Ava looked herself over in the mirror and nodded to herself. She still wasn’t the biggest fan of the uniform she had to wear. It was essentially a house dress, only somehow more uncomfortable than anything she’d willingly wear around her house. Still, it did make her look professional and for now, that was the most important thing.

  She left the room and met Jeffrey in the hallway, carrying a stack of school books. “Are you going to be home in time to cook tonight or is Grandpa cooking?”

  “I don’t see why I’d be late,” she said.

  “Good. Grandpa isn’t a very good cook. He thinks his cornbread is so good, but he burns the bottom and it tastes like coal.”

  “That’s not very nice,” Ava said.

  “I know. Sorry. I’m glad he’s living with us, though.”

  “Me, too,” Ava said as she opened the front door. “And I’m glad he’s letting you hang around the gym after school. But he’s not letting you around any of those rougher men with foul mouths is he?”

  “No. He’s really careful about that and—”

  Jeffrey was still talking, but Ava barely heard him. Her attention had been grabbed by the sheet of paper that had been placed on her front door. It was held in place by a tailor’s tack. She plucked it free and unfolded it, already feeling that nothing good would come of it.

  The note read: A note to show that we know where you live. Tony 2 sends his regards.

  It was a note from the mob. In her sudden rise to the position of detective, she’d nearly overlooked the fact that she’d arrested and interrogated a member of the mob—a man that ended up having nothing to do with the murders she’d been investigating. And in terms of enemies, the mob was naturally among the worst to have.

  She pocketed the note and tried her best to put on a smile for Jeffrey. He saw right through it, though. Ava sometimes forgot that her son had inherited his father’s ability to properly read people’s moods.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “What was the paper on the door?”

  “Just a note for me,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder and escorting him along. “Work stuff.”

  And though she felt she played it off rather well, she could not help but draw Jeffrey a little closer to her side as they stepped out into the morning streets.

  ***

  When she sat down behind her chair at work, she took the note out and placed it into the top drawer of her desk. There, it rested right on top of the letter someone within the precinct had left for her almost immediately after she was promoted to detective. It, like the letter from the mob, was nothing more than a thinly veiled threat—just some uncomfortable male trying to do what he could to feel like his was still the superior sex. She’d wasted far too much time trying to figure out who it might be from and, for some reason, the thought of it still worried her more than the new note from the mob.

  The Women’s Bureau office was starting to come alive as the morning passed by. Ever since she’d been promoted to detective, there was a strange and rather pleasant buzz in the air in the downstairs office. Ava had first worried that her sudden higher rank would cause bitterness with the other women, but so far she had received nothing but encouragement and support. It was a shame that the same wasn’t true of the male officers. While no one was openly griping, she was still receiving a lot of hostility.

  If her relationship with anyone in the WB had been altered in any significant way, it was the one she’d been forming with Frances. Officer Frances Knight had originally been tasked with showing Ava the ropes—a supervisor without actually being called such. But now that Frances no longer held that small position over Ava, things felt a little strained and off kilter.

  Closing the drawer and keeping the mob’s letter out of sight for now, Ava looked over in Frances’s direction. She had her head down, reading a ream of paper that sat centered on her desk. As she watched Frances, Lottie came in through the door. She was looking stunning, as usual, despite the dress restrictions placed on all WB officers.

  “G’morning ladies,” Lottie said. “Already hard at work, I see.”

  Lottie sat down at her desk, two over from Ava. As she took her seat and looked to the few notes that had been placed on her desk, she sighed. When she looked to Ava, she seemed to wipe away any disappointment with a smile that seemed genuine enough.

  “It’s so good to know you’re still trapped down here with us despite your rise to fame and superiority,” she said.

  “I think I prefer it down here,” Ava said, meaning it. “It’s much quieter, and a lot less…well, male.”

  Lottie snickered at this and then whispered, “Though, there are a few up there I wouldn’t mind bringing down here, that’s for sure…”

  Ava laughed, though she wasn’t sure she agreed. She was starting to see most of the male officers as copies of one another—something she was not proud of but it came with the amount of evil looks and hostility she was getting from upstairs.

  Across the room, the office phone rang on Frances’s desk. She picked it up, still looking at the papers on her desk. “Women’s Bureau, this is Officer Knight.” She listened to the other end and within a few seconds looked up and met Ava’s gaze. “Sure,” Frances said, “Yes, of course.” She then placed the receiver back on the cradle and said, “Gold you’re needed upstairs in Minard’s office. He says it’s urgent.”

  She looked back to her papers, as if she honestly didn’t care about the call at all. Still, the use of the word urgent had Ava getting to her feet and heading for the door.

  “Well, it was good seeing you,” Lottie said, giving a little wave. “I fear your time down in the basement with us may be a bit less permanent than it might seem.”

  Ava wasn’t sure how to respond to this, so she kept quiet. As she made her exit from the WB offices, her nerves kicked up a bit. Urgent, she thought. The last time Minard had asked for me with any sort of urgency was when I was thrown into the middle of the hatchet killer case…

  Her mind swirling with possibilities, Ava headed upstairs where within even just a few seconds, it all seemed like a totally different world.

  CHAPTER TWO

  She was both elated and a bit nervous to see that Frank Wimbly was already in Captain Minard’s office when she arrived. She’d been unofficially partnered with him following their first case together and it seemed that they’d be getting something new right away, just a handful of days after managing to capture the hatchet killer. Frank’s presence in the same office she’d been called into hinted at something pretty big on the horizon.

  Frank greeted her with a quick smile as she took the remaining chair on the guest-side of Minard’s desk. Thankfully, Minard did not seem to be in one of his hurried and angry moods today. Of course, it was still pretty early in the day.

  “I’ve got a case I need both of you on,” he said. “It’s murder up on Fifth Avenue, concerning a very wealthy family. It has the potential to be pretty big and if the media gets ahold of it, it’ll be a circus. Now, you two handled the hatchet murders with at least some degree of professionalism and somehow, the precinct came out smelling like roses. I’d like to see that same result at the end of this one.”

  The idea of dealing with the ultra-wealthy did not sit well with Ava but she would never actually speak up and say such a thing to Minard. Besides, she realized that she was being put on a large case and didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that. She couldn’t help but wonder if she was being placed on it for the same reason she was finally given a break a little less than two weeks ago—for a bit of good PR for the force. She was now essentially the face of the NYPD’s Women’s Division. Were they just marching her out so the police force could remind the public of their bold moves?

  Really, though, did it matter? She knew that if they could wrap this up successfully, it could mean huge things for her career and might even help to finally earn her some respect among her fellow officers.

  “Who’s the family?” Frank asked.

  “The father is George Pickett. His sixteen-year-old daughter was found dead in her bed this morning. No clear signs of how it was done but it’s looking like possible strangulation. Now make no mistake about this…Pickett is going to be all over your asses, watching everything you do. You’re likely going to get yelled at and ridiculed and this is one situation where you’re just going to have to smile, nod, and take it. Wimbly, you know this sort of case. You know money talks in this city and if it comes down to laws or money, money is going to win out every time.”

  “Yeah, that is an unfortunate truth about this city,” Frank agreed.

  Minard handed Frank a sheet of paper and seemed glad to be rid of it once it was in Frank’s hand. Frank was wearing a derby hat that she’d seen him wear from time to time. She’d never asked or mentioned it, but she assumed he’d started wearing it more often because of the slight bit of hair loss that was starting to appear at the crown of his head.

  “You know where it is?” Minard asked.

  “Oh yeah, I know it.”

  “Then get moving. I have a feeling George Pickett is already going to be fuming that it’s taken this long to get anyone over there…and we just got the call ten minutes ago.” He then eyed Ava with what she thought looked like a strange sort of muted hope. “You got much experience on that side of town?”

  “No, sir. Not much.”

  “Then please let Wimbly take the lead on this one. Got it? I’m putting you on this because the victim is female. Nothing more. I figured I should just be honest with that up front before your head gets too big.”

  “Yes, sir.” It sounded like an insult at first but there was no fire in his voice. Maybe he was simply trying to make sure she knew her place—that she’d been given the keys to the kingdom and he felt it necessary to remind her.

  Minard did not excuse or dismiss them, nor did he say goodbye. He simply looked down to his desk to the large pile of forms and papers. Frank caught Ava’s gaze and nodded toward the door. He held it open for her and though it felt very anticlimactic, Ava realized that she was about to step out to start her second monumental case.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Pickett residence was one of the remaining standouts from the cluster of Fifth Avenue mansions that had taken prominence in the 1890s. Granted, it wasn’t much of a mansion anymore, but it was certainly one of the larger homes on the block. She supposed it would currently be considered a manor by most in the area. When Ava and Frank were greeted by the maid and stepped inside, Ava felt like she had just stepped into a very nice hotel rather than someone’s home.

  They entered through what she assumed was a foyer but felt more like a lobby. The hardwood floors had been recently cleaned and polished. She could smell a cleaning agent still clinging to the air. Ava started to truly take the place in, but she was unable to do so because she was distracted by the sheer number of people currently in the house. In the foyer alone, Ava counted six people. She could hear several other voices—including a very loud weeping one—coming from upstairs somewhere.

  “Excuse me,” Ava said to the maid. “But why are all of these people here?”

  The maid shook her head and looked to the floor. She was an African American woman of about forty or fifty years of age. She had a very kind-looking face but she currently looked drained.

  “Doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, does it?” the maid said. “But her father won’t send anyone away. Today was Penny’s sixteenth birthday. Her parents had been planning her coming-out party for weeks now. Some of the folks here had arrived to help set up for the party and they just won’t leave.” She sneered in the direction of a few men standing in the corner, speaking quietly among themselves. “I guess they’re afraid they won’t have enough details to start talking about it over brandy and poker games tonight.”

  Ava understood and agreed with the comment. She decided right then and there that she liked this maid quite a bit. “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Evelyn. Evelyn Johnson.

  “Where is Penny’s body, Evelyn?” Frank asked.

  The maid took a single step back at the stern sound of Frank’s voice. She looked almost pleadingly back to Ava, as if she wished the woman of the pairing was doing all of the talking. Still, she did her best to give them some answers.

  “Some folks took her out a bit ago. The coroner. Maybe ten or fifteen minutes. I got the sense that Mr. Pickett wanted her out of here quickly. The mother—Millie—she took it hard. Damn near fainted when she saw Penny like that.”

  “Who discovered the body?” Frank asked.

  “That was me, sir.”

  “Was there any blood?” Ava asked, trying to get back in control of the line of questioning. She wondered if Frank had even picked up on the fact that Evelyn was much more comfortable speaking with her. “Any sign that there might have been a fight?”

  “No, nothing like that,” Evelyn said. “The folks that took her out of here were talking about how she looked to have been strangled.”

  Frank thought about this for a moment before he gave Evelyn a little nod of appreciation. “Thank you. I assume the room is somewhere upstairs?”

  “It is. Take the stairway in the parlor, though, not the one in the hallway.”

  “And the parlor is where?”

  Evelyn sighed again, indicating she agreed; yes, this damn house was far too big. “To the left.”

  Frank and Ava left Evelyn to cater to the people in the massive foyer. As they made their way into the parlor, Ava saw large bookshelves stacked from end to end, as well as decorative vases and gorgeous pieces of artwork. Ava had always been able to appreciate the finer things; Clarence had once told her that he thought her love of music—jazz in particular—had something to do with it. But this house was different. Everything about the Pickett home spoke of extravagance—a family that spent excessive money simply because they could. As they made their way further inside, her mind was nearly assaulted by a vivid memory from her past. She could see herself at eight years of age, walking hand-in-hand with her mother down a street not too dissimilar from Fifth Avenue. They’d passed by a large house (not quite a mansion, though eight-year-old Ava would have not known the difference).

  “Is that a castle, momma?”

  “Not quite,” her mother had answered.

  “Do kings and queens live in there?”

  She could still remember that look of contempt in her mother’s face. “No, Ava…but the men that own these types of places think they’re kings anyway.”

  Her mother’s voice echoed in her head as she and Frank made their way out of the parlor and toward the stairway. There, Ava saw three more people. One was a woman sitting on the floor, her dress crumpled beneath her. She was heaving for air and her face was very red. Ava assumed this was the mother—Millie, according to the maid.

  One of the other people was also very red in the face but not out of sorrow. No, this man looked absolutely livid. When he spotted Ava and Frank coming up the stairway, he stormed over to them at once. He had a well-trimmed moustache that almost looked as if it boxed his mouth off from the rest of his face.

  “And who the bleeding hell are you?” this man asked.

  Frank answered as nicely as he could though his suddenly-rigid posture was evidence that he did not like being spoken to in such a way. “I’m Detective Frank Wimbly,” he said. “And this is my partner, Ava Gold.”

  “Partner?” the man asked, aghast. “A woman detective?”

  “Yes. Is that going to be an issue?”

  The man looked at a loss for words as the other two people behind him looked on. One was another man that looked just as privileged and refined as the man in front of Ava and Frank. The other was a waifish woman with a blank look on her face.

  “Are you the father, sir?” Frank asked the mustached man.

  “Yes. I’m George Pickett. And I have no idea why it took you so long to get here!”

  Choosing to ignore this little jab, Frank came to the stairs with Ava following closely behind him. “Where’s your daughter’s bedroom, Mr. Pickett?”

  “Upstairs,” he snapped, pointing to the staircase. He looked appalled that a so-called woman detective would even be addressing him at all. “First room on the right.”

  Ava and Frank started up the stairs, and after a few steps, Ava turned back to the Picketts. “It’s really none of my business,” she said, “but this would all go a lot smoother if you didn’t have all of these people here.”

  “You’re absolutely right,” George Pickett said. His face was redder than ever, his eyes pure orbs of fury. “It is none of your business. Now get upstairs and do your damned job.”

  “Come on, Gold,” Frank whispered. He seemed to be doing everything he could to not face George Pickett, keeping his head low and his eyes straight ahead.

  It took more restraint than it should have, but Ava managed to not say another word. She walked up the stairs to the dead girl’s room, feeling both unwanted yet necessary at the same time.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The room was tidy and smelled faintly of a flowery perfume. Other than the sheets being pulled back to remove the body, there wasn’t much of a disturbance to the place. There were no signs of a struggle and everything looked to be in its proper place. Ava approached the bed and looked for any miniscule splatters of blood—anything to indicate someone had been attacked here—but there was nothing.

  She noted Frank walking to the window, looking out onto high rises and expensive homes. He placed his face close to the glass, eyeing the frame and the bronze-colored lock closely.