Hurt, he’ll never be hurt—he’s made to hurt other people.
― George Eliot
When Cici’s phone rang, she jumped, nearly upsetting her mug of tea. Steam no longer rose from the drink, so she must have zoned out for a while.
She glanced at the display.
Dread built in the pit of her stomach. Her father. She hadn’t heard from him since yesterday morning, when she’d received the call from the alarm company. Granted, at this point, Cici was just glad to hear from someone related to the crime. She needed answers.
She took a deep breath and pressed talk.
“Hello, Dad.” She rose and maneuvered through her kitchen and opened the back door. Her dogs raced out.
“Cecilia. Good.”
Cici frowned. “I guess. But it’s taken you an entire day to get back to me.”
Frank seemed to hesitate. “I sent you a set of keys to the house by courier, along with the security system details. They should have arrived.”
“No one’s stopped by. Now, I really do need to—” A knock on the door had Cici sighing into the phone. “Hold on.”
When she opened the door, her eyes widened. She pulled the phone from her ear. “Boston?” she whispered.
This courier was the one who’d brought her the Gambler’s stone. Did he know she’d returned it?
He smiled. “Good to see you again.”
“But…”
“Here’s the package your father sent, courtesy of your husband. Congrats on your marriage, by the way. Our mutual friend said it was beautiful.”
Cici gaped. Was Sterling…did that mean…? She blinked, still unable to form a full thought.
“I’m to tell you our friend was intrigued by Sam’s message, and he’s quite interested in what’s in those boxes.”
The courier raised his eyebrows, waiting for Cici’s small nod before he reached forward and cupped her free hand. He gently placed the package in it and stepped back. “Hopefully, I won’t have to be in touch again.”
Cici nodded once more, shock still reverberating through her system. Sterling had been at her wedding. He was keeping tabs on her, then.
“We’re glad to see your leg’s healing. Hope that trip up to Fort Defiance was smooth.” The courier spun around, whistling as he walked away. Cici shut her door, clutching the package in one hand and the phone in the other.
Sterling was involved in this case. Which meant…nothing good for Cici; she was sure of it. Even as she considered that, though, warmth spread through her chest. She raised her phone.
“I received your package,” she murmured. She bit her lip. Her father must have kept on speaking because the next word to catch her attention was boxes. “Boxes?”
That’s what the courier had said. That Sterling was interested in them as well. Good golly. What was going on here?
“Didn’t you hear me?” Frank asked. “Is the line breaking up?”
“No, no, it’s fine.”
“I want you to go through the boxes in the attic full of your uncle’s things. They’re mixed with your mother’s and sister’s.”
Cici stared at her wall, unseeing. “I didn’t know you kept anything.”
She’d assumed he’d sold it all after her mother died. He lived in Scottsdale, after all.
“Of course I kept their things. What did you think I meant when I said I’d take care of Anna Carmen’s house?”
“Well, I—”
“Never mind,” Frank said. Bitterness colored his tone.
“Dad, it’s just…”
“You’re never going to forgive me for giving away your sister’s dog.”
There was nothing to say to that, because Cici remained angry and hurt her father had handed over Aci’s dog to a farm, only to have the beautiful Great Pyrenees mauled by a bear less than a year later.
“I really think the more important issue is that you abandoned my mother to marry KaraLynn.” When the other end of the line remained silent, she got back to the more immediate task at hand. “Yes, of course,” she said, “I’ll go over. As soon as Agent Gordon allows me to.”
“This cannot wait, Cecilia. I’ve spoken with Sam about it.”
“You have?”
“Yes, last night.”
Cici frowned. Last night? Why was she just hearing about the boxes, then? And what did they have to do with anything now? “What is this about?”
Frank sighed. “The dead body in the acequia—that’s weighing on me.”
“Me, too.”
“Just like your uncle was found. Suicide, they said, but Peter…he wouldn’t have killed himself.” Frank sighed. “It’s part of why I kept the house. I hoped…”
“What?” Cici’s heart began to pound.
“I’d hoped I could find his killer.”
“K-killer?”
“Peter kept a scrapbook that last year to commemorate his senior year of high school. I added more to it off and on…after.”
After Peter’s death.
“And the scrapbook’s in these boxes?”
“Yes. I told Sam this. And I told him I’d tell you. I’m sure he’ll mention it to you soon. I get the sense he tells you everything.”
“Everything he can,” she said.
“I don’t want to cause more strain between you two than is already there.”
Cici blinked, surprised by her father’s thoughtfulness.
“But I do need you to go to the Hacienda. Today would be best. Now would be better.”
Did her father know about Sterling? No, Cici didn’t think so, which meant Sam must have reached out to the spy somehow. At least, that’s the impression Cici had gotten from the courier, who’d made a point of mentioning her husband.
Her stomach clenched. If Sam had reached out to Sterling, he, too, must believe this case was spiraling out of control. Did that mean whatever was happening in Scottsdale was related to her uncle’s drowning here? What about the body Gordon was investigating?
More and more questions sped through Cici’s mind, making her dizzy.
“You know where the attic ladder is?” Frank asked, pulling her from her raging thoughts.
“In the garage,” she replied. Homes in Santa Fe rarely had pitched roofs, especially the traditional adobe houses built in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, when flat roofs had been the most common option. That meant any storage was in the home’s main floor or in accessory buildings built more recently—like the four-car garage her father had added to the Hacienda after a pack rat had eaten through all the wires of his Mercedes S-Class.
“Go soon, Cici. This could be really important.”