“Who told you?” Carys asked before he could.
Bandana’s face scrunched. “Sharon, of course.”
“Had to make sure we were on the same page,” she said. “I’m Carys, by the way.” She was better with people than he was by a long shot.
“Rumi,” she said in response.
“I’m—”
“I know who you are,” Rumi said.
“Right. How?”
“Sharon gave me a message for you.” She held up her index finger. “Hold on. I put it in here.”
The hand-carved wooden box on the coffee table had an intricate morning-sun-over-the-mountains design.
Carys let go of his hand. “That’s a beautiful box.”
Rumi smiled up at Carys as she opened it. “My dad made this for me. He loved whittling. Said no one did it anymore.”
Blaize resisted the urge to reach out and pull Carys back for her own safety. She was good at reading people. She knew what she was doing. She wouldn’t take unnecessary risks.
So he unclenched his hands and tried not to crack a molar from biting down so hard as he let her work her magic.
“He died two years ago,” Rumi said, frowning as she rooted through folded-up papers as well as the kind used to roll up a joint.
“I’m really sorry to hear that,” Carys said, crouching down to eye level across the coffee table from Rumi. “Sounds like you miss him very much.”
“I do,” Rumi continued. “More than anyone could ever know. He was the best.”
Blaize had the thought that at least someone had a decent dad. There was hope for humanity yet.
Carys was doing more than lowering Rumi’s guard. She actually cared about people. It shined through in the way she interacted with them, in the questions she asked, and the way she responded. Beyond that, it came through in her mannerisms, the way she looked at you with a calm reassurance.
He experienced it every time he opened a vein and talked to her about something deeply private. Her compassion came through, making her easy to talk to. Was that the reason he’d opened up to her on such a personal level?
Rumi’s eyes lit up. “Here it is. This is the note I was supposed to give you.” She held it in the air. “Sharon told me that I wasn’t supposed to do anything with this note except hide it unless you showed up. Is she okay?”
Blaize wasn’t touching that question with a ten-foot pole. These two had obviously been close at one time.
“We’re trying to figure that out right now,” Carys said, not lying and not giving anything away, either. Sharon’s identity had yet to be confirmed. Technically, Carys wasn’t being deceptive. Plus, they needed to get out of there. The Jeep was parked down the street. If anyone next door had anything to do with the SUV, that might be a problem.
“Can I ask how well you know your neighbor?” Carys motioned next door as Rumi handed the note over.
“Not well,” Rumi said. Her frown lines deepened. “It wasn’t a good place for Sharon, but she didn’t go into details.”
“Was there physical or mental abuse or something else like she was being trafficked?” Carys asked.
Rumi shook her head. “A bad relationship.” She sat back on her heels. “You know how it goes. You meet someone you think is great, move in, and then find out how truly awful they are.”
“Angel?”
“Yes, I think that’s his name. I didn’t see him all that much, to be honest. He works, like, two jobs and left her alone a lot. Sharon wasn’t allowed to go out. He had a tracker on her phone and would call to check on her at random times so she couldn’t go to the bathroom without having it on her.” Her gaze bounced from Carys to Blaize and back.
“How did you two become friends?”
Rumi laughed. “We used to set the cell on the window sill and sit in the carport to talk. I’d make margaritas or we’d do tequila shots. She wore a lot of makeup to cover up the marks he left on her face.”
