I cleared my throat and gave her what I hoped was a professional smile. “We’re actually following up on a bit of a mix-up.” I produced the receipt, now smoothed flat inside my notebook.
“This turned up with one of our deliveries for the Langston Estate wedding. We thought you might recognise it.”
She took it delicately between two fingers, the way you might handle something breakable. “Oh,” she murmured, adjusting her glasses. “Yes, this is one of mine. I write them all by hand, can’t abide those new computer tills. Much too impersonal.”
Her brow furrowed in mild concentration. “Let me think… That one was yesterday afternoon. A woman, yes. Quite put-together. One of those faces you can’t quite pin to an age. Graceful, but in a hurry.”
Noah leaned on the counter, all calm ease. “Would she have been local do you think?”
Evelyn shook her head, a small, knowing smile tugging at her mouth. “No, I don’t think so. I would have recognised her if she was.”
Her gaze flicked between us, assessing. “Why do you ask? Looking for something, are you?”
I matched her tone, friendly, curious. “Not exactly. We just want to make sure none of our suppliers are missing paperwork.”
“Ah.” She folded the slip neatly and handed it back. “Well, I doubt anyone’s missing much. People buy and sell all sorts of things here. Lockets, mirrors, brooches, hatpins. Little pieces of memory, really.”
The wordbroochesfell like a feather, soft but deliberate.
Noah and I exchanged a fleeting glance.
I smiled, keeping my tone conversational. “It’s a beautiful collection you’ve got. You must see so many stories pass through here.”
Evelyn’s expression lightened, pleased. “That’s exactly it, dear. Every piece has a history. Most buyers like to imagine they’re preserving it, though half of them just want something pretty for a dinner party.”
“Did this woman seem like the preserving type?” Noah asked, voice casual.
Evelyn tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Hard to say. She lingered for a while, asked about a piece she had, its provenance, then decided it wasn’t for sale. Had another look around and ended up buying something else, I think. Paid cash, no name. Said she’d found what she was looking for and left.”
I tilted my head. “Do you remember what she brought in?”
“Oh…” Evelyn’s eyes drifted towards the nearest cabinet, scanning the displays as if retracing the memory. “A locket perhaps, or a pin. Something delicate. I only remember her because she left a fingerprint on the glass when we were chatting. I nearly called her back to wipe it off.”
“Did she leave a name?”
“No, dear.” Her smile returned, bright, empty, and clearly final. “People don’t these days. Cash buyers never do.”
Her attention lingered on us briefly, too perceptive for comfort. “You know,” she added gently, “people often think they lose things, when in truth, they simply forget where they last left them.”
I smiled politely. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
She gave a knowing little nod, and as we turned for the door, her voice followed us. “Lovely flowers, by the way, the native bouquets. I saw your delivery being packed yesterday. Boxes everywhere, roses, eucalyptus… quite the operation. You’ve an eye for quality.”
I froze for half a heartbeat, just long enough to feel Noah’s eyes find mine.
I recovered with a light, professional smile. “I do my best,” I said, forcing an easy laugh. “Thank you for your time, Evelyn.”
She inclined her head, her composure never faltering.
I pushed open the door. The bell chimed behind us as we stepped into the bright air, the kind that carried the faintest trace of the nearby ocean.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Noah said, “Shedefinitelyknows more than she’s saying.”
I nodded, running it over in my head. “And apparently, she notices delivery vans. Who notices delivery vans?”
He looked amused. “Maybe she notices everything.”
