Tessa cinched her arms across her chest as another box of photos got opened. She’d stayed out of the way in the cottage, hating every moment she had to be there. But standing in this sterile room with stainless steel tables wasn’t much better. Watching strangers go through all of her mother’s photos made Tessa’s stomach ache.
They wore white gloves, and they handled every photo with care. Tessa hadn’t looked through all of them. How could she? Mom had boxes and boxes of photos. She’d fancied herself a bit of a photog, and she’d snapped pictures of everything from birthdays to Easter dresses to a simple day laying on the beach.
The FBI agents wouldn’t let Tessa sort photos with them. They’d asked her dozens of questions yesterday after meeting her at the south harbor. They hadn’t let Abe
