In her parents’ office at the back of the house, Avery removed the lid from the box labeled Manhattan office archive. Inside were file folder organizers with countless files and papers, each one labeled differently, and in both her parents’ writing. “Wow.” She glanced at Aunt Midge and then back at the files. There didn’t seem to be a method of organization, not by month or by alphabetization. The titles in each tab ranged from a word or phrase (Stonehenge dig, Russian tapestry, Princess Sofia’s hairbrush) to simply a year or years (1742, 1964–1965, 1893).
The front door snapped open and shut, and Tilly called out, “Hey, peeps! Wilder’s here, and he brought dinner!”
Avery put the lid back on the Manhattan box. “Later,” she said, standing. “I don’t even know where to start.”
Aunt Midge stood with her. “We’ll help you. I’m sure we’ll find something related to that medallion your parents were working on. Don’t worry.”
Avery and her aunt joined the other two in the dining room, Midge’s best friend Wilder putting out place settings for each of them. Wilder Mendelsohn and Midge had been inseparable since college in the 1970s. For years, Avery and Tilly had both assumed Wilder was their aunt’s boyfriend, until it became clear that, though Wilder would likely always carry a torch for Midge, she valued her independence much more than the idea of romance. Wilder was a professor at Columbia University, twice divorced, and as tall and broad as Midge was small and petite. Quiet and calm, with a dry sense of humor and an air of parental affection toward the girls, Wilder was always a welcome addition to their trio.
Over a dinner of Chinese takeout, Avery filled Aunt Midge and Wilder in on the elusive collector, Oliver Renell. “So now, on top of trying to prove provenance for this new ruby—possible ruby—I also feel like we should look into Renell. Something seems off about how he came into possession of the jewel. I asked Goldie to reach out to him and see if we might set up a meeting; Micah and I have questions about the acquisition. It’s strange. Goldie says he won’t meet in person; he sent the jewel in by courier. She’s only ever communicated with him over email. So that’s the only way we’re going to be able to get more information from him.”
“Oooh,” Tilly spoke up. “Maybe he’s on social media. I bet he is!” She began typing on her phone screen.
“Tilly.” Aunt Midge tapped the table with her fingers, looking sternly at her niece. “No phones during dinner.”
Tilly rolled her eyes and touched the phone screen, scrolling. “Auntie. You know it’s the twenty-first century, right? Staying connected is like air to my generation!”
Midge’s expression didn’t change. “I suppose it’s all a matter of how long one wishes to go without air, then. Half an hour, or all night?”
Wilder set his fork down and exchanged glances with Avery, the two of them silently watching the volley.
Tilly stared Midge down and lost. She slid the phone into her back pocket. “Fine. I’ll send you anything I find later,” she told Avery.
“Thanks.” Avery smiled.
“I wonder if Barnaby’s has heard of your collector,” Wilder offered. “Might be worth looking into. I doubt this tentative transaction with MOA is his first such deal in New York.”
“Yes!” Avery pointed at Wilder. “Great idea. Sir Robert has cultivated a relationship with one of the auctioneers. I’ll have him check. Thank you for that.”
He shrugged, picking up his fork again. “It’s just a thought. Not that I know much about antiquities. But ask me about Nietzsche and I’ll give you the full ninety-minute lecture.”
“I’d love to hear it,” Midge told him. “No one expands my mind the way you do, Professor.”
Calm, cool, and collected Wilder Mendelsohn blushed—Avery saw it just before he used his napkin, covering part of his face for a moment. He cleared his throat and speared a piece of chicken, keeping his gaze on the plate in front of him. Did Aunt Midge have a clue how enthralled he was with her? Avery truly couldn’t tell.
“Oh! Avery.” Midge handed a slip of paper across the table to her. “I found this today in my files upstairs. I’d nearly forgotten it. It’s an evidence intake receipt. You should check in with our police department. They should still have some of your parents’ documents. A detective came to the house asking questions after the accident. He took some papers from your father’s study—work-related items, I think. I never thought to try to get them back, but maybe they’d be useful to you now.”
“Perfect, thank you.” Avery’s memories of that night were still patchy. She was working with Dr. Singh on getting clearer details. With the trauma of the crash and the aftermath at the hospital, Dr. Singh was certain Avery had been in shock for hours.
After dinner, the group of four moved into the family room. Tilly brewed tea and made the rounds, pouring for everyone and then heading back into the kitchen. A loud bark came from outside. Avery jumped up, hurrying through to the back door. “How did we forget Halston outside?”
She pulled the door open, ushering the dog inside. As the large Afghan passed her, the scent of lemons and cedar struck her, adhering to her senses. William’s aftershave. Avery dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms around Halston’s neck, and buried her face in the dog’s fur. He smelled just like her father.
Chapter Four
Tilly stopped on her way back through, a tray of cookies from the White Box in one hand. “A? Is he okay?” She gave Halston a scratch behind one ear.
“Smell him.” Avery let go of the dog.
“Um.” Tilly stared at her, wide-eyed. “No thanks? Not if a skunk got him again! I don’t smell anything, though.”
“No,” Avery said. She stepped out onto the patio, calling back over her shoulder, “Smell his fur, Tilly, right now!” She sprinted across the grass and down their gravel driveway, head whipping in both directions up and down the long dirt road. Two pinpoint red lights receded in the distance to the left; she quickly lost them, even when she squinted. Who was that? It couldn’t be William. It just couldn’t. If their father was somehow alive, he wouldn’t be torturing them this way.
Tilly caught up with her, Halston running in excited circles around the two of them and barking. “Shh!” Tilly patted her thigh twice, and the large hound immediately heeled obediently at her side. “Did you see him? I told you he’s alive!”
Avery shook her head. “No. There’s nothing out here.” The taillights down the road had to have been a neighbor. The Ayers home sat on ten acres of land, and the house was set back off the road a bit, which meant there were no visible neighbors. Avery normally loved it, as her parents had. Tilly despised the quiet seclusion. If it was up to her, they’d have moved into Aunt Midge’s luxurious Manhattan apartment and sold the house after losing Anne and William. Avery still hoped Tilly might grow to love having the best of both worlds, the bustling city and the peaceful country.
Right now, though, Avery wished they weren’t so isolated. “It’s not Dad. I’m sorry; it’s just not. Someone is messing with us.”
Tilly kept her cool. “I think you’re wrong. There’s no reason for anyone to try to make us think Dad’s still alive. And how would they even know what aftershave he used? Why would Halston let whoever it was get close enough to touch him?”
Avery tipped her head, skeptical. “Really? This guy?” She patted Halston’s head. “Everyone’s a potential best friend to him; you know that. I don’t have any explanations for the rest. I just can’t make sense of it. Whether we try to assume it’s Dad or not.” She couldn’t remind Tilly again of that night in the hospital. That would be cruel.
“Whatever.” The girl spun and started back toward the house. “I’m texting Miss Jennie to ask if she saw anything weird.”
Miss Jennie—Jennie Langmore—was their childhood babysitter who lived next door, on the other side of the pine trees. “Okay. Maybe she did. Good idea.” Avery doubted Miss Jennie had seen anything other than a car passing by, if she’d even noticed that.
Aunt Mi
dge and Wilder were on the porch waiting for them. “What happened? Was he after a deer again?” Midge scowled down at Halston.
“Avery forgot Halston outside, and when she let him in, he smelled just like Dad, but she thinks it’s just a weird coincidence or a conspiracy or something.” Tilly’s voice dripped with satisfaction at tattling on her older sister.
Their aunt bent, putting her face close to the dog’s fur. “Hmm. Possibly. It’s hard to say for sure. You know, I just had him at the groomer yesterday. I wonder if they’re using a new shampoo.”
Tilly stood, hands on her hips, gaze going from Midge to Avery. She kept her voice level. “You’ve got to be kidding me. The simplest explanation is usually the right one.”
“Occam’s razor,” Wilder murmured.
“Quite,” Aunt Midge agreed. She took Tilly’s hand between both of hers. “But what is the simplest explanation, Matilda? That your father is alive despite all we know from that horrid night? Or that the groomer switched to a citrus-scented shampoo?”
Tilly pulled her hand away. She opened her mouth to speak but didn’t. She pushed past Midge and Wilder and slammed the screened front door on her way inside.
Aunt Midge sighed. “I’m not an unreasonable woman.”
Wilder shook his head. “No, you’re not. You’re using logic. Tilly’s thinking with her heart.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “Are you coming in, Avery?”
“In a minute.” When her aunt and Wilder had gone in, Avery took a seat in one of the rockers on the porch as Halston sat beside her. She’d been planning to squeeze in a quick run after dinner, but now she was having second thoughts. If their dad truly had been here, that was one thing. If there was something more sinister to the mysterious note yesterday morning, followed by the notable aroma on Halston tonight, that was something else entirely. Maybe a night run just now was a bad idea.
Avery leaned forward and rested her cheek against the Afghan’s black fur over his shoulder blades. The dog leaned into her. She hadn’t exaggerated; he loved anyone willing to give him a few ear scratches. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. It wasn’t basic citrus. It was lemons, not oranges. But now she wasn’t positive at all that she smelled cedar. Had it been her imagination? They’d all petted Halston in the last few minutes; was the scent fainter now, or had her brain simply paired cedar with the lemony smell when it first drifted to her in the foyer? Was that possible? Scent was the strongest tie to memories. Maybe her senses were playing tricks on her.
But if the simplest explanation was indeed the right one, could the simplest explanation be that their father was somehow alive? Because the alternative meant someone was going to great lengths to make them think he was. The idea made Avery shudder. Who had known the specific scent of William’s aftershave or cologne? Her mother Anne, obviously. Micah, she assumed, as he was more an uncle to her than a colleague. He’d known William for years. Maybe Sir Robert, if he paid attention to that sort of thing? William’s sister, Aunt Midge. And perhaps any of his friends or acquaintances who had taken note of it.
But what would someone have to gain by leaving a forged note and then planting William’s scent on Halston’s coat while he was out in the yard? Why risk being exposed? The warning to decline a case the very morning Avery had first laid eyes on that striking ruby, in light of her current knowledge that her parents had handled the dragon medallion’s appraisal and now this scent on Halston, seemed all too personal.
Or was the note a cruel prank and the scent on the dog’s fur a wild coincidence? Maybe the groomer had begun using a lemon-scented shampoo and Avery’s mind had done the rest. That was almost more believable than the other options. She gave Halston another quick hug and tried to put the mystery away for the night as she went into the house. She’d skip tonight’s run, and she’d let Tilly find out if Miss Jennie had seen anything. Tomorrow she’d visit the Springfield County Sheriff’s Department.
* * *
Lilac Grove marked the eastern edge of Springfield County. The Sheriff’s Department was one town over in Dogwood Heights, a twenty-minute drive southwest. The next town after that was Begonia Bend. Every town in Springfield County was named after some type of flower, but Avery felt her little town of Lilac Grove had the best moniker. She stood in front of the desk sergeant, a stern-looking middle-aged woman in blue-rimmed glasses. The brass name plate declared her to be Sergeant Lynn Tunney.
“Excuse me, Sergeant. I have this.” Avery produced the evidence receipt from Aunt Midge. “I think some of my father’s files might be here? I came to retrieve them.”
“Your father will have to sign for them himself,” the woman said, without looking up.
Avery placed the receipt on the desk in front of the sergeant. “He’s dead. The files were collected from our house by one of your men the night he died last year. We were told they’d be released when the case was closed.”
That got her attention. Lynn Tunney met Avery’s gaze over the top rim of her glasses. “I’m so sorry.” She tapped her keyboard, reading the several-digit receipt number. “Yes. We have the files. That case is still open. I’m afraid the detective on your father’s case is the only one who can release them.”
Avery frowned. “What? Why is the case still open? It was a car accident. Can I speak with the detective?”
The sergeant scrolled and looked up again. “He’s not in today. I can have him call you. Or I can give you his number and you can leave him a message today.” She picked up a pen.
“Yes, that’d be great. When is he in next?” Avery looked down at the phone number on the orange sticky note Sergeant Tunney handed her. Had the detective just forgotten to close her parents’ case?
“Monday morning. Shall I let him know you came by?”
She shook her head. “No, thank you; I’ll call him.” She had turned to go when Sergeant Tunney spoke again.
“My deepest condolences on the loss of your parents, Miss Ayers.”
* * *
Sitting in her car outside the station, Avery waited through the detective’s voice mail greeting, her mind racing. The recording was simply an automated announcement with his badge number and options for reaching someone for those who didn’t want to leave a message. The system beeped loudly in her ear, startling her. “Uh, hello, Detective. This is Avery Ayers, William and Anne Ayers’ eldest daughter. You handled their, uh, case, almost a year ago. I tried to get the files back that were taken into evidence the night of the accident, but Sergeant Tunney says the case is still open? And that you’re the only one who can turn those over to me. I’m looking specifically—”
An abrupt click interrupted her. Avery pulled the phone away from her ear. The call had disconnected. Nice. She called back a second time. “Detective, I’m not sure if my first message went through. This is Avery Ayers. I need you to please call me back about my parents’ files that were collected the night of the accident last year—oh, this is regarding William and Anne Ayers. My number is 518–97—”
Avery growled at the second click she’d just heard. She glared at the CALL ENDED screen. What the heck.
She called back a third time and waited through the boring recording again. This time, after the beep, a computerized voice informed her, “This voice mailbox is full.”
She threw the phone onto the passenger’s side floor, cringing when it bounced off the mat and hit the underside of the dash. “Great. Nice to know my county’s detectives take weekends off and are completely unreachable. Perfect.” Her movements crisp and angry, Avery turned the key in the ignition, buckled her seat belt, and jerked the car into reverse, grinding the clutch. She turned to back out of her parking space and found a young police officer not ten feet from her car, staring at her. He’d been about to cross behind her.
Avery’s cheeks flushed. That could have been disastrous. She shifted the car back into first and set the parking brake, opening her hands on the wheel. She mouthed the word sorry to the officer. He hesitated a moment more, t
hen adjusted the visor on his cap and continued on his path behind her car. When he reached his squad car a few vehicles over, he stopped and frowned at her before getting in.
Avery forced herself to take a deep breath, slowly in through her nose, slowly out through her mouth. And again. She quietly recited ice cream flavors, as one did. Dr. Singh had suggested street names of her childhood or favorite dog breeds, but she knew more ice cream flavors than streets and dogs combined. “Superman, mint chocolate chip, death by chocolate, moose tracks, orange sherbet, cookie dough.” She checked to her left and found that the officer she’d nearly run over was gone. “Strawberry, Neapolitan, pralines and cream, Oreo, Mackinac Island fudge.” She felt calmer already. It was ridiculous to get so aggravated over something as dumb as a full voice mail. Her parents’ files had been at the Springfield County Sheriff’s Department for nearly a year; they’d keep for another couple days until she could reach the detective.
When she pulled into the lilac-lined driveway back home, Avery had completely recovered from her little fit and now wanted ice cream. She felt better knowing her next therapy appointment was only a few days away. Halston greeted her on the porch steps, and she gave him a few pats, noting that he smelled like his usual doggy self.
She found Tilly upside down on the couch, feet propped where her head should be, chatting with a friend on a video call. Upon seeing Avery, she flipped around and sat upright, telling Eve she’d call her later. “So?”
Avery shook her head. “Nothing. We’ll have to wait until Monday or Tuesday when I can talk to the detective who worked Mom and Dad’s case. He wasn’t in.”
“But what about the files?” Tilly’s eyes went to Avery’s bag.
“No files. He’s the only one who can release them, apparently. What are you doing right now?”
Tilly slouched back onto the couch cushions. “That sounds like a trick question. If you’re about to bug me about doing the dishes, I already told Aunt Midge I’d take care of them.”
Ruby Red Herring Page 5
