“Yes, I saw it. Birda came over to my house last night trying to talk me into taking it all back.”
Devlin inhaled. “It’s pretty damning stuff. Her reputation’s ruined.”
“She lied to people.”
“She did. Listen, I was going to deliver some copies to you tonight. Will you be around?”
“No. But you can leave them on the front porch.”
“No thanks, I don’t want them to blow away. I’ll catch up with you another time. Oh, and Blissful?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful,” he said in almost a pleading voice. “Birda’s pretty mad at both of us. There’s no telling what she’ll do to get back at you.”
I smiled into the phone. “Don’t worry about me, Devlin. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
We ended the conversation, and I stared at the computer for another minute. The thing that glinted became obvious to me. In that moment I had an almost one hundred percent feeling I knew exactly what the object was, who had murdered Cora and how to prove it.
The more I stared at the screen, the more confident I became. Yes, I was certain I had the killer pegged.
Now, all I had to do was wait for night to fall.
TWENTY-THREE
The bonfire crackled and hissed. The smell of wood smoke filled the air, drifting into my clothes and hair. I sat on an old Adirondack chair, a flannel blanket draped over my knees.
Roan poured a glass of wine and held it out to me.
I grasped it and smiled. “You sure do know how to make a bonfire.”
A smile tugged his lips. “And you sure know how to look cute in front of it.”
I shot him a dark look. “I’m not cute.”
“Calm down, killer. It was a compliment.”
I smiled shyly. Roan’s gaze tightened on me. My lungs stopped working until he dragged his focus from me to the basket of food.
“Since it’s a chilly night, I thought I’d keep it simple. Fried chicken, roasted potatoes and a salad.”
Roan pulled out a plate wrapped in foil and peeled the cover away. He handed it to me. The food smelled delicious. The crispy chicken made my mouth water, and the rosemary sprinkled on the potatoes was heavenly.
I stared at the plate of food and then back to him.
“Is something wrong?”
I shook my head. “No. Nothing’s wrong.” I paused. “Roan, what if we’ve been lied to?”
He sat and rested a plate atop his knees. “About what?”
“About the interaction between our gifts.”
His brow furrowed. “I don’t think we have been. I’ve felt something between us that’s charged in a strange way. I’ve felt that my gift, personally, is dark and yours holds the light. I worry, Blissful.”
He shook his head and stared into the fire.
I nudged him with my toe. “About what?” I prodded.
