Page 14

CHAPTER 14

“Can we talk about the note now?” Maddie asked, fluffing up the pillows and sitting up against them. “Because I’m worried?—”

“We can,” I cut in. “Just give me a second.”

The phone call from Almond had gotten my adrenaline rushing, and my head was all over the place. I added the two new clues—the scent and the cane—to our notes, then drew some hieroglyphics that meant nothing, just to buy myself a few more seconds of thought time.

Maddie interrupted anyway. “I know you’re thinking but … do you think we should have reminded Almond to take the information she gave us to the police as well?”

I looked up. “Do you think we need to tell her that? Seems obvious to me.”

I hadn’t even considered the possibility that she might not share such important clues with the detectives working the case. Maybe Maddie had a point. Almond wasn’t the trusting, open sort.

“I’ll mention it to her the next time we talk,” Maddie said.

“Good idea.” I moved to the small table and chairs near the window, just for a different point of view. “Now, moving on to the note.”

Leaning forward in my chair, I offered her one of the photocopies. She held her hand out and stretched, trying to reach it. She did a little groan, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood, laid the copy on her lap, then went back to the chair.

She snickered. “Gotta keep you on your toes. What would you do without me?”

“I don’t even want to consider such a thought,” I replied.

She burst out laughing.

Though I had a photocopy of the note for myself, I also opened the image on my phone so I could zoom in and out. “I forgot to ask Almond about the size of the paper.”

“I didn’t think about that, either,” Maddie said. “Let me ask her.”

She texted Almond with the question.

“It may or may not be helpful,” I said. “But I am curious.”

I zoomed in and out twice, and then once more, taking my time.

The note was lying on a flat, pale background with no other items around it that we could use as a point of reference for sizing the note. I assumed it was a hospital tray. Almond had said she’d found the note in her coat after they’d arrived at the hospital. The note was a little darker than the tray, though it was hard to tell actual shades because of the lighting at the time the photo was taken. I could see a white bloom, maybe from the phone’s flash or a lamp, toward the side of the note. All in all, it was a terrible picture, a little blurry, but I knew Almond had to have been distraught when she snapped it.

A text came through.

“It’s from Almond,” Maddie said. “The note was about four inches square.”

“Good to know.” The note appeared to have been folded into quarters, and all four edges had a subtle unevenness to them, like the paper had been torn to that size with the edge of a table or ruler.

I pointed that out to Maddie. “See? It’s not a clean cut like would happen with scissors or a paper cutter. Or if it had come from a 4x4 notepad.”

“Mm-hmm. Too bad this bottom part here is torn even more. That little thingie there is a tease.”

She pointed to the small smudge of something that might tell us who had written the note.

“Could be part of a signature, initials, or some sort of symbol even,” I said.

“An L? Part of an E?”

“A wild guess at this point,” I said.

“Uh-huh. And did you notice the subtle wrinkles there?” She pointed to the photocopied image. “That might not all be from wear and tear from rain and handling. It’s like those old-fashioned pages … Ugh, what’s the word …?”

“Parchment.”

She snapped her fingers and pointed at me. “Yes. Isn’t that unusual?”