Finally, Jones straightened and turned to face them. "I think they're South African. A man came to see me about six months ago. He showed me photos of three masks, carved on urns, exactly like these, and asked if I could confirm their age and value. I told him I'd need to physically examine them and even then, I couldn't guarantee anything. He said he'd bring them to me within the next week but he never came back."
"So are they real or not?" Parsons asked.
"They're old and look real," Jones said, "but I'm not sure they're of historical valuable. Maybe more of folklore or sentimental value. I'd need to examine them in the lab to be sure."
"Do you want to take them now?"
"Can I use that box over in the corner to transport them?"
Parsons picked up the box and handed it to him. "I just want them gone. Let me know what you find out."
"I'll let you all know," Jones said.
Harry rubbed his chin. "We still don't know who put them here, or why?"
"Does it matter?" Parsons asked, as they left the room.
"Someone may be looking for them," Bertie said.
"We'll continue looking," Harry said. "The Whyatt boys may know something."
***************
That afternoon, Harry called Edward Whyatt. "Mr. Whyatt, what can you tell me about a locked room in the basement of your parents' house?"
"We never had one," Whyatt replied. "Are you sure you're talking about the same house."
"The house that Mike Parsons bought," Harry said.
"Yes, that was ours. The basement had a rec room, laundry room and three storage rooms: one for sports equipment, one for Mom's holiday decorations and one for Dad's fishing gear. But no locked room."
"There is now." Harry described the room and the masks. "Was Kasey Buckler there long enough to have done it?"
"Buckler had a rent-to-own contract, but six months in, he vanished. He would have needed permission to do any construction, but he..." There was a moment of silence before he continued.
"Did you say a narrow table with three lights over it?"
"Yes, the masks are in a glass display case on the table."
"There was a narrow table in the room where Dad kept his fishing supplies. He installed the lights for when he was making flies. Every wall was filled with shelves and display racks. He even sold some."
"I hope you took the gear," Harry said, cringing at the thought of it ending up in the trash.
Whyatt laughed. "Oh, yes. None of us will have to buy any for a long time. Do you fish, Mr. Hogan?"
"Every chance I get," Harry said with a chuckle.
"I'll send you some of Dad's original flies. But I'm clueless about the masks. I hope you solve the mystery."
Harry thanked him and laid down the phone. "It looks like Buckler may have been responsible for the masks. But where did he get them, and why did he leave them? Did something happen to him?"
"Why did he have them in the first place?" Bertie asked.
