The Lady in Residence - Allison Pittman Page 0,92

ever consider pulling away. She ran her hand the length of his sleeve, then snuck beneath it, her other braced against his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart matched to her own. She wondered if he knew how her body roiled within, like one of those wind sock men you see at car dealerships, bowing and rising within her. His hand moved, his fingers grazing her calf, and the jolt that ran through her explained why those Victorians kept their legs hidden beneath miles and miles of fabric. She pulled away and touched his face, feeling the lingering ghost of his beard on her skin. His eyes were closed but fluttered open. He looked down to where his thumb stroked the knot of her scar.

“This looks painful.”

“It was,” she said, pulling herself away from his reach.

“I think we need to talk about important stuff, Dini.”

She ran her hand through her curls, tugging them to bring her senses back in line. “I think you need to tell me why you texted me ninety-seven times this morning.”

“Ninety-seven might be an exaggeration, but okay.” He took a deep breath. “I think you have something that belonged to Hedda.”

“A few things, actually. My mother was always on the lookout. I have a rhinestone brooch.”

“I don’t mean that.” He took her hand—gently, with no expectations—and ran his thumb across her knuckles, stopping to rest on the silver spoon handle ring on her first finger. “I spent all day yesterday looking at your hands. While you were driving, eating a burger, during your show. The way they move when you talk. And that ring—”

“My witch’s heart ring—”

“And thinking about that story. The girl at the inn…I remembered—” He reached for the book and flipped immediately to the back, reading: “ ‘Not that I would have turned him away, had I kept my power to bewitch him back to my side. Since the night all was taken from me, I wore only the ring given to me by my late husband, letting myself be haunted by the ghost of respectability.’” He looked up. “That’s the legend of the ring, right?”

“But surely she was just speaking in general terms. Bewitching with her body, or her—I don’t know—magnetism.”

“In the next sentence she talks about a ring. I know it’s a stretch, but she’s often pretty cagey with details, right? The way these three pieces just fell together in my head. I think there’s something there.”

“That ring was a gift from my grandfather. How would it have come into his possession?”

“Hasn’t your family been here forever? She—whoever the robber might have been—could have pawned it anywhere. Trust me—the coincidence factor here is high, but I don’t believe in coincidences. Sometimes God just opens our eyes at the right time—”

“Stop.” She took her hands away and covered her eyes, appalled at the sting of tears. “I’ve read this book a million times. A million and one counting last night. I’ve never seen that connection.” She moved her hands away and noticed he’d put on his glasses again.

“Maybe it’s like when officers have cold cases, and it takes a new detective to look at the evidence to put things together. Please, indulge me for a minute. Your ring? Go get it.”

“It’s too random.”

“Please?”

She complied, needing a moment to catch her breath, to come to her senses and clear her mind already too clouded with his kisses to be of any reliable use. The ring waited in its case in the top drawer of a tall bachelor dresser, the furniture piece itself on casters so she could easily roll it into the locked room when the house was rented. She slipped it on her third finger, and in doing so, realized a flaw in Quin’s logic.

“One thing,” she said, walking back into the living room and being struck—again—by the comforting feel of having him waiting there, “this wasn’t always a ring. It was a brooch. The clasp was broken, so I had it turned into a ring because, I mean, when would I ever wear a brooch?”

“Interesting,” he said, sounding preoccupied as he scanned the detective’s collection of bits and pieces of a case.

“Plus, Carmichael made a list of everything that was stolen, remember? To take to pawn shops and the like. I think I would have remembered if he listed a witch’s heart ring.”

“Maybe …” Quin picked up the notebook and turned to the back. This time he did pat the cushion next to him. Close. She sat, and he held

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