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“Maybe it’s a safe deposit box number, or a locker number, or a PO box number.”
The final item in the file is a newspaper clipping. It doesn’t contain a date or a newspaper name, just a short article about an antique shop being temporarily closed due to the owner’s illness.
“This is Cherry’s aunt’s shop.”
“Yeah, I noticed that.”
I shake my head. I can’t make heads or tails out of any of this. Why was my brother investigating Cherry a full year ago? What does this have to do with his death or her birth parents? Most importantly, what does Cherry know about any of this?
“What the fuck is going on here, Antony?”
“I don’t know, boss.” He leans against the desk and looks over the documents splayed in front of us. He huffs a breath through his nose. “I think we need a second opinion.”
“If you mention Nora, I’ll break your jaw.” The last thing I need is my nosy, opinionated sister digging around in all of this and throwing it back in my face.
“No, not your sister—Threes. He’s really good at mysteries and puzzles, and he might be able to piece shit together better than we can. If we pick that guy up, we’re going to need Threes anyway, so we might as well tell him why.”
Threes isn’t pleased about being woken up at four in the morning, but he stumbles down the stairs to hear us out. Antony brings him up to speed, and then Threes goes over the information in the file himself.
“This does look like Micha’s handwriting,” Threes says as he holds up the sticky note. “He always made those weird sevens with the mark across them like that. I don’t know about a South Street though.”
“It must not be in Cascade Falls.”
“What about this place in Maryland?” Threes picks up the newspaper article. “Does it have a South Street?”
Antony takes a moment to look it up and then confirms that Accident, Maryland, does indeed have a South Street.
“What is at 72 South Street?” I ask.
“Invalid address,” Antony replies. “There’s a post office in that block though.”
“So, maybe a PO Box?” Threes suggests.
“Maybe.” I hate making guesses like this. Anything and everything is possible, and there isn’t enough information to make a decision based on it.
“But no key,” Antony says, “not that we’ve found anyway.”
Threes sits back, looks over the information for a minute, and looks back at me. His eyes narrow.
“Is your shirt buttoned wrong?” he asks.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I grab at the buttons, release them, and start buttoning my shirt correctly. “Will you stay on target, please?”
Threes snickers, then lets out a long sigh.
“I could put all this together better if I’d had some coffee,” he says, “but this is what I gather so far. For whatever reason, Micha was looking into Cherry right before he was killed. Cherry has a poorly doctored birth certificate that didn’t come from us, and the Ramsays are the only people who might have a reason to alter her information. Do you know who the woman in the photograph is?”
“Not sure,” Antony says, “but the guy with her is definitely Roland Ramsay, so she might be Leanne. That was his wife’s name, right?”
“Yeah, that could be her,” Three says with a nod. “They’ve both been dead a while, so we won’t get any info from them.”
“We also don’t know which baby of hers she’s carrying there,” I say. “There’s no date on the photo. It could be Janna or Jay.”
“It’s black and white because it’s been scanned,” Antony says, “not because it’s that old. Janna and Jay are only two years apart. They were both born around that time.”
“She’s a year older than me,” I say, “and Jay is a year younger, if I remember right.”
“And Cherry is your age,” Antony reminds me. “You were born just a few days apart, according to the forged birth certificate, anyway.”
