“You’re infuriating,” she said.
“So I’ve been told. Sit down.”
For a moment, I thought she might actually throw me out. She had that look—the stubborn set of her jaw, the spark of defiance in her eyes. Agnes Wright didn’t like being told what to do. It was one of the things I loved about her, even when it drove me absolutely mad.
But then something shifted.
“Fine,” she muttered, sinking into a chair not covered with papers. “But only because I’m too tired to argue.”
“I’ll take it.”
I made the tea in silence, offering her a moment to collect herself. Found mugs and milk and sugar, laid out the scones on a plate, brought everything over to a tiny clear space on the corner of the table.
“Eat,” I said, pointing at the plate of scones. Leaning over, I cleared the chair next to her and sat, wanting to ask a thousand questions, but deciding silence was the better tool in this situation.
She took a bite. Then another. Some of the tension seemed to ease from her face as she looked down at the scone in her hand.
“Why are these so damn good?”
“Probably because you forgot to eat,” I said, reaching over and breaking a bit off one. “But also, because the bakery makes killer scones.”
“Aye, they do at that.” Agnes busied herself with mixing milk into her tea, and I sat and waited, knowing she’d comearound eventually. She might be the rock, but I was the stream running around her, time and patience smoothing her edges.
“I found something,” she finally said, quietly, not looking at me. “In my grandmother’s things. An old diary.”
“Okay.”
“It mentioned records at the castle. And, I guess, some things about my family that I don’t know.” She was picking at the scone now, crumbling pieces onto the plate. “I need to look through the archives to see if there’s anything that can help me understand.”
“Understand what?”
A long pause. I could see her weighing how much to tell me, deciding what to share and what to keep hidden. A car door slammed outside, and another, and voices carried up from the street.
“It seems my family might have a … complicated … history with Loren Brae,” she said finally. “There are things my family never explained. Things I’m only now realizing I should have asked about years ago.”
It was about as vague as it could be, but it was something. A crumb. Much like the ones on her plate.
“Okay,” I said again. “So you need to go to the castle and dig through some dusty archives to get more information?”
“Aye.”
“When?”
“Today, ideally. If Hilda gives me the go-ahead.”
“So this is pretty important then?” I gestured to the window. “Since the shop is closed and you want to research immediately.”
“Pretty much.” Agnes took a bracing sip of her tea.
“And you still aren’t going to tell me why?”
“Hadn’t planned on it, no.”
Infuriating she may be, but she also looked sad and alone and heartbreakingly beautiful, so I wasn’t going to abandon her now.
“Right. Here’s what’s going to happen.” I nodded at the scone in her hand. “Finish that. Then you’re going to shower and put on clean clothes. I’ll get someone to cover at the pub, and then I’ll pack up all these papers so you can bring them with you. And then I’m driving you to the castle.”
“That’s not?—”
