My eyes veer to a box in which I had wrapped up a set of crucifixes and other ornate church paraphernalia, and I remember the very rosary Ruby is talking about. I was going to donate that box to the local missionaries in the town I’m currently working in. I’ll have to fish the rosary out and wrap it up. Rosa will love it, even if it makes her sad.

“I found an email confirmation for a one-way plane ticket to California. She was supposed to fly home at the beginning of December,” I say. Who books a plane ticket home and then washes down a bunch of pills with vodka before she gets there? It just doesn’t make sense.

Ruby pushes. “So, the research that that little man is doing for you . . .”

“Doug’s a private investigator, recommended by the detective who closed this case,” I finally admit. “He’s going to look into a few people Celine associated with. And into her. Into her daily activities and such.”

Ruby quietly sets her teacup down on the saucer. Astute eyes settle on me. “And what do you think you’ll find out? About Celine.”

I’m kicking myself for not sitting down with Ruby for tea the first day she invited me into her apartment. The old woman clearly has a good grasp of the situation. “So you know?”

A sad smile touches her creased lips. “I’ve suspected for some time, though I never asked her. I didn’t want her to shy away from me, or worry that I would think less of her. I myself did some things in my twenties that I wasn’t proud of, just to get by.” She pauses to shift and straighten the china on the tray. “I saw Celine leaving at night sometimes, and she didn’t look like the Celine who shared tea with me. Of course, I rarely saw what she was wearing because she’d cover herself in a long black coat, but those heels were enough.”

“Why didn’t you say anything to the police?”

She settles a pensive look on me. “Hold on just a moment.” She shuffles out of my apartment, only to return thirty seconds later with a paperback clutched between her fingers. She hands it to me, allowing me time to study the mediocre cover of the murder-mystery novel.

“I don’t get it.”

Ruby taps the author’s name.

“R. J. Cummings,” I read out loud, frowning. And then it hits me. “R is for Ruby? You’re a writer?”

She offers a small smile. “I published my first murder mystery when I was forty-two. Just a small press, but I was awfully proud.”

I look at the tiny little woman in a new light. “You write crime books?”

“I used to. It’s been twenty years since my last one was released. I live off of my royalties now, which is just enough for the simple things in life, thanks to my rent control. My point is that I’m the daft old lady across the hall who thrives on conspiracy theories and solving mysteries. Nobody would believe me if I said Celine was murdered. And as for the other thing, well . . . I figured she’d want to keep that secret to herself.”

“But it may be that secret that got her killed in the first place. I don’t know. I don’t know anything about it, other than what I read in her diaries, because she never told me.” What else might Ruby know? “Did she ever talk about a friend whose name started with an L?” I hesitate using the word “friend.”

Ruby’s wrinkled face creases further with her frown. “No. I’m sorry. That doesn’t ring a bell.”

“What about a guy named Jace? Or Jay?” Her frown makes me prompt further. “He worked in her building.”

Her eyes narrow in thought. “Yes . . . I seem to remember her mentioning someone from work. Just once or twice, though. In passing.”

“Did it sound like they were together?”

“Like I said, she never told me much about her ‘dates.’ But I do know that it’s difficult to keep a relationship with that kind of profession on the side.” She offers a sheepish smile. “I tried. Failed miserably.”

The door buzzer goes off. We’ll have to pick up on this conversation later. “That’s Hans. Have you met him?”

She shakes her head.

I hit the front door release button and flip open the dead bolt. “He’s eccentric, but I think you’ll like him.” Though I don’t know if I have the energy to deal with him right now. “Just, please, do me a favor and don’t mention anything about the investigation and what we suspect about Celine?”

“There’s no benefit to getting others involved just yet,” she agrees as she pours another cup of tea for herself and tops mine off.

A few moments later a knock sounds. “It’s open!” I holler and a creak sounds.

“Ruby, this is—” I turn to greet Hans.

Only it’s not Hans.

“What are you doing here?” I blurt out as Jace stands in my doorway, his golden-blond hair speckled with large snowflakes, a charcoal-gray wool coat shielding his pricey clothes from the elements, the collar curled up stylishly.

“Maggie . . .” Ruby sets her teacup down, and using the coffee table to support her as she stands, she walks over and offers a wrinkly hand. “My name is Ruby and I live next door.”

He flashes a thousand-watt grin that I’m guessing he reserves for the elderly during his father’s political campaign. It works on Ruby, earning her wide smile. “I’m Jace Everett. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Jace.” She’s so old and stiff, she needs to turn her entire body to look at me, her knowing eyes twinkling. “We were just talking about you.”

“No we weren’t!” My cheeks flush.

She ignores me. “Would you like some tea?”

“Uh . . .” His gaze drifts over our setup. “I would love some tea. Thank you for your hospitality, Ruby.” He shoots a reprimanding look my way.

She pats his arm like a grandmother would her grandson’s. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Ruby shuffles away as Jace kicks off his wet shoes. His eyes scan over the shelves and boxes. “So you weren’t abducted the other night. That’s good to know.”

“How did you find me?”

Shaking his coat off, he drapes it neatly over the couch’s arm and then takes a seat next to me. “You gave the address to Natasha, to have the papers couriered over, remember?”