“Yes, dear,” Gran said, emerging from a storage closet.
I gaped at them, looking from her to where Levi stood, his back to me, perusing old copies of magazines and local newspapers Grandpa insisted people wanted to buy, but never actually did.
“What’s going on here?” I asked.
Levi spun and grinned at me. “I drafted your grandmother into helping with research.”
“What is he talking about, Gran?”
She put the box down and gave me a warm smile. “Leviathan came by this morning and told me a bit about his past and what you and he agreed to. I’m helping him. We’ve been selling the town’s discarded items for over fifty years. I told him there might be some things around here that might belong to his lost love.” She shrugged. “Or something here might give him clues about who may have killed her. Between you and me, your grandfather and I are loath to get rid of things, even when they don’t sell. It’s a problem.”
That part was right. The storage room and the basement were packed with things that had sat on shelves, collecting dust. The one time I’d tried to talk them into renting a dumpster to clean both out, you’d have thought I told them I was going to kill a puppy with a chainsaw.
I glared at Levi, but he was digging through a box of photos, wholly unaware I was staring daggers at him. We’dneverdiscussed dragging Gran or Grandpa into this.
“Where did you get these?” he said, lifting a stack of dusty photos.
“A lot of what we get is from estate sales,” Gran explained. “Donations, yard sales, and auctions too. I think those came from an estate sale twenty or thirty years ago.”
I sighed. “Gran, why would you all buy these? How did you ever think you’d sell old photos?”
She gave me a pitying look. “Just because you can’t sell them, doesn’t mean they deserve to be lost. People took these pictures. They meant something to someone years ago. There’s no reason for them to end up in a landfill.”
My grandparents had always been hopeless romantics. Some of that had worked its way into my own DNA, but not to the level they had. Maybe one, or both, of my parents had been more pragmatic, helping level off my sentimentality.
“Holy hell,” Levi muttered, flipping through the pictures. “I think I know who these belonged to.”
“Who?” Gran and I asked in unison.
“Thurman Walker. He was the newspaper editor,” Levi explained. “That’s the only reason someone would have all these. The paper was small. Thurman was basically a one-man show. He took all the pictures, wrote almost all the stories,anddid the marketing for…” He trailed off as he paused on a certain set of pictures, his eyes growing wide.
“What’s wrong?” I said, craning my neck to see what had caught his attention.
Levi placed two photos down. One was a young man in typical nineteen-twenties attire and hairstyle, grinning while holding an axe at his side. Even in the aged patina of the photo, I could make out the sweat stains on his shirt. Behind him lay stacks of chopped and split logs.
“My half-brother,” Levi said. “Rafe Thornton.”
Those words slammed into me harder than I could have imaginedanythingstriking me. I’d have been less surprised if a bus crashed through the front door of the shop and crushed me beneath its wheels.
“Thornton?” I said. “You’re related to the Thornton family? That’s?—”
“He’s Anders Burnell’s great-grandfather,” Gran said.
“He was my beta when I was the alpha of this pack,” Levi said, shaking his head sadly. “My best friend too, but he ended up banishing me for Naphele’s murder. He found me with her body. Someone told me he died years ago, and I have no idea if he ever believed in my innocence.”
While he gazed at that photo with a strange combination of heartbreak and longing, I glanced at the other. This man was leaning on a split rail fence, a faint yet noticeable grin on his face. He looked just like Grandpa.
Gran, seeing my reaction, tapped the picture with her finger. “That’s Winston Hollis. Your grandfather’s father.” She chuckled softly. “We never went through these pictures. I had no idea they had one of him in here.”
Levi tore his eyes from the picture of Rafe Thornton to look at the one of my great-grandfather. He picked up the picture, a wistful look in his eyes.
“Winston was one of the only ones who believed I was innocent,” Levi said, then shook his head as if clearing it. “I’ve forgotten so much. After all this time, things started to run together. I never even put it together that you and he would be related,” he added, glancing at me. “The last name alone should have clued me in.”
“Why did he think you were innocent?” I asked.
The smile on Levi’s face faded into a frown. “Winston was a good man, but not what you’d call easy to deal with.”
Gran huffed. “That’s putting it mildly. Oh, I’m glad your grandfather is out and about. Hehatestalking about his father.”
