The thought of Grimes's camp made me think of another empty residence in Ashland: Mab's mansion. Now that M. M. Monroe was back in Ashland, or had at least turned his or her attention in this direction, the logical thing would be to take up residence there, since it belonged to him or her. But so far, the mansion remained empty, at least according to Finn's spies.
Like Bria, Finn hadn't been able to find out anything else about M. M. Monroe and what this person might be up to. But like we'd figured, it couldn't be anything good, not with M.M. buying so much ordnance. At least we'd thwarted that part of the scheme. I'd kept all the weapons and ammo that had been in Grimes's trunk and the other vehicles, moving them into the underground tunnel below Fletcher's house for safekeeping, and the po-po had seized all of the weapons that they'd found at the camp itself. So M.M. would have to get his or her guns somewhere else. A small inconvenience, more than anything else, but I was hoping that it would at least give Finn enough time to track this person down and figure out what he or she was really up to in Ashland.
That bell chimed again, telling folks to get their butts in gear, or else.
Bria hugged me and told me that she would call later if there were any updates or if she found anything else interesting at Grimes's camp. She went over to speak to Xavier, and then the two of them shouldered their gear and fell into step with the others. Bria waved at me a final time, then headed into the woods.
But she wasn't the only one. The coroner also gave me another jaunty wave before he followed her up the trail.
I grinned and waved back. What could I say? I was starting to like that guy.
The esteemed members of the po-po trudged back up to Grimes's camp, leaving Sophia and me behind to pack up the leftovers. We put the remaining food in the ice-filled coolers that we'd brought along, then moved through the picnic area, picking up the used paper plates, cups, and utensils and throwing everything into the trash bins.
We were about to grab the coolers and walk down the steps to our cars when I touched Sophia's arm and handed her the envelope that Bria had given to me.
"Bria found these at Grimes's camp," I said. "She said that they were all over his house and that she took them down before anyone else saw them. I thought that you might want them."
Sophia's fingers curled around the envelope, and she hefted it in her hand, as though it weighed more than it actually did. Or maybe that was because of all the bad memories associated with what was inside.
Sophia sat down at one of the picnic tables, opened the envelope, and flipped through the photos, but I didn't join her. This was her pain, not mine, and I figured that she might want a few moments to herself. So I busied myself by going through the area one more time and making sure that we hadn't forgotten anything. Every once in a while, I would glance over to see how she was doing. Her expression was flat as she looked at first one picture, then the next, but I could see the pain shimmering in her eyes.
Finally, after she'd gone through them all, Sophia grabbed the photos and the envelope, got to her feet, and went over to one of the trash cans. She drew a long, thin lighter out of her jeans pocket, the one she'd used to light the sterno cans that warmed the baked beans and other food. She flicked the lighter on and held it up to the edge of one of the photos. She watched as the flames licked at the paper, then tossed it down into the trash can with the other garbage. I stood by, still and silent, and watched her.One by one, Sophia burned all of the photos, until flames flickered out of the top of the trash can. The smell of burning paper filled the air, along with bits of ash.
Finally, Sophia got down to the last photo in the envelope, the one of her wearing that white dress that had been on Grimes's desk. She started to toss it in on top of the rest of the burning mess, but she hesitated. Instead, she stared at the photo for a long while, before finally sliding it back into the envelope.
Sophia noticed me watching her. "To remember," she rasped.
I nodded. I understood that sentiment all too well. It was why I had so many rune drawings on the mantel at Fletcher's house.
We stood there and watched the rest of the photos curl and burn, until there was nothing left of them but ash - and the memories, which weren't nearly as easy to get rid of.
Chapter Thirty-two
A little more than a week after Harley Grimes had first stormed into Jo-Jo's house, I found myself back in the salon. Only this time, I wasn't getting my nails done. Instead, I was the one painting.
I stepped back, my eyes tracing over the wall and making sure that I hadn't missed any spots. Since the salon had been so damaged during Grimes's attack, Jo-Jo had decided to do a little remodeling. That meant a fresh coat of white paint everywhere.
However, not everyone was happy about being on paint duty instead of being pampered, like we'd first planned.
"Oh, sure," Finn muttered, dabbing his brush at the wall a few feet away from me. "
Now you let me come. Now that there's work to be done and not just sitting around in your pajamas, drinking mimosas, and eating bon-bons."
I gave him an amused look. "Less whining, more painting. Jo-Jo wants to reopen the salon next week, remember?"
Finn let out another huff, but he leaned forward and started some trim work around the doorframe.
"Well, I agree with Finn," Owen drawled from the opposite side of the salon, where he was working on another wall.
"I could do with less painting and more pampering myself."
Beside him, Bria snorted. "Men. And they think that we're the weaker sex. At least we don't whine about every little thing, now, do we?"
Finn turned around and stabbed his paintbrush toward her. "I will have you know that I don't whine about every little thing. I only whine about the important things, my own comfort being chief among those."
Bria snorted again. I grinned and went back to my own painting.
Among the four of us, it didn't take long to finish painting the salon. Once we were done, I led everyone into the kitchen. While they settled themselves around the butcher-block table, I rustled around in the cabinets, coming up with plates, forks, napkins, and a large knife.
Then I reached into the fridge and pulled out the key lime pie that I'd made early that morning.
Finn's eyes lit up. "You didn't tell me that there was pie."
"You would have quit painting and come in here."
"Absolutely," he agreed, grabbing the knife off the table and using it to cut into the dessert. "Why paint when you can eat pie instead?"
"Well, I can think of some things that are better than painting or eating pie," Owen rumbled.