Page 20

“Danger comes in all sorts and forms.” Peggy smooths a hand down her skirt. “You wondered about the Red Menace and ill will. Some would say it’s alive and well, right here in Great Rollright, and may be living not three blocks from here on High Street.”

My lunchtime conversation with Peggy occupies my entire afternoon. I go over it again and again, wondering what to believe, what not to believe, and whether any of it carries relevance when one’s simply learning to bake sweeties, biscuits, and cakes. I’m so distracted that Mr. Hastings finally asks me to step away from the register and dust shelves. To be fair, I had messed up a couple of orders and given the wrong change three times.

So I spend my afternoon dusting, restocking, stacking, and straightening all the tinned goods lining the bottom rows of the entire store. Every ten rows or so, I scuffle a folded towel a few inches farther down the aisle to protect my still-battered knees and stack and dust on. I’m stiff and sore when Mr. Hastings locks the front door and shoos me out the back. But I can’t climb the stairs to go up to my bedsit. I need cold air, the last rays of sun, and a break. I bundle into my coat, grab a pack of Smith’s crisps, and start for the benches lining the green.

Blue-pink skies, green pine trees, and an occasional bird chirp work their magic, and about halfway through the bag, with all the salt from the packet puddled at the bottom, I’m able to let Peggy’s stories and suspicions go. After all, that’s what they are—what gossip is—stories tinged with suspicion. And as she said, the Security Service didn’t haul him away. If Mr. Beurton was a real threat, wouldn’t they have?

“Mr. Hastings said I’d find you here.”

I wipe away crumbs and turn to watch Charlie approach from the direction of the store. “Hallo, Charlie.”

“Hallo, Gemma.” His eyes dance and he sits next to me without asking, and that delights me more than it should. He simply sits. Next to me.

Before I can say or do anything more, I feel something drop into my lap. He’s placed a small paper bag next to my crumpled crisps packet.

“Open it.” He nods to it.

Inside are a few pennies’ worth of Pontefract cakes. “You got these at the store?”

“Mr. Hastings unlocked the door for me. I was looking for you.”

“Did you know these are my favorites?” I reach in and pop one of the small licorice candies into my mouth.

“I stopped in the store one day, and you were telling a bunch of kids they were the best, but not to buy them because then you wouldn’t have any and—”

“Enough.” I stick out a black tongue. “I remember. It was absurd.” My laugh comes out as more of a snort, but at this point, I don’t care. “You made me nervous.”

“So you did see me then?” he teases. “Way back when you were ignoring and avoiding me?”

“Yes. Way back then.”

“Do I still make you nervous?”

There is no teasing in his voice or expression now. “A little,” I reply honestly. I waggle the bag in his direction, half invitation and half challenge.

He frowns slightly. “Chief Wilmot will be none too pleased if I have to take a statement with black lips and tongue.” Nevertheless, Charlie pops a Pontefract cake in his mouth and stares straight into my eyes. “You make me a little nervous, too, by the way.”

His admission rests between us—until something breaks our eye contact and shuts out the light. I blink and then find, in the next instant, the darkness disappears as Charlie folds away the massive umbrella he just opened, secures it shut, and lays it across my lap right atop everything else that’s in it.

“For you.” He pats it. “That’s my real thank-you gift.”

“An umbrella? For what?”

He shifts to face me fully as he did the other night. “You didn’t have one the other night, but that’s not it. Come on. Surely you get the reference.” He nods at the umbrella. “A black umbrella, Miss Brown?”

“Father Brown?”

“Yes. Though I’d say you’re more a Nora than a Father Brown.”

That makes me giggle as Nora, one of Dashiell Hammett’s detectives in The Thin Man, is a delightfully stylish, quixotic, and energetic detective. She’s completely adorable.

“I wish. But I’m nothing close to either.”

“Nevertheless, you’re an astute detective and you deserve your very own large black umbrella.”

“Thank you.” I rest my hand on it, fairly certain I’ll never let it go.

“If you don’t like it, I can find something else.” Charlie’s voice wavers.