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walked toward Brian, ducking beneath another beam. “Clear the scene, sir,” he said with no expression, his hands folded across his chest.
    Brian muttered a mild obscenity, slapped his notebook closed, and descended the drop-down ladder. He joined Darcie in the kitchen.
    “How are you doing,” he said, rubbing her back.
    She looked at him, pouting. “This feels like a nightmare. I woke up when I was napping and heard everybody’s footsteps above me. I thought it was the babies’ ghosts walking around.” She shivered. “It’s just so creepy knowing those poor babies have been up there all this time.”
    “They’ve been dead a long time, honey. And who knows if they were even alive to begin with.”
    She grimaced, touching her belly, and he realized it probably wasn’t a reassuring thing to say.
    “What do you mean by that?”
    “I don’t know what I mean.” He turned and walked toward the living room. “I don’t have any idea where they came from or what happened. It’s all just mysterious.”
    He sat on the couch, and she joined him.
    “You’re enjoying this, though, aren’t you?”
    He looked at her, carefully formulating his response. “What do you want me to say? I’m a journalist. You have to admit, this has some excitement to it.”
    She frowned. “But they were babies. Little babies.” Her eyes got moist.
    “It’s tragic, I admit.” He patted her knee. “But it happened. We can’t change that. Now we’ve got to try and figure it all out and what it means.”
    She looked at him, and he saw disappointment in her eyes. She would have been happy with him covering the garden tour and the upcoming Dump Festival and crap like that. That’s why she didn’t mind dragging him here, because she didn’t care about his career. She wanted a quiet family life, a nice place to raise their child, and a job where he could come home at a reasonable time and be with her. She didn’t want him out all hours of the night at police stations, crash sites, and late-night fires. This dull weekly newspaper seemed perfect for them—no, for her.
    And he went along with it. But he had other reasons for taking her away from the city, reasons that had nothing to do with his job, but more to do with her job. He wanted her away from her job at the school as much as she wanted him away from his, maybe even more.
    Brian was itching to know what was going on in the attic. A couple more men showed up at the house, who turned out to be from the state pathology lab. They headed upstairs and into the attic. Brian followed and stood in the hallway by the drop-down ladder, trying to eavesdrop on what was being said, but the words didn’t carry well. He had his notebook out and pen ready in case he picked up something. The voices were mostly Steem’s and the medical examiner’s.
    At one point, Brian thought he heard a word and scribbled it into his notebook: snuffing ?
    After a few moments he heard feet shuffling toward the trap door, and he stepped away from the ladder. Capt. Steem came down first, glaring at Brian as he descended the steps, but not saying a word. The pathology men came next, carrying five black plastic bags. They proceeded downstairs and through the front door.
    The medical examiner and county attorney came next and stood aside as Chief Treece and Sgt. Wickwire carried the steamer trunk down the steps. Noah smiled at Brian as they went by. Everyone else followed, like a funeral procession behind a casket, though Brian was sure this box was now empty and its contents in those black plastic bags.
    In his living room, Brian looked out the window and watched Treece and Wickwire load the steamer trunk into the back of the State Police vehicle. The pathology men had already left with their cargos, and the medical examiner soon followed. As Brian stood there, he saw on the sidewalk across the street the same tall, thin man he had nearly bumped into outside the newspaper office.
    The man walked slowly, arms