Now she took the first key from Tilly and used it to open the deep bottom-right drawer of her father’s desk. She put the stack of files into that drawer and then added three of the little floral boxes before she ran out of room. Tilly wordlessly dropped the second key into Avery’s open palm and helped her carry the boxes over to the gilt-edged mirror on the wall, which opened to reveal a wall safe. They turned both boxes upside down into the open safe, leaving all the loose newspaper clippings, envelopes, and notes on scrap paper and the last two tiny floral boxes to be gone through later.
When it had all been locked away and the keys had been put back in their hiding spots, Avery finally faced her younger sister. “I’m not quitting, I promise. But I need to think. We can’t possibly get through all this in one afternoon.” She kissed the top of her sister’s blond head. “Just a quick run. I’ll be back shortly. Okay if I take Halston?”
“I want him here.”
Avery was already on her way out of the office. “Okay . . . ?” she said, her inflection turning the word into a question at the end. It was strange, Tilly wanting Halston to stay. She usually complained that he was underfoot too much.
“A, I’m already creeped out with the weird things going on. Especially with you feeling the need to lock everything up. I don’t want to be here alone. Let me keep him with me. Make sure you take your phone with you.”
Ugh. Avery felt her adrenaline draining. “I can stay.” She really needed to go. She had to get her thoughts sorted out, and she couldn’t do it standing still.
“Go,” Tilly said, irritation obvious in her tone. “God. Just go. Come on, boy,” she said to the dog, patting her leg. She marched past Avery and up the stairs, Halston following obediently.
Avery gritted her teeth. Where was Aunt Midge when she needed her? Should she just stay? She didn’t see why Tilly was being so dramatic. She dug her thumbnail into the side of one finger, vacillating between being a doting sister and exercising her own self-care. Aunt Midge should be home soon, and Halston would serve as protection—if barking at everything that moved outside counted as being a good watchdog.
Three minutes later, Avery reached the end of the lilac-lined driveway and turned right onto the dirt road, her pink-and-black running shoes kicking up dust. They were overdue for rain.
Avery’s mind always seemed to work best when she was running. It took a little while; she had to get that first mile under her belt, and then the endorphins kicked in. The loop through town all the way to the orchard and back home was almost exactly three miles. She’d been doing four loops every other day since December, with a quick one-loop run each day in between, until Thursday morning when they had gotten that letter. It had thrown everything off. And then Halston’s fur last night . . . that still didn’t make sense.
There was no way her dad was still alive. There were fuzzy spots in her memory the night of the crash, but that surgeon coming through her hospital room door at Springfield County was clearer in her mind than she could bear sometimes. He’d stopped and stared at the three of them—her, Tilly, and Aunt Midge—from the doorway. His head had dipped, his hand on the back of his neck, as he came over to them. That was when she knew about her dad, before the doctor even reached them.
A few hours earlier, her dad had been stealing frosting from the wedge of chocolate cake Avery and Anne were sharing, having already polished off his own piece of carrot cake. Tilly was guarding her ice cream sundae with elbows on the table and both arms in front of it. Bello’s wasn’t far from Lilac Grove. They should’ve arrived home with plenty of time for a game of Farkle. Instead, they’d ended up in their Lincoln Town Car upside down in a ravine four miles away. Tilly was entertaining Avery in the darkened back seat with her best impressions of her high school teachers, the two of them laughing so hard they had to keep stopping and catching their breath; she’d meet Tilly’s gaze, and Tilly would transform her face into another impression, triggering another outburst. Avery remembered wishing she’d never moved away to Pennsylvania; she missed her little sister so much.
And then Tilly’s shoulders pressed into Avery as the car swung hard to the left. She’d thought they’d just turned too quickly. The car swerved back the other direction, she and Tilly were jerked forward as the brakes squealed, the car spun, and suddenly the world flipped and nothing in Avery’s line of sight made sense anymore.
She had clutched Anne’s hand over the front seat, not letting go, even when Tilly shrieked for help with her seat belt. She felt her mother’s hand go slack—Avery’s mind twisted reality and tried to convince her that her mother had only fallen unconscious. But Avery knew she was gone. Anne had been squeezing her hand, her eyes wide, her voice a whisper. Her mother was with her, and then she wasn’t.
William had been trapped behind the steering wheel, suspended upside down by his seat belt. He never opened his eyes. After the firemen had pulled Avery and Tilly to safety, she sat on the metal perch on the back of the ambulance with her sister and watched while first responders worked to get their dad free. The night air was filled with yelling, orders being shouted, a loud, crunching, metallic sound from the Jaws of Life or whatever that machine was that cut William loose, and then there was silence—a hurried, urgent silence that seemed somehow deafening when the underside of their Lincoln Town Car burst into flames.
She had no memory at all of what happened after that until she saw the blue-scrub-clad surgeon with a hand on the back of his neck. Tilly told her later that they’d gone together in the back of one ambulance to the hospital; Tilly never saw what happened to their mom after that, but William’s gurney was loaded into a different ambulance that sped away before theirs even got going.
Tilly had sustained a broken tibia and two fractured ribs. Avery’s right arm was broken in two places, and the side effects of her concussion lasted for days. Or longer, if you counted the patchy areas of her memory that still persisted. The surgeon told them that night that their dad’s internal injuries were too severe. The team had done everything in their power to help him, but he couldn’t be saved.
Tilly collapsed and was kept overnight for observation in the same room as Avery.
Avery didn’t speak until the next day. She didn’t cry until weeks after the double funeral.
Aunt Midge wailed. Avery had never heard such an awful, heart-wrenching sound; she hoped to never hear it again.
The possibility that William might be alive and sending them messages was abhorrent. It would mean their dad had deliberately caused them the worst pain of their lives. She couldn’t reconcile that with the man she knew.
Which meant the scent on Halston must have been placed there by the same person who’d slipped the cryptic note through their mail slot. The lemon-and-cedar scent wasn’t a new shampoo at the groomers. Avery did believe in following the simplest explanation; in this case, that meant that if Halston had smelled like their dad, someone had wanted him to.
Why? Putting that warning message together with the first day of the MOA ruby assignment and adding to that the new knowledge that her parents’ own assignment involving the Emperor’s Twins medallion had wrapped up right before they died, all of this must somehow be about the gem. Or the medallion. Or both.
Her gaze was caught by the large red barn on her left that meant she was a quarter mile from home; this was her fourth lap. Letting her thoughts carry her away while running was the equivalent of driving on autopilot; she could barely remember the last two loops. When she turned into the driveway and saw Aunt Midge’s powder-blue 1957 Thunderbird parked there, relief washed over her. She’d told herself Tilly would be fine, but she was still grateful that Midge was home with her.
She needn’t have worried; Tilly was already gone for the evening with Eve. Aunt Midge suggested a bite in town at the Old Smoke, and it was the best idea Avery had heard all day. She was starving. “I’ve been craving barbecue ribs. Let me jump in the shower, and we’ll go!”
“Don’t jump; that’s dangerous!”
Midge called up the stairs after her, and Avery heard her head toward the kitchen, chuckling at her own joke. Aunt Midge had taken over the bad dad jokes in their household without any effort at all.
Avery left her hair damp; it dried stick straight whether she blew it out or just left it. She pulled on a pair of slim dark denim jeans, a sheer pink blouse and cami set, and ballet flats. She glanced in the mirror before heading down to Aunt Midge. She rarely wore makeup, but she applied a few strokes of mascara and a swipe of pink lip gloss.
Seated at an outdoor table on the patio at Old Smoke, Avery breathed in the delectable aroma of the eatery. They had the best ribs and steak in New York, hands down. Behind the restaurant was an enormous wood smoker. It was no wonder Avery was in the mood for barbecue; she’d just run four times through town. Small globe lights were strung in a crisscrossing pattern overhead, and the band at the other end of the space played an eclectic blend of Jimi Hendrix, Johnny Cash, and Bonnie Raitt classics.
Their server, a smiley, middle-aged redhead named Candy, brought their drinks: a red Burgundy for Midge and an unsweetened iced tea for Avery. She’d have loved her usual mojito but wasn’t drinking anything except water, coffee, and tea until after the race.
She and Midge had specifically asked to be seated in Candy’s section; she’d been the Ayerses’ favorite server here since they’d started coming when the girls were small. Candy pulled her notepad from her short black apron; like all the staff here, she wore a black polo with the Old Smoke logo. “Are you lovely ladies ready to order?”
“I think we need a moment,” Aunt Midge said. “Catch us on your next time around, why don’t you?” When Candy left, Midge raised her glass and Avery did the same. “To mystery and intrigue,” she said, winking at her niece. “Your sister filled me in on the activities of the day.”
“I figured she would. Was she all right when you got home?”
“She was fine. She was raiding your closet for a purse to match her outfit. I’m sure you have thoughts about everything you stumbled upon today? I know running helps you think.”
“I do,” Avery said. “I’m going to try to get through the details of at least some of what’s in the Emperor’s Twins file tomorrow. And I’ve already let Micah know I’m coming in late on Monday. I’m going back to the Springfield County sheriff’s office first thing. I don’t see why anyone would still need whatever they took into evidence after the accident; it’s been a year. If that detective isn’t in, I’ll go over his head.”
“Well! There you go.” Aunt Midge closed her menu. “I can’t decide between the porterhouse and the mahimahi. So I’m getting the combo. Let me help with your efforts, Avery. What can I do?”
“Since you asked,” Avery said, “I was hoping you’d walk me through exactly how it went when the police came and collected Mom and Dad’s files. I’ve never really understood why they did that over a car accident.”
“I never have either. And every time I tried to get answers, I was told they were simply dotting i’s and crossing t’s. I dealt with a Detective Freida Klein. She and her partner came to the house that night.” She shook her head. “That awful night. You know I tried to stay with you girls at the hospital; do you remember that? I wasn’t going to leave you, but the nurses wouldn’t let me stay.”
Avery placed a hand on Midge’s forearm as it rested on the table. “I remember. Don’t worry. You’ve gone so far above and beyond, Auntie.”
The woman waved away the compliment. “Ridiculous. You’re family. Anyway, they were waiting for me when I got to your house that night—it was almost midnight. They were kind, but I’ve never understood what they wanted with your parents’ files. After Detective Klein reassured me several times over the new few weeks that they were closing out the case, that your parents’ deaths were accidental, I stopped calling her. I haven’t thought about those files in months.”
Candy reappeared and took their orders. Aunt Midge waited until she’d gone, then went on. “I’ll come with you Monday morning. I’ll make them turn everything over to us. Did you know I used to date the commissioner?”
Avery laughed. “I’m not even surprised. But it’s okay, I can handle it. Don’t worry. Oh . . . how did the detectives know what files to take? Did they just go through the office?”
Midge’s eyes grew wide. “Oh no. Not a chance! I had Micah come over and sort through things to give them only what they thought they were looking for.”
“That same night?”
She nodded. “Yes. He was a peach. Took him until around one in the morning to drive in from Harlem, and he didn’t bat an eye. I was not about to let those detectives rifle through your parents’ hard work. They drank coffee with me while we waited for Micah, and then he arrived and took them into the office. When they left, they seemed satisfied with what they took.”
“I had no idea,” Avery said. She’d already planned to pick Micah’s brain on Monday when she saw him, with everything she and Tilly had discovered today. Had Micah neglected to tell her all of this in an attempt to shield her from the events of that night? Had he assumed it wasn’t important?
Avery ate too much; she always did here. Aunt Midge had enough of her steak wrapped up for an entire second meal, but Avery’s plate was nearly clean. They’d paid the bill and gotten refills of their iced tea and wine, and Avery was slouched in her chair, one hand resting on her belly, when her ex-boyfriend took a seat at the table right beside theirs. What was he doing here? Hank lived closer to Manhattan than to Lilac Grove. He spotted her before she had a chance to compose herself.
Self-conscious now, she sat up and whipped her napkin off her lap, dabbing her mouth to make sure the barbecue sauce was gone. She looked down to find she’d just dragged the end of the napkin through the thick, sticky sauce on her plate and transferred it to the front of her pink blouse. Brown splotches decorated her chest, embedded in the fabric. Great. Aunt Midge held out a towelette for her, meeting Avery’s gaze and then following it over her shoulder, where Hank was approaching.
“Hey, Avery,” he said, smiling. Of course he was smiling; he’d just watched her wipe Old Smoke Flaming Hot #3 all over herself. “Thought I should come say hello. Hi there, Ms. Ayers,” he said, addressing Aunt Midge. “Having a nice evening?”
“Mr. Henry Johansson.” God love Midge. “You look well. Your hair—” Her hand went to her own coif. “You’ve had it all cut off. I recall saying to Avery you always reminded me of a young Kenneth Branagh with all that hair. It’s quite a change, isn’t it?”
Hank laughed and then stopped abruptly, obviously caught off guard. “Well. Yes, I guess it is.” He glanced over his shoulder. Two beers in frosted mugs had arrived at his table. The man he’d come in with was chatting with two pretty young women at the table on the other side of theirs.
Avery finally found her voice. “You look great, Hank. How’ve you been?” Hank was one of Avery’s many regrets from the past year. Not Hank himself; the relationship was one she would always cherish. But the way it had finally died still needled her. They’d dated off and on for years, having met Avery’s senior year of college. They’d tried the long-distance thing for a while when she’d moved, Hank twenty minutes north of Manhattan and Avery in Philly, but they’d let it fizzle out . . . until Hank showed up at the funeral last year and they’d begun seeing each other again. She knew now from Dr. Singh that rekindling the relationship with Hank on the heels of her parents’ death had not been the smartest move. She was a mess. Hank was wonderful. Present. Supportive. Which all translated to far too healthy and nurturing for Avery’s state of mind at the time. It lasted, miraculously, eight months, until Avery had snapped during an argument and called him a clingy, controlling underachiever and he’d left. She didn’t blame him at all.
Hank signaled to his friend that he’d be there in a minute. He faced Avery again. “I’m good. Here with a buddy from work—Scott. He lives in town. You really look great. Have you . . . how are you . . . are you doing all
right?” He was nearly squirming with the awkwardness of the situation.
“I’m okay. I’m doing a lot better.” She sucked in air. She needed to just say it; she might not get another chance. “I’m—” She couldn’t, here in front of Aunt Midge, in front of the entire restaurant and Hank’s friend Scott. “I hope you have a nice dinner,” she finished. Lame.
He nodded once and backed away. “Sure. You too. Nice seeing you. Both of you,” he said to Midge. He turned back toward his friend.
“Hank.” Avery gritted her teeth. He looked at her. “Hank,” she said more softly. “I’m sorry. About how things—how I ended things. I’m sorry for the way I treated you.” Her cheeks burned.
His eyebrows went up in surprise. They were so blond they were nearly red, darker than his close-cropped hair. “That’s . . . okay. Thank you for that. I’m sorry too.”
He was always such a nice guy. Probably why she’d felt like utter trash for lashing out at him in such an ugly way four months ago. She felt marginally better, having apologized, but she still felt queasy over her part in their breakup. For the second time today she was thankful she’d be seeing Dr. Singh this coming week.
Aunt Midge, quiet and absorbed in setting the time on her fine gold watch the whole time Avery and Hank had been talking, now raised one eyebrow at her niece as Hank rejoined his friend. “Ready?”
“Oh yes,” Avery said. She was about ready to bolt out of here.
On the walk home, Aunt Midge linked her arm through Avery’s elbow. “I’ve told you before about people, haven’t I? About their roles in our lives?”
Avery looked down at her fabulous little aunt. “No.”
“No? Well, I’m sure you’ve heard it before. Reason, season, or lifetime. People come and go in our lives for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. Perhaps your time with Hank served its purpose.”
Ruby Red Herring Page 7