“Murder. Maybe Gretchen’s murder?”
The three of them stared at one another for a moment, eyes sparkling at each other with interest and enthusiasm.
Then Fiona’s heart surged into her throat, choking her. “Someone’s been breaking into the shop—looking for something,” she said. “Could it be this—the proof? Could they be looking for these letters?”
“It must be someone who knew Valente who’s breaking in. It’s the only thing that makes any sense—someone who knew him well enough to blackmail him fifteen years ago. And maybe still was blackmailing him until he died.”
“And he—or she—is trying to find the evidence of whatever Valente’s crime was before someone else does?” Fiona drew her brows together. “Or maybe it’s the blackmailer…trying to destroy the evidence of the blackmail soheisn’t implicated.”
The three of them looked at each other and nodded soberly.
“It could be either one of those scenarios,” Iva said.
“I’ll call Helga. She should know about this, considering all that’s been going on,” Orbra said, and Fiona nodded in agreement.
“And you should tell Gideon too,” Iva said. “I’m sure he’ll have some ideas.”
Fiona’s giddiness faded abruptly.
Gideon had been acting so strange lately. Remote and…disconnected.
She bit her lip and studied the paper scraps in an effort to hide her thoughts.
But Iva wasn’t fooled, and she said quietly, “I think something’s been bothering him, Fiona. Lately, he seems so preoccupied. I meant to mention it earlier, but we got distracted. Hollis and I had dinner with him on Sunday night, and he was definitely not himself.”
“I’ve noticed it too. Just this week. He’s been withdrawn and quiet…and almost short-tempered. Gideon might be a stick in the mud sometimes, but he’s not usually impatient and snappish.” Fiona sipped her tea—which was a lovely, floral brew with a slight purplish hue because of the violets.
“We were going to see a movie on Sunday night, but he called and said he was going to have dinner with the two of you,” she went on. “Just the three of you. It didn’t bother me at all, truly. I just thought it was odd the way he did it at the last minute.”
Iva reached across the table and patted Fiona’s hand. “You’re right not to let it bother you, my dear. He cares about you very much. Truly. I have a…well, I have a sixth sense about these things. This is so cliché, but I can’t think of any other way to say it except this: I’ve not seen Gideon this happy since I’ve known him.
“You’ve brought him to life. Whatever is bothering him will work itself out. Iknowit.”
Eighteen
Fiona decidedto wait to tell Gideon about what she and Iva had found, thinking it would be better to show him the letters in person.
But when he called to invite her to dinner that night, she knew it was a bad sign.
It was the way he did it—the way he called and, in a very business-like manner, invited her to dine with him that evening. It reminded her too much of the scene inWhen Harry Met Sally…when Harry and Sally meet for an uncomfortable “it was a mistake” dinner after they slept together the first time.
Not a good sign.
At least he hadn’t had his assistant call, Fiona thought morosely.
Her hands felt clammy for the rest of the day whenever she thought about it. When evening came, she took off the scarf she’d taken to wearing as a headband and pinned up her hair on the sides so that it kept her face free and fell down her back. Of course, now she wouldn’t have the benefit of the nervous habit of pushing her bangs out of her face—or hiding behind them if she needed to cloak her expression—but Fiona was too miserable to care.
She knew this was not going to be fun. Her antennae had been singing ever since the morning she’d asked Gideon if he wanted to leave his toothbrush at her house.
Something was wrong.
Terribly wrong.
Navigating her Beetle through Grand Rapids, Fiona smiled a wry one. She finally got comfortable enough with a guy to want to build something permanent out of hot sex, great meals, and wonderful conversations—not to mention a literal skeleton in her closet—and she’d somehow scared him away.
She might have scared him, but she’d scared herself more.
Hell, she might as well be honest with herself—she always was, Fiona thought as she jerked her steering wheel to grab an on-the-street parking place.
