Silvio shook his head. “Hugh Tucker. I’ve just started drilling down on him, but nothing suspicious so far. Although he and Deirdre have something interesting in common: the Tucker family has been in Ashland for generations, just like the Shaws, and Hugh is also the last one left of his family.”
Not that unusual. Despite the sky-high crime rate, Ashland was a beautiful place to live, with its rugged ridges, lush forests, and mountain streams. My family, the Snows, had also been here for generations. So had the Monroes. Come to town, enjoy the mountains, start a blood feud with another family. It was practically the Ashland tourism motto. Still, it was a bit odd that Deirdre and Tucker would both be from Ashland and also be the last living members of their families. I wondered if Deirdre had known Tucker before he started working for her.
“All right,” I said. “Keep digging into Deirdre and Tucker. And there’s one more person I need you to track down.”
“Who?”
“Santos. After his failed bank robbery last night, he decided to pay me a house call.”
I wiped off my hands and grabbed a napkin and a pen. While I filled Silvio in about the attack at Fletcher’s house, I made a crude sketch of the snake-and-dollar-sign tattoo on Santos’s forearm.
“Here,” I said, passing the sketch over to him. “See if you have more luck with the tattoo. People can change their names a lot easier than they can change their ink.”
He took the napkin from me. “I’ll get right on it. And there’s one more thing.”
“What?”
“Ms. Shaw has been visiting Ashland on and off for several months, even before she first approached Finn.” He grabbed his tablet again. “She’s been putting together an exhibit of fine jewelry and rare gemstones at the Briartop Art Museum. Ticket sales will benefit her charitable foundation.”
Silvio turned his tablet around to show me the museum’s website. A photo of a diamond ring was front and center, the design a smaller version of Deirdre’s icicle-heart necklace.
“Ms. Shaw has donated several of her own personal pieces to the exhibit,” he continued. “It’s the first big event the museum has hosted since—”
“Since Jonah McAllister hired Clementine Barker and her giants to rob everyone and swipe Mab Monroe’s will from the Briartop vault,” I said, finishing his thought. “Do you think Jonah is involved with Deirdre?”
Jonah McAllister was another thorn in my side. The smarmy lawyer had tried to have me killed multiple times, including that night at Briartop.
Silvio shook his head. “I don’t think so. Jonah is holed up in his mansion, waiting for his trial to start. He hardly ever leaves it. As far as I can tell, he’s never had any contact with Ms. Shaw. Not so much as a phone call, text, or email.”
The fact that Deirdre and Jonah didn’t seem to know each other and probably weren’t working together was an unexpected bit of good news. But Silvio’s intel still didn’t tell me what Deirdre was really up to. If she was already skimming millions from her charity foundation, then why go to all the time and trouble to set up an exhibit here in Ashland? Why sashay into First Trust, give the bank access to her accounts, and run the risk of someone realizing where all that charity money was really going?
It didn’t make sense, unless . . . unless Deirdre truly did want to get close to Finn.
Could I be wrong? Could Deirdre be legit? Well, as legit as a charity scammer could be? Could she genuinely want to reconnect with her son?
No—no way. I didn’t know Deirdre, but I did know Fletcher. If the old man claimed she was dangerous, then that’s exactly what she was. Besides, Deirdre had had thirty-plus years to reappear in Finn’s life. So why the sudden interest in her son now?
Something was going on here, and I was going to figure out exactly what it was—and how best to protect Finn from whatever his mother might be planning.
13
The day passed by like any other, with the usual blur of cooking, cleaning, and customers. But as three o’clock crept closer, my friends started to appear.
Owen was the first one through the door. He kissed me on the cheek, told me that he was here if I needed anything, and then sat in a booth out of the way. I was grateful for his strong, silent support.
Jo-Jo arrived next, wearing a white cashmere cardigan over a pale pink dress patterned with tiny pink roses. Her usual strand of pearls hung around her throat, and she had white kitten heels on her feet, making her look every inch the Southern lady she was. Jo-Jo always looked elegant, but she had taken a little extra care with her appearance today, her white-blond hair curled just so, her makeup flawless, her nails gleaming with a fresh coat of pale pink polish.
Jo-Jo slid onto the stool closest to the cash register. She murmured hello to Silvio, who returned her greeting, although he kept his eyes locked on his phone as he texted. Jo-Jo leaned forward and waved at Sophia, who was sliding a tray of sourdough buns into one of the ovens. Sophia turned, and I caught sight of her black T-shirt, which featured a white heart that had been broken in two and was dripping blood off both sharp, jagged ends. I grimaced. The image reminded me of Deirdre’s icicle-heart rune.