I’d reckoned without the scrapbooking circle. The instant I stepped out of the backroom, Virginia hustled over and grabbed my elbow to tow me behind the custom stationary display. She pressed a rose-shaped die into my hand so hard the edges pricked my palm.

I frowned at it. “Virginia, I really don’t have time to answer Cuttlebug questions right now.”

“It’s not a question.” Her gaze cut to the side. “It’s the die I told you I wanted, and that Ava bought out from under me. She never used it. She just carried it around in her kit.” Virginia swallowed hard. Her pale cheeks turned red and blotchy, clashing with her auburn curls. “So I took it three weeks ago.” Her face twisted in disgust. “She never even noticed, that’s how much it meant to her.”

“Virginia, I really don’t think—”

“But I didn’t kill her. Even if I said I wanted to.”

I tried to control my exasperated sigh, but judging by the sharp glance she cast me, I didn’t succeed. “I know that. But I really can’t—”

“Tash?” Evy’s wavery voice preceded her as she peeked around the display. “Do you have a minute?”

I glanced at my watch. “Actually, Evy, I—”

“It’ll only take a second. I promise.”

Virginia backed away, palms up as if warding off any attempt I might make to return the die to her. “My conscience is clear now. Remember that.”

Evy watched Virginia stalk over to the craft table to retrieve her kit. “What’s up with Virginia? I didn’t think she had a conscience.”

I blinked at Evy. She’d sounded almost as tart as PJ, something that had never happened before. “It’s nothing. She just wanted to, um, return something to me. Now I really have to go.”

She gripped my arm. “Please, Tash. You’re the only one who’ll understand.” She held up her hand, thumb and forefinger measuring a tiny distance. “No more than half a second.”

I made myself smile at her. Evy might be the most hopelessly inept crafter I’d ever met, but she was endlessly optimistic, good-hearted, and enthusiastic. “Oh all right.” I tried not to huff. Another epic fail.

She heaved a huge sigh and released my arm. “Thank you. Well, the thing is, last month… Or was it the month before? No, wait, it was before that, because we’d just had the St. Patrick’s Day class where you helped me with those shamrock cards, remember?”

“Yes, but—”

“Those were so cute!” She beamed at me. “I hope you’ll do the same class this year. Although the Easter egg cards were just as lovely. I still have one tacked to my cork board at home as inspiration. Maybe you could do a double class with both this year?”

“Evy, I appreciate the compliment, but if that’s all you needed to talk about—”

She blinked. “Oh. Didn’t I say?”

“Not yet.” Luckily I could still smile with gritted teeth.

“The thing is, the week after that class… Or maybe it was the week before. Or—”

“Evy.”

“Right. Anyway, Ava offered to embellish one of my scrapbook pages for me. The one about my family trip to New York where we saw that wonderful burlesque show. What was it called? Theatre… Theatre something with letters. XIV, yes, that was it. Their costumes were a-mazing.” She giggled a little unsteadily. “What there was of them, if you know what I mean. Then we went to a Broadway show but couldn’t get into the one we wanted. But somehow we managed to get last-minute tickets to a different show that let out so late we had to eat at the all-night diner. Then my hubby got food poisoning from his undercooked eggs and he was mad that I actually scrapped a page that included a picture of him hugging our hotel room’s toilet. Remember?”

“I do.” Unfortunately.

“Well…” She bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder. “I told her no.” She winced, as if expecting a blow or a reprimand.

“You told who no? And why?”

Her eyes widened as if she couldn’t believe I hadn’t followed. “Ava. She offered to help me with the pages and I said no.”

“That’s it? You just refused her help?”

She nodded. “I know it was ungrateful, and now that she’s dead, I feel so bad. I mean, it wouldn’t have hurt me to be kinder, and now it just seems so… so prophetic, you know?”

My eyebrows rose. “Prophetic? How?”

“Well, I mean the page was all about my husband’s suffering after a wonderful day of fun. And then, only three months later, she’s killed after you guys had a day of fun at the scrapbooking expo.” Her brow knotted. “Unless it’s four months.”

I patted her shoulder. “Evy, I’m sure that Ava never gave your refusal a thought.” Because she’d probably gone on to bully Nikki or taunt Virginia. “You don’t need to feel bad.”

“But if I had just accepted her help, she might be alive today!”

My hand froze mid-pat. Evy’s logic was convoluted on the best of days, but this one? “I don’t think Ava’s death had anything to do with your scrapbook. But I really do have to go.”

“Oh, but, Tash, there’s something else.”

“Later, Evy.” I hurried out of the custom stationary corner, noticing that neither Virginia nor Nikki were still at the tables. As I reached for the door, Graciela looked up from ringing up a customer.

“One second, mija.”

I shot her a harried smile. “I’ll call you later, hon. But I have to leave right now.”

I escaped out the door and raced to my car. If I pushed it a little, I could make it to PJ’s only a few minutes later than I’d promised Bae and Huber, assuming they’d gotten my message at all. Technically, the time wouldn’t really matter. After all, Nikki said they’d caught the thieves, so nobody would be looking for the jewels anymore. But I didn’t want PJ to have to spend one more needless minute behind bars. I’d wait all night if I had to.

When I pulled into PJ’s apartment complex, the street lamps near his unit were flickering, casting weird shadows and doing nothing to lessen the dark. I shook my head. Although the complex was in a nice part of Beaverton, it wasn’t kept up as well as it should be. I wanted PJ to move, but he claimed he’d made his nest and he was going to perch in it until a man with appropriately handsome plumage offered him a better option.

My headlights swept across his covered parking spot, gleaming on Moocher’s cobalt paint. There was no sign of Bae or Huber yet, so I parked in the visitor spot directly opposite and hurried across the asphalt to peer in Moocher’s rear windows. I huffed out a sigh when I spotted the kit.

My fingers trembled a bit as I located Moocher’s key on my ring, but I managed to unlock the rear doors. I pulled the right one open and leaned in to grab the kit. I hesitated, my hands on the straps. Should I wait for Bae and Huber? But what if the embellishments weren’t still in the kit?

A chill chased through me. If the jar wasn’t in the kit, it meant that PJ—or somebody—had taken it out. As much as I trusted PJ, this thing had been sitting here, in full view of anyone who wandered by since Sunday afternoon’s class. I had to be sure.

I eased the zipper open and peered inside. A jumble of dies sat on top. As I picked them up to set them aside, I caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye. Bae and Huber must have arrived.

But when I straightened up, it wasn’t the detectives. A figure all in black, including a balaclava, was rushing toward me. In this uncertain light, and with my heart pounding in my ears, I couldn’t judge the person’s size or gender, but I recognized the long, shiny object they were brandishing over their head.

Golf club.

As I stood frozen, my hand clutching the edge of the door, all I could stupidly think was “Fore.”