"Sorry." He stepped back and closed the door. "Well, now we know why he didn't return to get the masks. Is there... never mind, I'll get details from Bruce on this." He opened the door again. "See you when I get back."
She was waiting when he returned. "Okay, what did you learn?"
"Unfortunately, we're still stuck with having to dispose of the urns," he said.
"How come?"
"Parents are deceased, survived by one sister, who was born in this country and feels no responsibility for any part of long-dead cousins, whose existence she knew nothing about. I called Thabo on the way back and gave him the news."
"I'd hate to see them end up on some trash heap," Bertie said. "Can't they be given to some sort of museum or something like that?"
Harry looked at her. "That's an interesting idea, but..." His phone rang and he answered.
"Mr. Hogan," Thabo said. "I have a home for the urns."
Harry put his phone on speaker. "Okay, tell us."
"My mother knows of a small museum that will take them. They also want a written story of the grandparents and the three grandchildren to go with it. She's also going to do a charcoal drawing to put with it as well."
"Wow," Bertie said.
"That's great," Harry added.
"Drawing and painting is her biggest hobby and she is quite good." Thabo said proudly. "I think Hentie would be pleased to know that her grandchildren will be remembered."
Harry thanked him and ended the call. Then he called Mike Parsons and told him he could resume work on the basement. The urns had found a home.
