Later, Daniel visited the repair shop where Mateo worked.
The room smelled of varnish and clean wood shavings.
Lily stood near a workbench, testing the borrowed viola after Mateo adjusted its bridge.
The notes sounded fuller than they had at the arts center.
Daniel waited until she finished playing.
“Any news about your instrument?” he asked.
“Not yet,” Lily replied.
“They found some others.”
“Does that help?”
“It means the missing ones might still exist.”
Mateo wiped his hands on a cloth.
“The longer they sit in improper storage, the more damage they can suffer.”
“What happens if the wood dries out?” Daniel asked.
“Seams can open, necks can shift, and old repairs can fail.”
Mateo glanced at the borrowed viola.
“Some damage can be repaired, but there are limits.”
Daniel thought of crates bouncing through freight depots while their owners waited in rehearsal rooms.
He realized that finding the instruments quickly mattered for reasons beyond simply recovering property.
CHAPTER TEN — THE RED SWALLOW
On Tuesday morning, an investigator found a photograph of the red swallow water tower on an archived municipal tourism page.
The painted bird belonged to a former produce-processing district called East Vale.
Several warehouses had operated there before food distribution shifted to a highway interchange.
A small refrigerated storage business still occupied one of the old buildings.
Its loading dock had a broken corner visible in a recent inspection image.
The shape matched Andrew’s description.
The business was legitimate, but its manager said a separate unit had been leased to a transport contractor during the previous month.
The contractor supplied documents in the name of a company called Kestrel Consolidated.
The company address led to a vacant office suite.
Its listed phone number forwarded to a disconnected line.
Investigators obtained the appropriate authority to inspect the leased unit and preserve its contents.
Daniel heard about the location from Ortiz after she asked him to review an inventory photograph.
The photograph showed a brass plate attached to a black upright piano.
The maker’s name was worn, but a faint serial mark remained visible.
“Does this resemble your mother’s piano?” Ortiz asked.
Daniel examined it carefully.
The shape looked familiar, as did the brass hinges along the lid.
But he remembered that his mother’s piano had a white scratch running across the lower front panel.
The photograph showed no such mark.
“I don’t think it’s hers,” he said.
“Why would you ask?”
Ortiz explained that Price kept asking about the instrument while planning burglaries near Daniel’s address.
He seemed to believe a particular piano contained something valuable.
Daniel gave a puzzled laugh.
“My mother sold ours through a furniture shop years ago.”
“Do you know where it went?”
“No.”
“Then this may be unrelated.”
The investigator did not suggest a hidden treasure or family secret.
She simply wanted to rule out the possibility that Price’s interest in Daniel’s home had another specific motive.
Daniel described the piano’s repair history and offered a photograph from an old family album.
He sent it that afternoon.
Ortiz thanked him and moved on to more urgent questions.
