“Not at all!” said Mellie easily, picking up the icing bowl and her decorating tools. “I told you; I trust you, but my judgment isn’t clouded by past heartbreak.” She placed the dishes in the sink and retrieved a cake box from the cupboard. “Help me box this up, sweetie.”
Genevieve was quiet as they boxed up the cake and stored it in the freezer. Afterward, as they stood side by side at the sink washing dishes, Genevieve asked, “Was she ever happy here?”
Mellie handed Genevieve a freshly scrubbed bowl to rinse. “She was happy with you,” she said. “And, for a time, with your father. Your mother just wanted more.” Suddenly Mellie laughed. “It used to drive him batty, the way she couldn’t hold still. She was always so full of life, always flitting from project to project—like a hummingbird. You are so very much like her.” Mellie’s voice was full of affection. “Bursting with energy and light. Always up at the break of dawn, already moving faster than the rest of us, always on the move. The difference, of course, is that you are content to move within the circle of home. This small town. You have a keen sense of belonging and are well grounded, like your father. Genevieve, you are the best of both your parents. They know it, and adore you for it, and, honey, so do I.”
Genevieve impulsively hugged her aunt, forgetting she was still holding a wet sponge, which soaked Mellie’s back. They both laughed.
“As for this awful situation at your high school,” Mellie said, grabbing a clean washcloth and patting her neck dry, “I hate that you’ve been caught up in it, but you do have excellent instincts, Genevieve. I’ll never forget the time, I think you were seven or eight, when your father hired a magician for your birthday party. He performed all the usual tricks—the disappearing coin, the levitating card, the cup under the table. But you were not impressed. You studied his moves carefully and questioned him on everything. By the end of the demonstration, the magician, who was exceedingly good natured, had quite given up trying to trick you and instead spent the time showing you his methods. That did the trick, so to speak.” Mellie drained the dishwater, a smile playing across her lips. “You’ve always been highly logical with a good instinct for sensing when something is wrong or doesn’t quite fit. In fact, for a year or two after that party you were obsessed with spy-themed toys.”
Genevieve smiled. “I was?”
“You don’t remember?” Mellie laughed. “You and Brandon would run around the neighborhood wearing your walkie-talkies and carrying those spy glass things.”
Suddenly Genevieve was laughing too. “I do remember that now! We interviewed all the neighbors one day trying to solve ‘The case of Mrs. Peterson’s missing cat.’”
Mellie snorted. “That poor cat probably escaped at the first opportunity from the pretentious old woman.”
“Aunt Mellie!” Genevieve cried, and then dissolved into giggles despite herself. “Although it’s true we never did find the cat.”
Mellie looked at her seriously, placing her warm hands on Genevieve’s shoulders. “Honey, trust your instincts. If you’re sensing something is off, and if that something occurs to you, no matter how farfetched or how silly it seems, do call that detective. Let her know. You were the first person on scene at a terrible crime. I don’t want you reliving it, of course I don’t, but there is obviously something there in your memory that is troubling you. If you are doubting yourself, you risk closing your mind to a clue that may be there waiting to be discovered. Don’t go looking for it. Let it come to you. It’s like falling in love. One you stop looking, it arrives, like a wrapped gift.”
When she returned home from Sweet Dreams, Genevieve’s father was at the dining room table, settled comfortably in his usual chair with the morning paper unfolded before him. Steams of coffee curled up from his I ♥ Pinewood bear mug, which she had gifted to him for his birthday several years ago, and which he still drank from every morning. Seeing him there, Genevieve felt a flood of tenderness, remembering Mellie’s words. She walked over and gave him a swift kiss on his freshly shaven cheek, inhaling the scent of pine.
“Good morning, Dad.”
He tipped his head up to her with a questioning smile. “Morning, kiddo. Were you at the shop? You smell like waffles.”
Genevieve laughed and went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. He’d boiled water in the kettle already. “I’m surprised you can smell anything over that aftershave,” she teased. “Have you ever considered switching up for something new?”
“Nope. It’s worked for me the last thirty years; why fix what ain’t broke?”
“Can’t argue with that.” She steeped a bag of spiced chai in her cup of boiling water.
“There’s some toast in the oven,” her dad said from behind his paper.
“That does sound good.” Genevieve got a piece, spread butter over it, and sprinkled some cinnamon and sugar on top. She grabbed her plate and cup and sat across from her dad, and they ate in companionable silence. Genevieve had decided to take Aunt Mellie’s advice and try not to think about the crimes for a while and let her subconscious do the work. As she allowed her mind to drift, it occurred to her just how tightly she’d been wound. She ate her toast slowly and sipped her tea.
“Terrible about the fires up north,” her father said. “Weather’s too dry, we need a good dusting of snow. Some folks in town lost their cabins yesterday, they just went up like matchsticks.” He peered at her from over the paper. “Been a bad year all around for Mountain Ridge. But at least the robberies seem to have stopped.” He snapped the newspaper straight again.
Genevieve stared at the back of the paper, her mouth hanging open, her hand frozen mid-air, clutching the last piece of her toast. A dizzying sense of deja-vu had washed over her and swept her out to a dark sea of possibility. Pieces that hadn’t fit together snapped into place with the snap of her father’s newspaper. Everything was clear, so clear. If she was right about this...
Standing abruptly, she gave her father one more peck on the cheek. “Thanks, Dad,” she said, struggling to keep the emotion out of her voice.
He raised his eyebrows. “For...?”
“Everything,” she said, before racing up to her room.
The first thing she did was text Brandon, but of course no ‘read’ receipt was forthcoming. Why did he even have a phone? Next, she found Detective Christie’s card and hastily dialed the number. There was no hesitation this time, no worries about looking foolish or being wrong. Unfortunately, the ringtone kicked over to voicemail. She left a harried message and then called the police station, knowing they wouldn’t take her seriously. They didn’t.
“We’ll pass on your theory to the detective on the case,” the officer said in a maddeningly complacent tone.
“I already left her a message on voicemail,” Genevieve said, gritting her teeth.
“Wonderful. I’m sure you’ll hear back from her real soon. Take care, miss.” He hung up.
“Shoot!” Genevieve said, stamping her foot in frustration. She forced herself to think through the haze of panic, trying to remember Principal Mattison’s first name. Martin. Genevieve opened her laptop and typed in the name, but none of her searches yielded the result she needed.
And then she remembered Dillon. Please pick up, she thought desperately as she put the call through.
He answered on the first ring. “Why yes, I could use another triple scoop—oh, you deliver now? Excellent!”
“What’s a way I can look up a property address if I only know the owner’s name?” she said briskly.
Dillon, at once all business, said, “If it’s the person’s primary residence it should come up on—”
“It’s not,” she interrupted. “It’s a vacation home.”
“Are you in front of a computer?”
“Yes.”
“Type this in.” He gave her the web address for the county recorder and guided her through the search function for recorded documents. Genevieve entered the principal’s name, hit enter, and waited impatiently as the results loaded.
“Anything yet?” Dillon asked.
“Still loading. This is taking for—wait, it’s up.” She started scrolling through the list of public documents, fascinated. There were property liens, several judgments, a divorce decree...
