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"I don't think anyone has. She became something of a recluse after that. She recently passed away in her sleep at her estate near Tarrytown, about twenty-four miles north of here. Her executor called me in to hear the reading of her will last Friday. Poor woman. Her husband had been a wealthy explorer in their earlier years together, but when he died, she was saddled with his debts. Turns out, no one had been managing his investments for years."

A pang of sadness pricked Elsa's chest for Mrs. Van Tessel. She hadn't known the widow well, but even in their brief interaction, it was clear she'd been a sweet soul, and warmer than Elsa's own mother, at any rate. At least her death had been a peaceful one.

"Linus Van Tessel accrued an expansive collection of birds, and according to Mrs. Van Tessel's will, we are welcome to it in its entirety, no strings attached," Mr. Chapman went on. "But I'd rather not pack and ship everything here without knowing if we even want it all. I need someone to go examine the Hudson Collection—named for the river which flows next to the estate—to see what condition the birds are in. Do we have use for them, either here or to loan to other museums or schools? For the birds to have any value to us, we need to know when and where the specimens were captured. I want them all cataloged properly before entering the museum."

Crossing her ankles, Elsa adjusted the skirt of her drop-waist dress so the pleats ran straight over her knees. It sounded like a massive undertaking. "Are there field notes?"

"Supposedly. That's what I need someone to find. Someone thorough, with meticulous attention to detail."

"And that someone is me?"

He smiled. "None other. The will stipulates that the museums get first pick of any assets. So I imagine you'll run into other local museum staff while you're there."

"So I won't be alone." She wouldn't mind a change of scenery, and the Hudson River valley was a lovely place. But the idea of going through a dead couple's dead birds on a dusty Gothic estate in the middle of nowhere seemed macabre. A bit of company would be welcome.

"Not at all. In fact, the relatives are allowed to go in and take whatever the museums don't want. They've been asked to stay out of the way for a few days, except for a Mr. Guy Spalding. He's the nephew who inherited the land and property. He'll be your contact should you need anything there." He stood, and she took the signal to do the same. "What are you working on now?"

"A group of warblers arrived from some vacationers who wanted us to have them," she reminded him. "I'm preparing the last of them today."

"Very good. Finish that, then begin at the Van Tessels' estate tomorrow. Elmhurst, they called it. Plan to spend two or three days a week there until the project is done, which I anticipate will take a couple of weeks or so. That's the goal, anyway. I still need you reporting to your office here on the other days to keep up with your regular work. Besides, Spalding declared at the reading of the will that he would donate the entire estate to the county to avoid paying the taxes on his inheritance. He was keen to put that plan into motion immediately, but I don't know when that hand-off is. Oh, and Miss Reisner, I'd advise wearing sensible shoes at Elmhurst." He glanced at the Mary Jane heels she'd changed into after walking to work in flats. "You'll have a lot of ground to cover, including plenty of stairs."

"Yes, sir." She would not point out that a good pair of shoes would only take her so far.

CHAPTER TWO 

TARRYTOWN, NEW YORK 

TUESDAY, AUGUST 24, 1926

"You're sure this is where you want to be, lady?"

Elsa peered out the window at the turreted Gothic mansion. It was only two miles from the Tarrytown train station, but it might as well have been twenty for how remote it felt. If she didn't know better, she could imagine she'd stepped into a fairy tale set in medieval Europe.

"I'm sure." Paying the driver his fare, she asked him to return for her at four o'clock.

Pebbles crunched as the taxi rolled away, leaving Elsa on the circular drive. Slinging her bag over one shoulder, she tipped her head back, trying to take it all in. Above the veranda, sunshine washed the stone walls in oyster pink. An arched window with ribbing made the house look like a cathedral. The roofline, interrupted by a four-story tower, had steps up and down, like a fortress wall. It was difficult to believe this had also been a residence, and for only two people, as the Van Tessels had no children.