Page 31 of Under Arthur’s Protection

“I will.” I’d already mapped the layout from Gwen’s research images. “I was originally thinking we’d leave at eight in the morning, but it’s been a long day, so how about ten? We’ll arrive before the day gets too busy.”

Gwen picked up her fork and took a bite. Her eyes drifted closed, and I was back at The Train Station, watching her eat her chocolate dessert. Listening to that tiny noise she’d made. Filing it away for later, but instead winding up dealing with her break-in.

She swallowed and let out a little sigh.

What kind of chocolate do we have in the pantry?

Shut up, Penn.

“I’m particularly interested in the oldest stonework.” She twirled another forkful. “Areas like the tower, the font, and the outbuilding might have something imprinted on them that will give me clues about the sword’s provenance. But it’s complicated, since they rebuilt with some of the original stones, so what used to be floor might be upper wall now.”

I speared an olive and a chunk of tomato. These would be wonderful with the bread, too. “So you want to examine every stone in the church?”

“Pretty much.” She shrugged. “I’ll need photographs at multiple angles, but I want to run my fingertips over the carvings, in case I can feel something I can’t see.”

That meant a lot of standing around while Gwen concentrated on her work. Hopefully an easy day.

She yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.”

“It’s been two days crammed into one,” Lance said.

“Don’t remind me.” She yawned, longer this time, and pushed her plate forward. Half the pasta was gone. Not bad for someone who wasn’t hungry. She stood, and the stool scraped against the tile. “Thanks for all of this, but I think my brain’s finally ready for sleep.”

“Good night,” Lance and I said in unison.

She padded out through the archway onto the hardwood beyond and was gone.

I stopped bothering with manners and shoveled a forkful of food into my mouth.

“So,” Lance said.

As I chewed, I grabbed Gwen’s plate, pushed the leftovers into the pan, and took the dish to the sink at the end of the room, under one of the big windows.

“Interesting evening,” Lance said from behind me.

I turned on the tap and, while the water warmed, I rummaged through one of the lower cabinets for a glass container. “A wild day, more like.”

“Right.” He drew the word out. “Is that why you told her a neighbor came to turn on the heat?”

“What?” I emptied the pasta and sauce into the container, and put the pan under the water.

“A neighbor.” He came to stand next to me by the sink, resting one hip against the counter. “Ethan isn’t a neighbor. He’s the caretaker. You called one of the three permanent staff members who live a stone’s throw away to open the place up for you and bring food. But you told her a neighbor popped by.”

I turned off the water and put the food in the refrigerator. “It wasn’t an important distinction.”

“It’s a very important distinction if you’re embarrassed about your money.”

“I’m not embarrassed about my money.”

“You’re being weird.” He folded his arms. “It was like at the restaurant last night, how you were leaning in to her, recommending wine, telling her about the winery as if you were trying to impress her.”

“I was making conversation.”

“And then this morning at Grace’s café, when I pitched the protection assignment, you were a complete asshole about it. You accused me of trying to get into her pants, over a sound operational recommendation.”

I began cleaning my plate. The water was too hot, but I didn’t adjust it. “That was a strategy discussion.”

“That was you with your head up your ass because you didn’t want to admit you were the one with the problem.” He unfolded his arms and put his hands flat on the counter. “You’ve got a thing for her, don’t you?”