Not a denial. Rory reluctantly pushed up to his feet and made his way out of the office. Mrs. Brodigan was puttering behind the cash register counter, turning it into a makeshift kitchen with her hotplate and kettle. She set a new tin of Mrs. Meyers’s apricot hamantaschen cookies next to the register, and Rory helped himself while she made up tea and passed him a mug.
“So,” said Rory, savoring the warmth of the mug against his cold, still prickly hands, “what doesat firstmean?”
“He admitted the task was a test.” Mrs. Brodigan took a breath. “Because he has another job.”
Rory snorted. “And I’ll do it for him,” he said, lifting the mug to his lips, “in another lifetime.”
“He paid for last night, with a tip. And for the new job, he’s offering triple.”
Triple.Rory cursed into his tea, because now he was listening. “And what does he want for triple? Me in a maid’s uniform, scrying all the china in his Fifth Avenue mansion?”
“He lives on the Upper West Side and he gave me a ring.”
A ring?Rory wrinkled his nose as Mrs. Brodigan set her mug down by the cash register. She bent behind the counter and a moment later set a briefcase on top.
Rory nodded at it. “Let’s see it.”
But she shook her head. “We can’t look at the ring until he can explain things. I gave my word.”
He put his own mug on the counter and ran a finger over the supple leather. Two small gold locks flanked the handle at the top, each with three dials of numbers. “Locked,” he pointed out. “We supposed to appraise the case too?”
“I only asked about the box the ring is in. He said I was ‘welcome to try.’”
This Kenzie fella was so weird. Then again, this was an antiques shop. Plenty of their customers were quirky and a fella who saw visions wasn’t exactly in a place to judge. “Did he say what he wants it all for?”
Mrs. Brodigan shook her head. “But I did get the sense that it was—important.” When he furrowed his eyebrows, she put a gentle hand on his arm. “We haven’t promised anything, dear. We don’t have to appraise it.”
Rory bit his lip. “It’s a ring, not a weapon. How could we turn it down?”
“Because you’re never obligated to do something just because someone offers you a lot of money to do it.” She squeezed his arm reassuringly. “Nothing to be done at the moment anyway. Mr. Kenzie isn’t going to open the case until we’ve talked and that has to wait for tomorrow, because this afternoon is my lesson with Mr. McIntyre.”
The reminder drove his unease away, replacing it with the burn of envy. “I can’t believe you’re gonnadrive.”
She frowned. “I’ve been telling you to take the lesson. You earned it.”
He shook his head rapidly. “Imagine if I started scrying the steering wheel while the car’s moving.”
“You haven’t lost control in ages—”
“I’m not good for it. Besides, he’d wanna know how I’d helped you and I don’t wanna answer that question.” He wrapped his arms around himself. Driving a car, meeting the customers—he couldn’t let himself be tempted into it. “You do it, you earned it much as me. You handle everything but the actual scrying.” He jerked his head at the mysterious briefcase again.
Her smile was a little sad, but she didn’t push. “You try to have a nice afternoon in the shop. Put the job out of your mind for now.”
Easier said than done. But aloud he said, “I’ll try.”
Her smile grew fond. “That’s what you said four years ago, and I’m grateful for it every day.”
He rolled his eyes at her sentiment, but he couldn’t stop his own grudging smile in return.
“And the sun comes out from behind the cloud!” she said. “You know, you’d snap up a young lady in a heartbeat if you’d smile more often—while you’re also going out more often—”
“Mrs. B.”
“And the storm clouds are back, just like that.” She patted his arm. “I’m off to meet Mr. McIntyre and I’ll see you in the morning. Try not to get into trouble on your own.”
“Of course I won’t,” he said indignantly. He never caused trouble.
But his gaze returned, unbidden, to the briefcase on the counter.
