“Let’s head back to your house,” I tell my uncle. “There’s something in our rental car you need to see.”

  Retrieving his cell phone from inside his coat pocket, Bill casts me a quizzical look. “It has something to do with your dad?”

  “Possibly,” I confirm. “And Marianna Haley.”

  On the way back to his house, Bill stops to point out several other houses with ties to the family, but none of them look familiar. I’m growing increasingly irritated that nothing has dislodged the smallest of memories. Our visit to Baltimore has only created more questions.

  Upon returning to his block, we discover a police squad car parked at the curb behind the mid-sized sedan we rented from the airport and an officer standing beside it. Carolyn watches from nearby, huddling in a white pea coat and nibbling on her perfect manicure. Suddenly noticing the passenger’s window is missing, I sprint the remaining distance. Rocco’s footsteps pound the sidewalk close behind.

  With a closer look, my heart sinks. My messenger bag is gone. “What happened to our car?” I ask Carolyn as Rocco and I close in.

  “This is your rental, ma’am?” the officer asks, glancing up from the ticket book in his hand. He’s probably close to my age with a shiny, shaved head and a bored expression. When I bob my head in confirmation, he scribbles something on the ticket. “Name?”

  “Josephine Kelly.” I rattle off my address and phone number, too.

  He finishes writing a few more things before tearing the top ticket from the book and handing it to me. “You’ll need this for insurance. I’ll file a report, but this kind of thing is low priority. Hopefully, you were smart enough to take your valuables out because it looks like they took everything not bolted down. Consider yourself lucky you weren’t around when the break-in happened.”

  “Thank you, officer,” I grumble, giving the surrounding row houses a thorough glance. It’s the middle of a bright Sunday afternoon, and we passed several people out on a walk with dogs. Surely, someone witnessed the break-in.

  As the officer drives away, Carolyn clicks her tongue. “This is normally such a safe neighborhood. I’m just grateful no one was hurt.”

  “Shit,” Rocco huffs into my ear. “Marianna’s diary.”

  “The pictures, too,” I whisper, suddenly furious with myself. Why didn’t I leave everything back at the hotel? I glance at Bill and Carolyn’s front step, disappointed to see they don’t have a video system on their doorbell. “Does anyone around here have a surveillance camera?”

  Bill gives me a mournful shake of his head. “Like Carolyn said, it’s normally a safe neighborhood.”

  Until someone trying to dig up old family secrets comes to visit. “You didn’t hear or see anything?” I ask Carolyn.

  She wrings her hands together. “I came outside when I heard the police siren. The nice officer told me a neighbor heard the window break and mistook it for a gunshot. From what I understand, the poor thing nearly had a hard attack. We just don’t see that kind of violence around these parts.”

  I slip into the vehicle on the driver’s side and inspect the shards of glass piled on the passenger’s seat. While it would appear from a distance to be a typical smash-and-grab kind of job, there’s an unusual pattern to the glass. I run my hand along the dashboard, stopping when I come across a puckered hole.

  A bullet hole. Around the same size as a 9 mm.

  Someone shot through the window.

  “Do either of you own a pistol?” I call out to Bill and Carolyn.

  “Of course not,” Carolyn snaps, tugging at her dress’s neckline. “What on earth would make you ask such a thing, darlin’?”

  Bill appears equally perplexed by my question. “Do you think we need one after this? For protection?”

  Rocco leans through the open door to get a closer look. “What’d you find?” he asks.

  Tugging on his sweater, I pull him close. “Arrange for a ride back to the hotel,” I whisper. “I’ll call the rental company and let them deal with a tow truck or whatever they decide to do with this. We need to get the hell out of here as soon as humanly possible.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Someone shot the window out. They could’ve smashed it with virtually anything, but I think they were trying to send us a message. We’re not welcome here.”

  “Shit,” Rocco groans. “Okay, I’m on it.”

  When he steps away to open the app on his phone, I catch Carolyn and Bill frantically whispering back and forth on the sidewalk.

  Everything about the day feels off.

  If Carolyn and Bill aren’t behind the break-in, I suspect they know who’s responsible.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  PRESENT DAY

  Josephine

  The Uber driver drops Rocco and me outside of a seafood restaurant in Fell’s Point, just down the road from our hotel. Floor-to-ceiling glass encased in black metal encompasses one entire side of the upscale establishment, providing an excellent view of the harbor. I inhale deeply, drawing on its innate peacefulness. A group of young children and their two chaperones wave at a small Coast Guard boat gliding through the center of the otherwise still water. An osprey perches on a nearby pillar, its whistles muted by the thick plate glass separating us from the outdoors.

  Despite the chaos following us since our arrival in Charm City, I’m seduced by its vibe. Could it have something to do with my history here?

  At the massive bar occupying the wall opposite the windows, we settle on high-backed stools beneath funky pendants crafted from blown glass. The bartender, a shockingly white-blonde in his late twenties with small gages wedged inside both earlobes, approaches us with a friendly smile. Over black trousers and a white dress shirt, he dons a black, industrial-style apron with brown leather straps and the restaurant’s logo of a crow printed across the chest.

  “Welcome to Poe’s Perch,” he tells us. “What brings you folks here?”

  “Poe’s Perch?” Rocco inquires, tilting his head.

  With a smirk, the kid leans in a little closer. “The owner’s a big fan of Edgar Allen Poe’s. You know, the poet?” He gestures to the logo on his apron. “Thus, the crow. Poe lived a couple of miles down the road. If you haven’t been to his house for a tour, I highly suggest you give it a try. I’ve never experienced anything unusual there, but my girlfriend swears she felt an entity following us around while we were there.”

  “Interesting,” Rocco grunts, clearly not sold on the idea.

  “What can I get you?”

  “Two double shots of Woodford Reserve on the rocks,” Rocco tells him, keen to the fact that I’ve gone mute. Ever since discovering that bullet hole, my mind has been spinning with theories. I didn’t give Bill and Carolyn so much as a goodbye after our ride arrived, but Rocco had thanked them for brunch before stuffing me inside the backseat of the crossover.

  “Coming right up,” the bartender says, setting a set of laminated menus in front of us. “I’ll leave these with you in case you decide to order food.”

  Once he moves over the wall of liquor, Rocco squeezes my knee. “Are you going to share whatever’s going through that beautiful head of yours?”

  “There wasn’t anything valuable in my bag aside from the journal and those pictures,” I tell him. After decades on the force, I’d developed the habit of carrying my ID and bank cards in my back pocket and don’t bother with cash. The leather messenger bag I’d packed only contained a paperback I’ve been meaning to read for months, a pack of gum, and the three items linked to my puzzling past. “And my bag was the only thing inside the car.”

  If it weren’t for the theft of those valuable items, I would’ve been a little irritated about the messenger bag. It was a good hundred dollars more than what I would’ve normally spent on something so insignificant, but the wise saleswoman had insisted it was high-quality leather that would last for decades to come.

  “Nothing else appeared to be disturbed,” I continue. “It’s a little far-fetched to assume someone used a gun for a simple smash-and-grab. And I had tucked my bag beneath the seat. It wouldn’t have been visible from a mere glance outside the car. I think Bill gave someone a heads up. He was typing on his phone right after I told him about the journal.”

  Amusement shines through Rocco’s eyes when he spins his stool to face me. “Are you implying your aunt shot the window?”

  “Not necessarily, but she is from the South, and she became notably uncomfortable when I started asking her questions about Marianna. I suspect she knew about Frank’s affair, too. It’s possible they let someone else know I’m here…someone who’s privy to the situation even more than Carolyn and Bill.”

  “Your other uncle?”

  “Maybe. I messaged the tech wiz at my station to see what she can tell me about Eddie when she checks into work tomorrow. Since Bill claims Eddie is unavailable, I asked her to track him down. If he’s somewhere nearby, I’d like to speak with him before we leave…see what he knows about my parents and Marianna.” I drum my fingertips against the bar. “The whole situation feels incredibly off. Why is everyone being so evasive? I can’t get over the fact that their father just happened to die the same day I came out to see him.”

  Rocco gives a little shake of his head. “Hold on. You think someone murdered Roger?”

  “You heard Bill. Everyone agreed he was in excellent health for someone his age.”

  When the bartender arrives with our drinks, Rocco hands him a credit card. I take a sip of the bourbon, leaning back on the stool as the liquid does its magic in loosening my limbs. “Marianna mentioned buying a hunting shack. We could find the address by searching real estate records.”

  “What do you think we’ll find there?”

  “I’m not sure, but it seems a logical avenue to explore.”

  When he lifts his glass to his lips, I set my hand on his arm to stop him. “You should go home. I know you’re feeling protective after everything that’s happened, but I assure you I can handle this on my own. I’ve dealt with much worse on the job.”

  “I don’t doubt that.” He places his drink on the live-edge bar top and threads his fingers through the hair on the back of my head. “But there’s nothing back home that requires my immediate attention. Henry’s in good hands. Chris can handle the gym on his own, no problem. Nonna is in hands more capable than mine. Everything I care about is taken care of—except for you. Can you cast your stubbornness aside long enough to let me stay here and support you for as long as it takes?”

  The last text I received from Noelle as we were waiting in line to board the plane flashes through my memories.

  Let him take care of you, Jo. Even if it drives you crazy. You two share a history…he might be the only one who can help you heal after all of this is done.

  “Whatever floats your boat, Giordano.” With a discontented grunt, I gently push him back against his stool. “But I draw the line at public affection.”

  Reclaiming his glass, he smirks from behind its rim. “Does that mean it’s fair game when we return to our room?”

  In lieu of answering, I chug the remainder of my drink and slam the empty glass on the counter before standing. I’ve made it two steps toward the exit when I hear the echo of his glass hitting the wood before his footsteps fall in sync with mine.

  The shrill of a cell phone ring jerks me out of a peaceful sleep. I pat around the mattress at my side, expecting my phone to be in its usual spot. It isn’t until my hand connects with Rocco’s warm, hairless chest that I remember we’re still in Baltimore. Once again, my naked body is coiled around his like a Bavarian pretzel.

  I could get used to this lifestyle.

  Disengaging myself, I rotate to my other side to retrieve my phone from the hotel room’s nightstand. “Detective Kelly.”

  “Isn’t it, like, ten o’clock out there? Why do you sound so groggy? Are you still sleeping?”

  Recognizing the voice as the station’s tech wizard's, I bolt upright. Rocco and I had both been awake for a few hours earlier, but apparently we dozed off again following another sinfully long round of lovemaking. “Good morning, Aubrey! What’d you find?”

  With the unmistakable pop of bubblegum, I can picture the 25-year-old genius twirling her platinum blond hair around a finger while casting a bored look at her computer. Sometimes, I believe her intelligence is too vast to be stuck behind the desk in a police department. Other times, I’m convinced she’s not sophisticated enough to work in a professional setting.

  “That Edward guy you asked about isn’t too far from where you are now.”

  “What? You’re kidding.”

  “I wouldn’t kid with you, ma’am,” she teases. “You scare me too much to make that mistake a second time.”

  “You scare too easily,” I spar back with a grin. Within days of meeting, she'd razzed me about wearing a T-shirt beneath a blazer to the station. After I told her the last person who had called me out for something was 6 feet under, she had gone out of her way to avoid running into me for weeks. “Where’s Eddie?”

  “He was admitted into a drug treatment center in Fell’s Point.”

  “How long has he been there?”

  She releases a dramatic sigh. “Am I going to get into trouble for this? I mean, we are discussing confidential patient records, and I’m assuming this is a relative of yours because of the whole ‘Kelly’ thing.”

  “Despite what you may think, I respect you far too much to let something like that happen, Aubrey. And I wouldn’t be asking you to look into this guy if it wasn’t extremely urgent that I speak with him.”

  “Okay, fine. Hold on.” She hums a pop tune I vaguely recognize from riding the station elevators before she releases a little squeak. “Here we go! Mr. Edward Kelly was admitted…wait what’s today’s date? Oh, right. He was admitted just this morning…by another relative.”

  “Who?”

  “Hold on…”

  My impatient sigh finally rouses Rocco from his heavy slumber. He hooks an arm around me and drags me close, apparently ready to pick up where we last left off until he notices the phone pressed against my ear. Releasing me, he shuffles into the bathroom.

  Watching his firm rear shift with every step, my lips stretch to their limit with a satisfied smile. For the first time since we’ve been reunited, he didn’t wake with night terrors at any point. Maybe we really are therapeutic for each other, like Noelle claimed.

  Am I too far along in life to become domesticated? Kids are definitely out of the question at this stage, but do I have what it takes to become a good partner to someone like Rocco? There’s no denying I still enjoy solving crimes. Could I balance my career and a committed relationship? Do I still want to be a detective, or am I ready for a completely fresh start?

  “Uhhh…found it!” Aubrey cries into my ear. “Oh, wait. I’m guessing it was another relative of yours. How many do you have out there, anyway?”

  “Aubrey, what’s the name?” I bite through a clenched jaw.

  “William Kelly.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  PRESENT DAY

  Josephine

  Curbside, the treatment center could be mistaken for any ordinary residence in Baltimore. Much like Bill and Carolyn’s, only with different colored brick and a more ornate front door, it’s a charming rowhouse nestled in the center of identical units. Rocco parallel parks our replacement rental car a block down where several bars and small businesses disrupt the otherwise uniform neighborhood. When I ring the buzzer, a deep voice inquires the purpose of our visit.

  “I’m here to see Eddie Kelly,” I answer, injecting urgency into my voice. “It’s a family emergency.”

  “And you are?” the man impatiently demands.

  “His niece, Josephine.”

  There’s a long stretch of silence. Right when I decide they’re ignoring me, the door unlocks with a loud buzz. Rocco pushes it open, gesturing for me to step inside. Inside the building, a desk occupies a small cove beneath a stairway. The walls are painted a clinical white and void of any decor. After I produce my ID to the male receptionist, he leads us down a narrow hallway to a door marked 1F on the end.

  A jolt of familiarity shivers down my core when I lay eyes on my uncle. Squatting on a velvet armchair, his gaze dances through the room’s only window facing the alley behind the building. His knees shake with the force of a jackhammer. He’s exceptionally younger than his two elderly brothers—enough that he could be mistaken for their son. He’s also considerably more attractive than the two of them put together, with dark, wavy hair, stony features that remind me a little of Sylvester Stallone, and piercing dark eyes. Could he be the man from Marianna’s journal?

  “Hello, Uncle Eddie,” I announce. “It’s me, Josephine.”

  When he jerks his head in our direction, a montage of memories comes flooding back.

  A man bounces me on his knee and tells me to blow out the candles on a cake.

  A man kisses a beautiful woman with the same colored hair as mine.

  A man pushes me on the swing at a park, telling me to look at the cute doggy.

  A man hugs me and tells me he loves me.

  With the memories, my heart skids to a halt.

  I witnessed Eddie kissing a woman with features strikingly similar to my own. Based on the Missing Persons poster I found on the internet, I know the woman is Marianna Haley. Could she be my birth mother? Is Uncle Eddie my birth father?

  “I remember you,” I whisper in a trembling voice.

  Rocco slides in closer to plant the palm of his hand against my back.

  Eyes eerily vacant, Eddie Kelly’s features tighten with a scowl. “I don’t know why you claim to be my niece,” his deep voice declares. “There’s no way you’re Josephine. No way in hell.”

  I stand more alert, eager for whatever explanation he has to give. “Why’s that?”