Page 43 of Our Elliana

“Excuse me? What’s this about condolence cards, Elle? And Andre, why is this the first I’m hearing about them?”

“I forgot until just this second, Diego,” Andre scrunches his mouth up to one side and throws his hands out toward the mess behind him. “Got sidetracked by this little clusterfuck, I guess.”

Sarcasm saturates his tone, and I can’t tell if he’s just being snarky or if he’s so shaken by the evening’s events that it legitimately slipped his mind. An officer leads him away to update his report, while the rest of our eyes go straight to Elliana.

“I didn’t think it mattered, but it turns out...” She sighs, also gesturing toward the pile of obliterated glass. “Maybe it does.”

She recounts the details about the cards and when she received them. Hearing about all this in combination with the break-in is unnerving. What if someone is out to hurt her?

“Do you still possess either of these cards?” the detective inquires, and she produces one from her purse, handing it over to him. He waves at a guy in a white plastic coverall with a hood and gloves who approaches, bags it, and disappears. “How about the other?”

“I tossed it,” she states apologetically. “I really didn’t think it was that serious.”

“I’m sure it goes without saying that if any more are delivered that you should reach out to me immediately. Nothing about this case is synching up so far.”

“What do you mean?” I ask the detective.

“No return address on the cards. No message. And now, nothing stolen.”

“You’re kidding,” Jackson chimes in with a frown that mars his thick beard. “They did all that...” He indicates what I would estimate to be at least a few thousand in property damage. “But didn’t steal anything?”

“Not from what I can tell,” Elle confirms. “That case contains my favorite pieces. They’re not my most expensive, but they’re the ones I’m most proud of. Why someone would destroy the window and case but leave behind something they could easily hock is just weird.”

Andre rejoins us. “I inventoried that case this morning. It’s trashed, but those same pieces are accounted for. All of them.”

“It’s not unheard of for a vandal to get scared off by something mid-theft, but I don’t like the addition of those cards to the mix. Also, whoever did this took their time.” Diego points up at the corners of the window. “What typically occurs is a hole in the glass, but the subject was conscientious about what they left behind. The whole pane is down, almost like they went out of their way to do a thorough job of it. It doesn’t make sense.”

At this, my worry for Elle quadruples. Someone is targeting her. And while so much about this crime is bizarre, nothing about it feels coincidental. On instinct, I take another step closer to her, and I’m not the only one. So do Tristan and Jackson.

“We have your statement as well as Andre’s,” Detective Ruiz changes tack. “There’s nothing more you can do here tonight. My team is about to finish up, and I have your contact information. You should all go home and get some rest.”

I’m watching one of the officers as she puts up the familiar neon yellow police tape, and it just makes everything more real and threatening. I think what the detective has suggested is the best idea I’ve heard in a long while.

I want Elle back home with us and safe. But we take no more than a handful of steps toward her SUV when we hear one of the investigators call out Ruiz’s name and pause.

The detective crosses over to a guy in coveralls who has lifted something that had previously been obscured by the downed jewelry case. What he’s plucked off the floor with gloved hands and tweezers appears to be another envelope resembling the one Elle handed Ruiz.

“Sweet baby Jesus,” she mutters under her breath, her eyes enormous and frightened as she turns to the three of us for comfort. We gather her to us as a single unit, each of us holding onto her in some fashion. Then, as a consolidated group, we return to the crime scene.

“Open it,” I tell the investigator as he stands there frozen, despite Ruiz clearly being in charge.

I don’t care, though. I know all of us are thinking the same thing. The detective nods at him, and the man meticulously removes the card from the outer envelope. I hear Jackson flick his guitar pick against his denim shirt and feel the fist Elle has wrapped around my forearm tighten like a noose.

Once the card is exposed, I see that it’s not a condolence or sympathy card but one for a birthday. It’s fairly generic with a cupcake on the front. Protruding from the cupcake is a lit candle.

The outside of the card says, “Many happy returns,” while the inside says, “Enjoy your special day,” in a scripted font. But it’s what is handwritten below that in gleaming golden ink that has me scanning the surrounding area for signs of someone in the dark. Adrenaline pumps through my system making my blood pressure skyrocket.

We need to get Elliana home, and we need to do it now.

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