His rules echoed in my head.No wandering off alone.
“Fine, I can sort through evidence while I wait. A fresh pair of eyes might help. I just need the key.” I held out my hand, not missing the shock in Derrick’s eyes.
“What? You mean you aren’t going to break in?”
“Not this time, Detective. This time, I’m asking.”
He lifted a brow in surprise. “Maybe I’m the one corrupting you?”
I patted his cheek with a wink. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
After opening the evidence room, I was left alone to sift through the victims’ personal items. I started with the folders detailing the circumstances of each murder. There wasn’t anything there that Derrick hadn’t already mentioned, and I found my attention wandering to the board where he’d tacked up the roses, one for each of the girls.
Why did the killer leave roses? There had to be some significance. I shuffled through the papers to find a list of possible strains. The roses left at the scene were distinctive and unlike the ones found at the palace. Derrick hadn’t been able to determine the origin. Could they have been imported? The first killing took place three years ago, which meant searching ship manifests for imported seedlings would be useless. Unfortunately, they hadn’t paid attention to the rose at the first crime scene, and the passage of time made everything more difficult.
Putting the list of roses aside for now, I reached for one of the journals, pausing when I caught sight of a familiar object. The notebook Derrick carried around with him poked out from beneath a stack of papers. An image of him making mysterious entries the day we met flashed through my mind. Inside were his first impressions of me and my shop. Impressions that probably weren’t kind.
With a glance over my shoulder to make sure I was alone, curiosity made me pick it up, but guilt kept me from opening it. It was one thing to read the thoughts of a dead person, but it was another to pry into the thoughts of the living.
In the end, curiosity topped guilt.
I flipped open the book, searching for the date Derrick first visited my shop. I found it toward the middle and scanned through. As I feared, his thick scrawl covered the page in judgment. He described my shop as untidy and hazardous, making special note of the foul-smelling potions I’d offered him at a discount. I flattened my lips, reading further.
Miss Daniels displays a lack of respect for authority and is secretive when asked direct questions.
Okay…not wrong, but also not flattering. I skipped to the next entry, drumming my fingers on the desk in irritation.
Miss Daniels is evasive and crumbles easily when cornered. She’s unlikely to be a suspect in the Lockwood murder, though she does appear to have information regarding the victim’s mental state before her death.
Not wanting him to find my illegal potions meant I crumbled easily? More like self-preservation. I huffed and flipped the page.
After meeting with the subject’s neighbor, it appears Miss Daniels relies on her magic to support herself, though, according to the neighbor, Miss Daniels’ magic is subpar.
I snapped the book closed and considered taking the candle flame to its pages. Subpar? Sylvia could forget about the friends and family discount I gave her on wrinkle cream. Humiliation made my neck hot. How dare he?
Then again, I had called him Detective Arrogant and considered turning him into a toad. I scratched the back of my neck. Hadn’t I also referred to him as cold and calculating? It didn’t matter that I hadn’t written it down, I meant it at the time. I opened the book again, flipping past the negative entries to the one he’d made when he found me in the alley. This one was different.
Miss Daniels is resourceful in the face of danger and exhibits street smarts.
And then, one final entry, dated after we interviewed the Lockwoods.
Tessa is perceptive and catches onto things quickly. Her questions during interviews are clever and intuitive. She may turn out to be a valuable asset to the Lockwood investigation.
Anasset.Something that felt a lot like pride burned in my chest. There was nothing in the last entries about my failed magic, and it felt good to be judged for skills other than the ones I’d been born with. Derrick had misjudged me in the same way I’d misjudged him. We had both fallen victim to poor first impressions.
“He’s a workaholic, isn’t he?”
I jumped, dropping Derrick’s notebook. Estelle stood over my shoulder, her gray eyes probing, casting a look between the notebook and the piles of information scattered across the desk.
“Sorry to startle you, dear. I wanted to bring you a cup of tea and let you know Abrams is available to take you to your shop whenever you’re ready.”
I accepted the cup and breathed in the sweet aroma. Steam wafted over the rim.
“Has he always been like this?” I gestured to the cluttered piles. “On the outside, he doesn’t give much away.”
Estelle clucked her tongue and leaned against the desk. “This case is different. It’s personal. It’s the one case he hasn’t been able to solve. It eats away at him.”
“Personal? How do you mean?”
