The first one popped up on the screen immediately, and unfortunately her files were in the dungeon. I wrote down the number and went on to the next name. By the time I got to the bottom of the list, only two names were not in Wade’s system. Seven were, with all those residing in the basement/dungeon. I always got the feeling Wade was a big D&D fan.

I told a tech I was headed into the pits of despair. He smiled and nodded. I could have walked out with a corpse at this point and no one would care. But why would I? Probably why security wasn’t terribly tight. Like, they didn’t have an armed guard or anything like Parker did.

I made my way down to the basement, which was actually a rather well-lit room on the lower level. I’d forgotten it had vending machines. I totally would’ve dug through my furniture for change.

By the time I’d finished grabbing all the files and going through them, I came to one insurmountable conclusion. Someone was killing kids at Harbor House.

“How’s it going?” Wade asked.

“Pretty good. Can I ask you about a few cases?”

“Absolutely.” He’d hit up the vending machine for coffee and powdered sugar doughnuts. I loved vending machine coffee, so I looked at it longingly.

Wade grinned. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Sure!” I grabbed his and took a sip. “Mmmmm.”

“I was going to get you your own.”

“That’s okay. Yours is fine. So, do you remember any of these cases?”

He wiped his hands together and then took the files from me. “Oh, sure do. I autopsied this one. And this one.”

“They all died of different causes.” And they did. A couple had been in and out of the infirmary for months. Taken to the hospital multiple times. But their illnesses were all over the place. The doctors couldn’t find an underlying cause for either of the cases. This was all in the notes Wade had made. Then a couple died violently. One hit by a car that was never found. One was struck by a blunt instrument.

If there was a single person killing those kids, he was doing a damned good job of covering his tracks.

“Well, yeah,” Wade said. “Blunt-force trauma to the head and suicide by rat poison are considered to be vastly different causes of death.”

“But look where they all lived.”

“Oh, that’s right.” He nodded as he looked through all the files. “I remember your dad looking into these cases.”

“My dad?” I asked, taken by surprise.

“Yes, yes. He suspected a connection, but since nothing ever came of it, I guess he couldn’t prove it. Have you been hired to look into Harbor House?”

“In a way, but I don’t have a lot to go on. There’s no pattern. No common ground. Did Dad tell you anything about the case other than he was looking into it?”

“No. Sorry, hon. But since you’re on official business, I can have my assistant make you copies if you’d like.”

“I would most definitely like. I need more time to study them. To find a common thread.”

“Well, I sure hope you see something your dad didn’t. This case really bothered him.”

“I can see why. I hope so, too.”

As I sat waiting for the files to be copied, I wondered who’d set Dad on this case in the first place. Surely someone had assigned him the case, but who’d noticed the pattern, or lack thereof?

Wade’s assistant didn’t really want to copy all those files right then and there, but I wasn’t taking no for an answer. Heather Huckabee was sick, and I had a feeling it was related to all the cases.

I walked out of the OME with an armload of case files and another cup of joe. Wade had turned his back on me. Great guy but far too trusting.

When I walked out the front door, I ran smack-dab into the middle of a building. I didn’t remember them putting a building there, but there it was nonetheless.

I looked up at Ubie, who was busy staring down at me. “Hey, Uncle Bob.”

“Hey, pumpkin. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know. Little of this. Little of that. You?”

He flashed me a saucy grin. “’Bout the same. While I have you, I need to know who hired you for the Adams case.”

“Really? You need to know?”

“Yeah. You know, for our records.”

“Ah yes, those pesky records. Did you ask Cookie?”

“I did.” His jaw jumped. “She wouldn’t tell me.”

“That’s weird.”

“Very,” he agreed. “So?”

“Oh yeah, sorry. I can’t tell you.”

“Bullshit. You always tell me who hired you.”

“Wait. Are you catching heat for this?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“From Joplin?”

“He is the lead detective on the case.”

“Really? I had no idea.”

“We were just talking about that fact yesterday.”

“Were we? What does he know?”

“You’re really not going to tell me.”

“I’m really not. But it was great to see you,” I said, bouncing off to be pelted by icy wet sleet.

“That you’ve been hired,” he called out to me. “But he doesn’t know by whom. Kind of like me. Your favorite uncle.”

“My only uncle,” I called over my shivering shoulder.

“The one who saved your life and gave up everything for you.”

Okay, the saving-my-life thing, I could see, but … “Everything?”

“Well, a lot.”

He had me there. “And I’m totally grateful.” I stopped and turned back to him. “More than you will ever know or understand, Uncle Bob. You’re the only family I have left.”

“What about Gemma?”

“You and Gemma are the only family I have left. You have done so much for me.”

“I have. I really have,” he said above the sound of the sleet firing little cannons of razor-sharp glass. “You could repay me by telling me—”

Before he could finish that thought, I ran back to him and threw my arms around him. Or, well, one arm. The other was holding a plastic bag with all the copied files and my nigh-frozen coffee. Wade’s assistant had put the files in the bag, not wanting all her hard work to go to waste.