door, she caught the scent of roast pork wafting from the kitchen and saw the door to Wyatt’s den slightly ajar. Tossing her purse onto the table in the foyer, she straightened her still-damp sweater coat before walking to her husband’s office . . . to find Jewel-Anne behind his desk, sitting in the near-dark, only the computer screen giving off any light in the room where the shades were already drawn for the evening.
At the sound of footsteps, Jewel-Anne looked up sharply and tried to maneuver away from the desk toward the door, but it was too late. One wheel got caught against the leg of Wyatt’s desk chair, which had been pushed aside.
“Busted,” Ava said softly, leaning against the door frame and crossing her arms over her chest.
“I left something here and I just wanted to see if I could find it.”
“You left something on Wyatt’s desk? Maybe dropped it on the keyboard of his computer?”
Jewel-Anne was nodding; then as her gaze met Ava’s, she gave it up. “Okay, so you caught me. I was snooping.”
“Snooping.”
“Things are . . . weird around here.”
“Really.” This from Jewel-Anne?
“I overheard you and Wyatt fighting and”—she glanced at the doorway off the front hall and lowered her voice—“I thought you should know. I heard him, too.”
“Him?” Ava froze. “Wyatt?” she asked, but she knew, even before Jewel-Anne whispered the words.
“Noah. I heard the baby crying. I heard him.”
Ava’s knees quivered. Was this some trick? She pressed one palm against the top of the desk for support. “You did not.”
“Yes, I did! I heard something and it sure sounded like a baby crying to me!”
Okay, for once take this at face value. “What are you looking for on the computer?”
She shook her head. “This room is where I thought the crying was coming from.”
“No.”
“Noah’s room is right above this one,” Jewel-Anne stated flatly.
“Yes, but . . .” As she began to argue, her gaze moved to the ceiling. She pictured her son’s room directly above.
“The heat ducts.” Jewel-Anne rolled over to the space under the ceiling duct, which connected to the duct that opened into the nursery. “I remember playing here when we were kids. We would talk through the vents and try to ‘spy’ on each other.”
Ava remembered all too well the games they’d played, all the cousins, how they’d run through this house, chasing each other, playing hide-and-seek or, yes, spying on each other.
“I always tried to hear what Jacob and Kelvin were doing,” Jewel-Anne admitted. “And this was a good spot to hear what was happening upstairs.”
From the corner of her eye, Ava noticed a shadow pass near the door, but Jewel-Anne, oblivious, was still babbling on. “. . . so I thought I might look here and see if there was anything . . .”
She let her voice drift away as Ava placed a finger to her lips, silently sending a message for Jewel-Anne to be quiet. Then, as her cousin watched, Ava crept to the doorway and peeked outside.
Of course there was no one loitering in the hall. Not a soul around. Graciela’s soft humming was drifting down from the upper floor, and the sound of pots and pans rattling in the kitchen could be heard, but nothing else.
“What?” Jewel-Anne whispered, her eyes huge behind her glasses.
“Nothing. I guess. But . . . you know what? I appreciate that you’re trying to help. I’m glad that someone can confirm that I actually heard a baby crying, but you probably shouldn’t be snooping in Wyatt’s office.”
Jewel-Anne’s neck arched defiantly. “Because this is your domain?” She yanked back hard on her wheelchair and faced the door. “I thought you’d be glad that someone believes you!”
“I am. But . . .”
“But what?” Jewel-Anne demanded.
“This is Wyatt’s private office. He’s not . . .”
“What? Come on, Ava, when have you ever cared about his privacy or anything else about him?”
“He might not like it. That’s all.”
“Sure.”
“I do appreciate it, Jewel. And the heat ducts . . . that’s something.”
“I know a secret,” she suddenly said.
Ava lifted her brows, noticing that Jewel-Anne seemed coldly sober and adult, as if she’d stripped off her little-girl mask for the first time in years. “What kind of secret?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Jewel-Anne,” she murmured, exasperated.
As quickly as it had disappeared, the mask returned, Jewel-Anne’s expression becoming sly and secretive. She poked a button on the arm of her chair, switched on her iPod, blasting Elvis’s “Puppet on a String,” and threw Ava another knowing smile as