bout that, Blue?" I leaned back against the wall.
"I'll be damned." Ben shook his head in wonder. "You did it, Tory. You found Heaton's pack."
CHAPTER 59
All the way home, I was totally jazzed.
I'd done it! Against all odds, I'd found Katherine Heaton's backpack.
All it took was a little flare.
I giggled at my own wit.
Finding something of Katherine's had lifted my spirits. It felt impossible, like I'd reached back through time. If you thought about it, that wasn't far from the truth.
The sun slipped from sight as we cut across the waves. The sky faded to indigo and the stars ventured out for a peek. A lone pelican took wing, either preparing to bed down or heading into the night for one last snack. On evenings like this, I love the Carolinas.
I drank in my surroundings, heady with confidence. We can do this, I thought. We can solve this mystery.
Despite my euphoria, I'd shown self-control. I hadn't so much as peeked inside the backpack. We had to be careful. Katherine's bag hadn't been opened in over forty years. Who knew what condition the journal was in?
Or if it was even there.
Of course it would be there. I didn't climb a gazillion stairs, gag, sift through filth, and uncover something lost since the first moon landing, only to come up short. No way, Jose.
We reached the Morris dock just as full night took charge. I stood with Katherine's stinky bag hugged to my chest, waiting while the boys fixed the lines. Growing impatient. It was time to unwrap this bad boy.
"Where to now?" I asked.
"My place," Shelton said. "Pops converted our garage into a workshop. He takes computers apart, so he's got tweezers, gloves, that kind of stuff. Plus my parents went to see La Boheme in town. They won't be back for hours."
Ben glanced at my scum-covered arms. "Does it have a sink? A hose?"
Ha ha.
"Perfect," I said. "Lead the way."
"Not a chance," said Shelton.
"Clean up," said Hi.
"Now," said Ben. "We'll wait."
I stuck out my tongue, but hurried home to scrub up.
Each unit on Morris has a single-car garage. Neither of the senior Devers ever parks in theirs. The walls are lined with metal shelving. Plastic containers cram every inch, carefully labeled, holding an oddball assortment of screws, wires, plugs, cables, adapters, and circuit boards. Nelson's workshop looks like a RadioShack jammed into a phone booth.
Ten minutes later I joined the boys there, freshly showered, neatly changed, and raring to go. They were clustered around a drawing table. True to their promise, the backpack lay untouched.
My dirt-free attire got a round of applause. Ben whistled.
"Much better," Shelton proclaimed.
"I don't know." Hi pooched out his lips. "The avian excrement added a certain je ne sais quoi."
"Very funny," I said.
"Sir." Shelton stepped aside with a bow. "I yield to your superior skills with scientific protocol."
"Why, thank you," said Hi. "Now let's please open this thing."
Hi positioned a magnifying lamp over the parcel. Fluorescent light bathed the tabletop.
"You smelled this bag?" Shelton still couldn't believe it. "Under a floor grate? Through a half foot of bird crap?"
"What can I say?" I shrugged. "I sniffed Katherine's sweater in Sylvia's apartment, then picked up the same scent in the tower. I was flaring both times."
"Amazing," Shelton said. "I wanna try that. Sounds awesome."
"Believe me, it didn't smell awesome. Bird funk nearly killed me." But I had to admit, my bloodhound act excited me. These flares might be useful after all. Very useful.
"Ready?" I asked.
"Ready." Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, Hi reached inside the crusty pack. A smile spread over his face. He carefully removed a crumbling notebook.
My heart leapt. Success! Unbelievably, we'd found a clue the police had missed.
I'd found it, thank you very much.
The journal's cover was cracked, its pages rippled and swollen. When Hi lifted a corner, dirt poured from its spine.
"Careful," I scolded. "The paper is disintegrating."
"You think I don't know that?" Hi set the notebook down, gently raised and jostled the bag. Out came a pencil and a barrette. Nothing else.
"Can you read it?" I crowded close, anxious to see if the journal's pages were intact.
"Back it up!" Hi shooed me with gloved hands. "I can't work like this."
Reluctantly, I retreated a step. Inched forward again.
Using tweezers, Hi teased the front cover open.
Nature had taken a devastating toll. Rainwater. Salt spray. Bird droppings. The abuse had rendered the entries indecipherable.
Hi leafed carefully, a page at a time. Nothing was legible.
The air slowly leaked from the room. It seemed impossibly cruel, that we could locate Heaton's notebook after forty years, yet be unable to read a single word she'd written.
"Here's something." Hi sounded excited. "Look!"