Proof Positive: A Joe Gunther Novel (Joe Gunther Series) by Archer Mayor

was great as long as he kept moving. If anyone talked too long, or tried to get closer than a couple of one-liners, I could see him tense up. He had these escape phrases, like, ‘Well, don’t wanna lose the day,’ or ‘Gotta go. Promised Wayne I’d get there by three,’ even though there was no Wayne. I felt like the one exception.”
    “You mentioned how things improved between you,” Joe said. “And also how you had to keep your eye on his mood swings. Was there any consistency there toward the end, as in a prolonged bad temper or a growing anxiety? I’m wondering if something was eating at him that he didn’t tell you about.”
    She considered it, but her reply came as no surprise. “Nothing stands out,” she said. “He seemed fine, last time I saw him. Really, the end of that footage says it all. He was more upbeat than usual. Off camera, he was even showing a little interest in the exhibition—even in maybe wanting to come see it. But he wouldn’t really talk about it—not in so many words.”
    They had stepped around a couple of the larger piles in the front yard and were now standing near the main entrance, where they paused.
    Joe indicated the mechanical “haystacks” around them. “The way he photographed these, and the stuff inside—obsessively, really—made me think of the Impressionists.”
    She laughed. “Monet? I guess you’re right, only in black-and-white.”
    Joe nodded before asking, “Did you ever get a feeling that there may’ve been more to them than just scrap metal and junk? I mean, I understand he was a hoarder and that everything meant something to him, but was there maybe something of worth, in real terms?”
    She shook her head. “ Truly valuable? Not that I ever saw.”
    He still wondered if the modern photographs’ so outnumbering the older ones wasn’t in some way significant.
    “Your mom tell you what’s happening next?” Joe asked her after a moment.
    Rachel was surprised, suddenly looking, to Joe’s eyes, like a younger version of her mother. “No. What?”
    “Well, since she’s actually the legal owner here, and since we can’t prove any crime took place, she and I were thinking she might pay to have most of this cleaned out.”
    Rachel was sympathetic, sentimentality aside. “I guess I can understand that. I didn’t realize Mom inherited it.”
    “She bought it in the first place. She was the quote-unquote bank he paid every month. It was her way of helping him save face.”
    Rachel smiled. “That sounds like her.”
    “Anyhow, a clean-out crew will be coming soon, complete with heavy equipment. They may even open up one of the walls, for better access.”
    She looked mournfully at the tired house. “He would have hated that.”
    “I know,” he suggested. “I have an idea: Would you be interested in filming the disassembly? It might supply some sort of conclusion for your project, and it would be handy for us as a document.”
    The idea seemed to lighten her mood, even though he’d been admiring her stoicism so far. “That would be cool. I was kind of lost about what to do now.”
    “Great,” he said. “I’ll mention it to your mom, to let her know we’re all on the same page.” He shoved the door open with his shoulder. “I gotta warn you, Rachel: You might not want to do this. It smells bad and it could bring back memories.”
    She joined him at the door, her nose wrinkling. “No, no. I’m okay. If it’ll help you out, I’m game.” She paused before admitting, “It is pretty gross, though, isn’t it?”
    His need to know overriding a protective instinct, Joe preceded her and turned on the flashlight that he’d brought from the car. He asked her over his shoulder, “Was it always so nasty smelling?”
    She began looking around, her curiosity drawing her in and helping her down the tunnel of stacked paper. “Not this much. He didn’t eat indoors hardly at all, and then mostly in one spot, way to the back. He called it his