the cat started purring. “Thanks for sticking with me last night. I’m not normally such a miserable wet blanket, I promise.”
The cat rubbed its head against Keira’s back, and she chuckled as she reached over to scratch Daisy’s chin. “You’re hungry, huh? Gimme a minute.”
As she rolled out of bed, she checked the clock on the fireplace mantel. It was nearly ten. Keira groaned and scrambled into some clothes. That’s so not fair. I swear I was asleep for no more than five minutes.
She hopped into the kitchen, put the kettle on, and set about giving Daisy her breakfast. As she watched the cat eat, some of the sadness from the previous evening threatened to suck her back in. It was a bright, crisp morning, and the sun that flooded through the windows gave the cottage a welcoming glow. The weather, the comfortable surroundings, and the little cat all reminded Keira of how much she was about to lose.
Suck it up. Keira braced her shoulders, turned, and plucked a clean cup off the draining board. She added a tea bag and flexed her neck as she waited on the kettle. Your problems are obnoxiously trivial, everything considered. You’ve gone and attached yourself to this area, probably because you don’t remember anything before it. But Glendale could be equally nice. You might even make friends there. And I’d hazard to guess, it probably has its fair share of ghosts for you to worry over.
Despite trying to make light of the situation, Keira felt a fresh cut of grief as she remembered the trapped souls she was leaving behind. She inhaled deeply, plucked the kettle off its stand, and filled her mug. The rest of the water went toward cooking a bowl of rice. She leaned against the kitchen counter while the water boiled, her legs crossed and the cup clasped in her hands to ward off the early morning chills. She watched as Daisy finished her meal and went about exploring the cottage.
I have one day left in this town. I should spend it wisely. If only Emma would talk to me, I’d know where to look, instead of running all over the countryside like this. She asked for help, which means her problem must have an answer I can find, but what else is there to explore?
Keira only had one remaining theory: George Crispin hadn’t been the killer. It seemed increasingly unlikely after Adage’s testimony, but without any stronger lead, she had to follow it.
“That’s the problem, though. What sort of evidence could survive forty years without the police finding it?” she asked Daisy, who was eyeing the wardrobe beside the bed.
The cat crouched, wiggled her hind quarters, and leaped for the narrow ledge on top of the cupboard. She made it—barely—and Keira raised a cheer.
The rice seemed close enough to being cooked, so Keira drained the excess water and ate it out of the saucepan. She ran over the conundrum in her mind as she chewed. The answer came to her after a moment, and it was so obvious that she could have smacked herself for not figuring it out earlier.
For evidence to survive this long, it can’t be physical. It can’t be something that will decay or be washed away or break. It has to be something like…memories.
Adage had said Emma’s closest friend was Polly Kennard. The florist had been so distressed by her companion’s death that she’d left the town for close to a decade. If anyone in Blighty was going to have the key to unmasking Emma’s killer, it would be Polly.
Keira scarfed down the remainder of her breakfast, washed the pot at breakneck speed, and pulled on a sweater before racing toward the door. A heavy thud told her the little cat had come down from her perch, and Keira let her outside. “Don’t stray too far, okay?”
The cat frisked into the cemetery and began nosing about the gravestones. Keira could only hope none of the spirits would be offended and began jogging to town.
The narrow dirt road was becoming increasingly familiar. She recognized the oddly shaped shrubs, the potholes, and the row of tall trees that housed countless birds. Melancholy threatened again, but she shoved it into the back of her conscience.
The town was alive by the time she reached it. Jangling doorbells echoed around her, and raucous laughter came from near the fountain. Keira entered the florist’s and found Polly Kennard at the counter, ringing up a huge bunch of roses for an