“That’s a personal matter.”
“Tell me why.”
Argus shook his head. “Decide. Your detective is searching for you as we speak. Want me to wave him over?” He lifted his hand, but I jerked it down. Derrick couldn’t find out the truth, not here. I needed more time.
“Fine. Keep your mouth shut and let me work. I’ll be in touch.” I turned to leave, but Argus pulled me back.
“Say hi to my men when you see them. They’ll be watching.” His mouth curved into a devious smile, then he brushed past, leaving me standing in the alcove.
“There you are.” Derrick found me while I was trying to decide whether I could successfully hide behind a potted fern for the rest of the evening. I gave him a wan smile and peeked over his shoulder to see Argus raise a wineglass in mock salute.
The cad. His existence made my life difficult, and now, he wanted inside information. I steeled my expression, making sure Derrick didn’t notice my wandering gaze. As much as being blackmailed by the devil himself grated, there was a silver lining. Argus knew something about Ironhazel, and personal or not, I needed to find out what that was. At the very least, it was an angle; a wispy thread that might lead to the mysterious figure, and possibly, the murderer. I just couldn’t tell Derrick about it without revealing the truth. Which meant more secrets. My omissions were starting to eat away at my composure. Every aspect of my life felt like a lie.
“Have you seen the prince?” I asked, rubbing my fingers over a fern’s leafy stem.
“Not yet.” His hand closed over mine, and I tensed, still grasping the fern. “Damaging the royal plants is a finable offense.”
“You’re making that up,” I argued, releasing the fern and trying to tug my hand away.
“Maybe, but I won’t report you if you tell me what’s bothering you.”
“Nothing is bother—”
“Tessa.” He cocked his head, fixing me with a determined stare. “You fiddle with things when something is on your mind.”
“I do not.” I tucked my hand behind my back to keep from fiddling with the thin piece of ribbon at my waist. The fact he’d noticed such a small detail made me both delighted and uncomfortable. No one else studied me so closely.
“You do. It’s your tell.”
I moved away from the fern and feigned ignorance. “I don’t know what you mean, Detective, but it’s cute that you watch me so intently.”
“Someone has to,” he muttered, following as I glided back into the thick of the crowd.
We only made it a few feet before an older gentleman pushed his way through the crush of people.
“Detective Chambers, good to see you. May I have a word?” The man peered at us from behind wire-rimmed spectacles, his bulbous nose red against the white whiskers that covered his chin and upper lip.
Derrick grimaced. “John, I don’t suppose you can wait to set up a meeting through my office?”
“You never accept my requests.” The man held out his hand, focusing his attention on me. “And you must be Tessa Daniels, the witch. I’m John Lincoln, owner of the Ever Gazette. Surely, you can persuade Detective Chambers to give me a moment of his time? In fact, I’d love to speak with you both.”
Reluctantly, I accepted his handshake, only for him to lift my fingers to his lips. John’s mustache bristled against my knuckles, and I slipped into character, turning on the charm. It was time to act like a besotted fool for the papers.
“Derrick and I would be happy to answer your questions.”
John smirked, his squinty eyes narrowing into slits. “You would? Detective Chambers never answers my questions.”
“Because case details aren’t public, John.” Derrick glowered at the way the man lingered over my hand.
“No, I suppose they’re not. Gotta ask anyway. Do you have any leads on the Lockwood investigation?”
Derrick smiled blandly, refusing to answer. John didn’t seem fazed. He switched gears and fired off another question.
“Rumors are, there might be other murders linked to the case. Is that true?”
I fiddled with the ribbon at my waist, unable to stop the jolt of worry at the probing question. Derrick was right: I had a tell. He noticed and snagged my hand, interlocking his fingers through mine.
“Is the Gazette in the habit of printing rumors? Because I heard the killer might be a werewolf. Should we look into moon phases and start carrying silver spikes?”
