It wasn’t much, Alex thought, looking at the meager pile that—other than a daughter and a butt load of questions—was all that remained of Nell’s parents. Very few papers. The letters were from Nell. Either no one else wrote them, or they didn’t keep anything but her letters. Their wills. Some photo albums, a Wal-Mart apron, a wrench, a goofy Halloween tie.
“Is this all—everything?” Ben asked.
“There’s the music box,” Sarah said, giving her a grin.
The two men looked at Nell. “It was my dad’s not-so-secret vice.”
“Not a vice, Nell,” Sarah protested, “more like an endearing quirk. And he got quite good at the carving. It was just—” She stopped with an impish look.
“What?” Alex asked, suspiciously.
Nell grinned. “His music choices were so cliché. It was—”
“Cute,” Sarah insisted. “I gav
