Page 1 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

Chapter 1

Scarlet Sage

By mid-May, everyone and everything in Sweetheart Haven gets dressed like a lovesick pageant queen except me.

Pink ribbons are wrapped around the old iron lampposts. Flower baskets appear beneath every shop window. Restaurants add sweetheart specials to their menus, and tourists pour in three weeks before the Month of Heart festival officially opens, because people love folklore, as long as it comes with matching souvenirs and a chance at lasting love.

Personally, I blame the legend. Nothing changes a town faster than becoming famous for romance.

I balance a stack of borrowed museum records against my hip and shoulder open the side door of Sweetheart Haven’s Heritage Hall before the air conditioning can fully quit on me. The museum sits inside one of the oldest buildings in town, a converted boarding house with uneven hardwood floors, stubborn windows, and an air-conditioning unit that rattles constantly while accomplishing very little.

Inside, the air smells like old paper, polished wood, and the faint mildew every Florida building eventually surrenders to. The front desk sits beneath a massive festival banner that reads Celebrating 100 Years of Lasting Love.

Myrtle Vane stands behind the counter sorting pamphlets into exact stacks. She has been running the Sweetheart Haven Historical Society since before I was born, yet she manages not to look a day over fifty. Her silver-blond hair is pinned into a low twist that survives humidity better than the rest of us.

She glances up when I walk in.

A small pause follows. Her lips purse, and her nose wrinkles as though something foul entered the room. She takes in my green eyes and red hair with the same careful disapproval she gives mislabeled artifacts. Her expression adjusts quickly, though not quickly enough to hide the judgment.

“Morning, Scarlet.”

“Morning.” I set the records down one stack at a time, reluctant to let them go. It has been a solid seventy-two hours of documents about the construction of the Everlasting Fountain and handwritten tourism proposals from the decade Sweetheart Haven realized people would pay money to kiss beside a swamp if the story came wrapped in enough flowers.

Myrtle flips through the top folder. “You finished with the tourism pamphlets already?”

“For now.”

Her brows rise. “That quickly?”

“They repeat themselves after 1972. After that, it’s mostly weather complaints and warnings against courting unreliable alphas.”

“That advice still feels relevant.”

“True.”

The corner of her mouth twitches before settling again.

We stand there for a second, in the kind of silence Sweetheart Haven specializes in: polite, measured, full of things nobody wants to say directly.

A pack wanders through the front exhibit behind me and stops at the large glass display holding the town’s most famous attraction, the Love Stone. Fun fact: it’s not a stone, and people tend to find that disappointing.

Every child in Sweetheart Haven grows up hearing about the Everlasting Pack and the alpha who carved the original token while their omega suffered through a dangerous heat. The story claims the stone helped anchor the pack, while her body burned hot enough to threaten the bond. Sussanah lived because of her pack’s protection circle, and according to the myth, her alpha’s devotion granted her a long life.

The town built an economy around the Everlasting Pack. During the month-long festival, packs leave flowers at the fountain to honor the original lovers, eat honey cakes for abundance, swim in the springs, and exchange carved sweetheart stones as courting gifts. Packs complete the Sweetheart Challenge to court their omegas and be granted an abundant bond. They come from three states away to stand beneath festival lights and promise each other forever, in a town that claims forever holds better here.

The object beneath the museum lights is shaped more like an old river tooth than anything mystical. A symbol curls across its surface, worn shallow with age. Tourists touch the replica beside the case and swear their bonds feel stronger afterward. Sweetheart Haven encourages that belief aggressively.

Myrtle closes the folder. “You putting all this in the new book?”

“Some of it.”

Her fingers smooth over the cover. “Be careful how you write about the festival this year.”

I lean one elbow on the counter. “You worried I’m going to expose the dark history of commemorative sweetheart mugs?”

Her expression remains flat. “I’m worried people are already nervous.”

My humor fades.