“At this march, one woman wore a T-shirt that read, ‘Dance, Edith, Dance.’ Edith King came to symbolize every woman who escaped and started a new life. The Statue of Liberty isn’t a real person either, but she means something, right? Something worth fighting for?”
Duke was silent for a moment, then stood up. “I’ll finish the story tonight. And all my cases. I’ll finish them all. If only for you.”
I looked up at him. “Thank you,” I breathed. “It’s nearly midnight. We need to get back to the alley by the Bathtub—”
“I can take you. Let me get my coat.” He stood and reached for the lid to the hatbox, then stopped and sat back down again. “Wait, please. One more thing.”
“You’re stalling,” I said.
“Not stalling. I have a gift for you.”
He took a small black velvet bag from the hatbox and untied the string. Into his palm dropped a ring. He held it out to me. A small gold ring, the band delicately engraved with vines. The setting was black enamel with a white flower, five petals, made of tiny seed pearls.
“When David died, my grandmother had this made for my mother. It’s a mourning ring. That flower is a forget-me-not. There’s a locket compartment on the back. She said Mother could take a strand of David’s hair and put it in the locket.”
Duke turned the ring over and with his thumbnail carefully popped open the tiny locket compartment. It was empty.
“Mother refused to wear it, said it was morbid and foolish, and we had best keep our chins up and carry on. I was so young at the time, it fit on my pinkie. So I kept it. Doesn’t fit anymore. Will you take it and wear it?”
“Duke, I can’t do that.”
“Why not? You said you didn’t have anything of your mother’s to wear. And I have this whole box of treasures. I’m happy to share. What was your mother’s name?”
“Ellery,” I said. “Like Ellery Queen.”
“Who?”
“Never mind.”
Duke fished a little black notebook out of his pocket and scribbled something very, very small on the corner of a page. Then he tore it off and slipped it into the locket compartment of the ring.
“Now the ring has your mother’s name in it. Wear that and when you look at it, you’ll think of me giving that to you in honor of your mother.”
“I’ll think of herandyou?”
“Two-for-one special,” he said with a smile. “Be a good girl and put it on. Please, Rainy.”
He meant it, I could tell. He wasn’t trying to be nice. He wanted me to have this ring, and if I said no, he’d be heartbroken. And the younger me would never forgive the older me for breaking the heart of the Duke of Chicago.
“Thank you,” I said. I reached for the ring, but he caught my hand and gently slipped it on my index finger. It wouldn’t quite fit.
“Oh, dear,” he said. “Let’s try a different finger.”
Then he put it on my ring finger.
“Made for you,” he said, still holding my hand. “You’ll simply have to wear it forever now.”
“My boss would kill me if she found out I took a gift from a character.”
“Break a rule or two. You might like it.”
The ring did fit me perfectly, like my finger had been waiting for it. I touched the five pearl petals of the forget-me-not. “I have such good taste in books.”
He caressed the back of my hand.
“Edith King,” I reminded him. “Self-awareness is no excuse for not getting the job done.”
“Yes, yes,” he said. “Let’s be off.”
