“I’m sure there is more to that story.”
“I have nothing more to say on the matter,” she said.
The Scotland Yard detective inside Gray wanted to know all the details about what happened. Yet he knew that if it involved the Nightingale family, it would be unorthodox, for a good cause, and likely dangerous. Looking at Ellen, he realized it was important to him she stayed safe.
“I’m sure I shouldn’t want the details, as it will probably go against every principle I have,” Gray said. He moved the small vase on the table before him into the middle.
“Surely not. We are not criminals, and we merely want to help people.” Ellen nudged it a few inches to the left.
“Helping people while putting yourself in danger.” He adjusted it. She moved it again.
“Cease.” He grabbed her hand as she reached for the vase.
She laughed. “Is order important to you, then?”
“Very,” he said.
“Bud said she watched you climb our front steps the day you came to call after George’s murder. She said it was quite odd. You walked up the steps and then down the top one and back up.”
“Did I?” He looked at her twinkling eyes but said nothing. Gray knew his need for even numbers and uniformity wasn’t rational, but it was the only part of him that wasn’t. He usually hid it from people. Again, not the Nightingales or their staff.
“We also could not work out who had straightened all the animal figures on the sideboard. Teddy was surprised to see them in the formation they were. Not one out of line.”
“Is there a point you are trying to make, Ellen?”
“I don’t think so.”
Her smile was bright. The memory of the flower market had clearly receded.
“A few quirks do not make me as unusual as you Nightingales,” he said.
“Very true.” She did not take offense. “Have you heard of the Baddon Boys, Gray?”
“I have, and what do you know about that gang of ruffians?”
“I had a vision.” She told him about what she’d seen and then again about the man at the flower market.
“You did what?” Gray demanded after she’d told him about the tattoo vision and the man who’d shown her his.
“I didn’t ask him to see it. He just overheard me discussing the tattoo and then rolled up his sleeve for me to see his forearm. I came up with a very good excuse as to why I was looking for a man who had one, as I’ve just told you.”
“Dear God, Ellen. This is not a game.” The scone he’d just consumed suddenly felt like it weighed a great deal more in his stomach than it should have. The thought of this woman anywhere near trouble terrified him.
“I know it’s not, but were it not for me, you would not have a lead on George’s murder. Thus far, I have found out about the tattoo, the Baddon Boys, and the argument between George and his sister. Plus”—she held up her hand as Gray opened his mouth—“I had another vision this morning that woke me.”
“What did you see? Tell me you haven’t confronted anyone else?” He’d despised women who fell about the place having fits of vapors, but in that moment, he conceded they could be onto something.
“Did you know the Baddon Boys have tattoos on their forearms like the one I saw on that naked man, Detective Fletcher?” Her chin rose as she gave him a haughty look.
“You don’t know that every one of the Baddon Boys has a tattoo.” But Gray thought she could be right. Often gangs carried the same mark. If the flower seller was correct and the man who showed Ellen the tattoo was a member of the gang, it was likely the case all the members had the mark on their forearms.
“And now I’ll tell you what I woke up to this morning, and you can apologize for your cutting words.”
He sighed. “What did you see? And I’m not apologizing for stating that you shouldn’t be throwing yourself recklessly into danger.”
She picked up the last scone on the plate and took a large bite. Damn, he’d wanted that.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX
