“Can you tell us what happened?” One of the police officers spoke at Avery’s left. She looked up and saw the man wasn’t wearing Lilac Grove uniform blues but dark denim jeans and a brown leather jacket. He bent one long leg and knelt on a knee, which looked a little difficult for a man of his height, bringing him closer to eye level with Avery.
She blinked, frowning. It was Art Smith from this morning. Had that only been this morning? It felt like days ago. What was he doing here? She didn’t need a museum guard! She needed the police! She shook her head. “What—?”
“I’m Detective Smith. Art Smith. With the Springfield County Sheriff’s Department. I’m going to help you.”
Avery stared blankly at him. “I don’t understand. You’re not. I need to speak with the police. You’re them?” She was incredulous. She knew she sounded idiotic. “You work for the police too? Detective Smith. You’re the detective I’ve been leaving messages for. Right? Are you?”
He nodded. “I had to make sure your loyalties were in the right place, Ms. Ayers, before we spoke. I’d planned to call you tomorrow, but then dispatch sent us out tonight.”
“It’s the leg.” Tim the paramedic spoke from Avery’s other side. His brows were furrowed in concern. “The left front, here.” He moved his hand over the damaged area, hovering an inch above the dog’s lower leg, which Avery now saw was deformed.
“Oh my God.” She bent and rested her forehead against the Afghan’s ear. “I’m so sorry, buddy. Good boy, Halston. We’re going to help you.” She echoed Art Smith’s promise.
A police radio crackled from somewhere outside the circle of light, and a woman Avery took to be Smith’s partner came over to them, updating them on the team clearing the house. “The officers inside say point of entry was the patio door, broken lock. There are a few kitchen cabinets and drawers open, papers scattered. The perp was looking for something; he must have found his way to what appears to be a study or den. Small pool of blood in the hall outside the doorway and office window broken with outward impact, likely point of exit. Blood visible on the glass shards. Tire tracks on the front lawn there and over there.” Holy hell. The entire chaotic race to save her own life and Halston’s all neatly tied up in a twenty-second summary. Sounded like they’d already figured it all out. Avery hoped they were as adept at finding out who’d done it.
Detective Smith was nodding, listening. “Thanks, Klein.” He addressed Avery. “What I’d like to do is this. Let’s get you into the ambulance—”
Avery’s eyes widened at this, and she saw that there was indeed an ambulance now adding to the collection of first-responder vehicles in her driveway.
The detective continued. “Springfield County Hospital will check you over while we get your friend here loaded into the back of Officer Perry’s patrol car and take him to the twenty-four-hour vet clinic in Dogwood Heights. They take emergencies.” He raised an arm over his head, motioning for two additional officers Avery hadn’t even noticed. Smith leaned over toward Tim. “What do you think? He’s a pretty large breed, but I think Afghans aren’t typically aggressive. Maybe three or four of us can do a sheet lift of the dog? In case of any other injuries.”
“No!” Avery blurted. “No. No you aren’t sending me to the hospital; I’m fine. I’m a hundred percent fine. I’m going with my dog. Check me out here, do what you have to do, but I’m going with him. And please,” she said, swallowing hard, “please be careful with him.”
“Now listen, hon,” Bev said, getting Avery’s attention. “Look here.” She pointed to Avery’s thigh, visible through the torn pajamas. “You’re bleeding. Here, and here, and also your arm.” Bev lifted Avery’s right arm. Long cuts were scattered over Avery’s legs and the underside of her right arm, and as she looked closer, a triangle-shaped shard of glass jutting out of her forearm caught the light.
“Oh,” she said, recoiling. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Bev produced an emesis basin for her and calmly held it at chest level for her. “That’s all right. Take some deep breaths for us.”
“Ugh.” She chanced another look at the glass shard, the nausea passing. “That’s disgusting. Can you take care of it here? Please, Bev? It hardly hurts.”
“I cannot,” the paramedic said firmly. “You’ve got little pieces embedded in your thigh here too. It’ll go much quicker and smoother in the ER. You’ve really got no choice, hon.”
Avery looked down at Halston. The dog’s eyes rolled up toward her and he wagged his tail against the lawn, whining. “I can’t,” she murmured. She couldn’t just send Aunt Midge’s dog—their dog, as Halston had become part of the Ayers family since Midge moved in—to the emergency vet by himself. He’d be terrified. And what if it was something worse than a broken leg? What if the doctor had to speak with someone about decisions or treatments? Whom could she call? She thought of Wilder. “What time is it?”
Tim answered her. “It’s two fifty-five AM.”
She closed her eyes. She couldn’t call Wilder. And she couldn’t send Halston without a familiar face. She just couldn’t. “I’ll go to the hospital,” she said, still keeping a hand on the Afghan. “But I have to make a call. Could someone get my phone? It’s upstairs on my bedroom floor.”
* * *
Detective Art Smith rode in the back of the ambulance with Avery and Bev. From up front, Tim gave them an update. “Officer Perry says to tell you your dog is doing fine. They’re five minutes out from the clinic.”
“Thank you,” Avery called. “Detective, why, again, were you at MOA? What was that about?”
“I’ve been moonlighting there a couple shifts a month. I schedule them for when I know you’ll be on an assignment. I tried to keep a low profile; I wasn’t at the hospital long the night of the accident, but I was concerned you might recognize me.”
“Sounds a little creepy,” Bev said, raising an eyebrow at Avery and making her laugh.
“I suppose it does,” Art Smith said. “But it’s not. I’ve been keeping tabs on you since last year.”
“Oh,” Bev exclaimed, winking at Avery, “now, is that supposed to make it sound less creepy? Because . . .” The paramedic let her voice trail off, her expression skeptical and cracking Avery up.
The detective scowled at the two of them. “That’s not helpful. Shouldn’t you be trying to keep her blood pressure down or something?”
“Laughter is the best medicine,” Bev stated. “And this girl’s blood pressure is perfect, even after a race for her life across her front lawn.”
“Nice,” Avery said. Maybe she’d fare better than she expected in the marathon. Assuming she lived that long. She and Micah needed to finish authenticating the damn gem, get their hands on that medallion, verify that the ruby either was or wasn’t the missing dragon eye, and be done with it. Sheesh.
“Anyway.” Art hadn’t cracked a smile yet. “I’ve felt—no, I’ve known—ever since I handled the accident report last year that something was off with that case. With that night, the way it happened. I can’t give you all the details yet, but I have reason to believe the crash may have been intentional, and the same person or persons are now stirring up trouble for you. And from everything you’ve said, I do feel it somehow involves the ruby you’re in the middle of evaluating at MOA.”
Avery was speechless. She’d thought when she lost her parents that there was no worse grief. But now, to be told that it hadn’t been an accident? That her parents might have been killed, and over one of the antiques they had been working on?
Oblivious to the activity in the back of the ambulance, Tim called back to them. “All right, Avery, they’ve just carried your dog into the clinic, and your boyfriend was already there waiting for them. He’s planning on staying until Halston gets released.”
Avery closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowing. What a relief. Halston knew Hank well. At least he’d know someone was there with him. “He’s not my—” She interrupted herself. What did it even
matter? No one in this ambulance cared who Hank was to her. She was just so grateful he was such a good guy. “Tim,” she called. “Please thank Officer Perry for me and ask him to thank my boyfriend.”
“I take my cat to Dogwood Heights Vet Clinic,” the detective told her. “Don’t worry, they’re good. They’ll take care of your dog. Of Halston. Perfect name for him, by the way.” Art finally smiled.
“Oh good. Detective, can you tell me what those notes I’ve been receiving are about? Who directed me to find you?”
He shook his head. “I can’t tell you that.”
She sighed. She’d guessed as much. “Can you tell me anything at all about why I was warned off the case? Is it something to do with the collector?”
He looked curious. “The collector?”
“Oliver Renell, the collector who submitted the current gem we’re verifying and appraising with the hope that it might possibly be the missing dragon eye. I thought possibly Renell could be . . .” She paused. She couldn’t bring herself to say it; he’d think she was crazy.
He watched her, waiting expectantly.
“Never mind. You’ve never heard that name before? Renell? He’s a little mysterious, won’t meet in person or talk on the phone with us, wouldn’t come to MOA to meet with the curator.”
Art was writing in a tiny spiral notebook he’d just pulled from his inside chest pocket. “Spell the last name. Where’s he from? Do you have a home address for him?”
“R-E-N-E-L-L. And no, we don’t. All we have is his hotel information. Something strange with him. He sent the jewel by courier to the curator when he submitted it. This thing is greater than ten carats. If it’s real, it’ll be worth hundreds of thousands or more.”
The detective’s eyes grew big. “Oh wow. That is odd.”
The ambulance rolled into the receiving bay at Springfield County Hospital, and Bev got out to speak with the nurses who’d take over Avery’s care. Avery put a hand lightly on Art Smith’s arm. “Listen,” she said, keeping her voice low. She hadn’t wanted to tell anyone but him, in case the items somehow hadn’t been stolen. “My sister and I had been going through some of my parents’ files from around the time of the accident. We had everything locked up in the home office. I ran through there so fast, I have no idea what the thief took. Could I tell you where to look, if you’re going back to the house?”
He nodded, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. Close up, without the standoffish attitude or the low visor of his MOA security guard cap, Art Smith was a good-looking man. His eyes were a hazel-ish shade of brown, under prominent dark eyebrows that complemented his Johnny Depp cheekbones and chiseled jawline, which was only minimally visible under some serious five-o’clock shadow. “Yes,” he said, in answer to her question. “I’m headed back to your house as soon as they take you in. Listen, we’ll get to the bottom of this. This isn’t the right time or place to discuss it, but I do believe your parents were the victims of foul play. There’s evidence suggesting the car was sabotaged that night. You need to be careful. It’s a good thing the perp tonight thought the house was empty. You said something about your sister’s suitcase being in the foyer all day?”
“Yes.” Through the ambulance doors, she heard Bev say the word dog and then, a minute later, dead parents. What a sweet woman; she was letting the hospital staff know a few important details before she handed things over. Avery knew they were almost out of time.
“The man who tried to get your aunt and sister to let him in earlier must have seen the suitcase. And then with your aunt’s friend driving all of you to the airport and your car put away in the garage, I can see how they drew the wrong conclusion,” Smith said.
“Well, for Halston’s sake, I’m glad I was home.”
Bev threw open both ambulance doors. “All right, hon, ready?”
Art Smith tucked a business card into Avery’s small purse, which his partner had fetched for her along with her phone. “Send me details about your parents’ things. I’ll be in touch soon.”
Avery picked up her phone and put it back down several times while waiting alone in her curtained area in the emergency room. She so wanted to talk with Aunt Midge or Tilly. But she didn’t dare let them know what was going on, not right before the voice audition.
By seven AM she’d been released from the hospital, the new proud owner of sixteen stitches. She instructed the Uber driver to take her to Dogwood Heights Vet Clinic. On the way, she called Micah at home in Harlem and told him there was no way she could come in today. She knew she was letting him down, as they were so close to finishing the authentication of the ruby and moving on to the medallion phase. But her house was torn apart, her arm where the glass had been was now throbbing, she had to find someone to come install a new office window, and she didn’t even want to think about whether or not the thief had found the items she and Tilly had locked up to be gone through another day. Micah chided her for apologizing and said he’d be at her house in a couple hours to board up the broken window until it could be repaired. She loved that man.
True to his word, Hank was sitting alone in the empty lobby of the vet clinic when Avery came through the doors. She was acutely aware now of her appearance: bedhead, torn red-and-white candy-cane pajamas, pink high-top Converse sneakers because they were what Detective Klein had grabbed for her to wear when she’d gone in for Avery’s phone. Avery joined her ex-boyfriend on the bench and hugged him, pushing the nagging voice in her head away that cautioned her against getting personal.
“I owe you,” she said. “Big-time. I’m so sorry I had to wake you and ask you to come.”
Hank shrugged. His bedhead looked much sexier than Avery’s. His pajamas were just plaid bottoms and a black tee that had no business looking as good as they did on him. “You know I love Halston. He’s a great dog. The nurse—vet tech—came out ten minutes ago to say the doctor was closing up, whatever that means.”
“Ugh.” Avery cringed. “It sounds like closing up an incision. Poor dog. I can’t believe that asshole did this to him. The police had better catch the guy. I want a minute or two alone with him when they do.” Hank had phoned her once the veterinarian had had a chance to assess Halston, while Avery was being stitched up in the people ER. He’d gently broken the news to her that the dog’s leg was fractured in two places and would have to be surgically pinned. Any surgery posed a risk, especially to a senior dog, and Halston was eight.
“Yeah, anyone who’d do that to an animal should serve jail time,” Hank said. “He was only doing his job, trying to protect you.”
Avery felt her bottom lip quiver. Hank was right. She hoped Halston would pull through. It wasn’t even eight AM and she was thoroughly exhausted. All she wanted to do was collect her dog, go home, and crawl into bed and sleep until everything made sense again.
Hank put an arm around her and pulled her into him so that her head rested on his shoulder. “I’m sorry this happened,” he said. He touched his lips to the top of her head, a light kiss through her hair. “Halston will be okay, don’t worry.”
Avery closed her eyes. She couldn’t remember at all why they’d broken up.
The snap of a door closing jarred her awake, and she looked up to see a doctor in blue scrubs and a lab coat walking toward them. She rubbed her eyes, noting that the wall clock now read 9:22 AM. Holy cow, she’d slept on Hank on this hard, uncomfortable bench for over an hour.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” she said, looking up at Dr. Morgan. He was smiling.
“Halston is a very strong dog,” Dr. Morgan said. “The bones came together fine with the hardware. He’ll have a cast, and he should be able to come home this evening. He just needs some time and rest and he’ll recover nicely.”
Chapter Eleven
Micah and his son Noah were sitting in the rocking chairs on Avery’s front porch when she and Hank pulled into the driveway. Micah met Avery halfway across the lawn and folded his fatherly arms around her. The shor
t nap at the vet clinic had helped her state of mind; she felt at least capable of handling what had to be done now.
Micah let go of her so she could give Noah a hug too. Both men’s expressions reflected worry. Avery glanced down at herself. “I’m a mess. Let me change, and I’ll get coffee going. I’m so glad you’re both here. Thank you.”
Avery had grown up babysitting Noah and Tilly anytime the Abbott and Ayers families got together. Tilly and Noah were only a year apart, and now somehow Noah was set to begin an important internship next week and her little sister might end up in London this fall for school. In the two years since Noah’s mom had died, he and his dad seemed to have become a close-knit team of two. It was just the two of them now in their Harlem brownstone, when only a handful of years ago they had been four. Micah’s sweet, elderly mother-in-law had lived with them until she passed, and then Micah and Noah had lost Cicely only a year later. Avery’s heart swelled with pride at how focused and driven Noah was, even with all he’d been through.
“Are you okay?” Noah asked, eyeing her arm and leg.
“Yeah, pretty much,” she said, touching the bandage on her throbbing right forearm. The numbing agent they’d used to extract the glass and stitch it up had definitely worn off. “I got a few cuts from the broken glass. I think I was lucky nothing worse happened. I’m more tired than anything.”
“You’re very lucky,” Micah said. “Noah and I brought breakfast.” He pointed at the carry-out boxes on the porch table. “Pancakes and bacon and a carton of hot coffee. You’ll feel better after some food.”
“Oh, guys. Wow. Thank you. Go ahead inside, maybe put everything in the dining room if nothing’s torn up in there. I’ll be right in.” Avery turned toward Hank, still standing by his car. “Hank, will you join us for pancakes? It’s the least I can do.”
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