Page 105 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

Scarlet stares at the flyer on her kitchen table like she can bully it into confessing.

Temporary Bond Relief.

The three words are printed beneath a painted swamp lily, sweet-looking enough for tourists and familiar enough to make me pay close attention. Relief appears in GatorX advertising. I doubt it’s a coincidence.

Honey glances toward the front windows, where rain slides down the glass in uneven tracks. “Junie said the booth was near the old post office yesterday afternoon, no one she recognized working it.”

“Did she buy one?” I ask.

“No. The woman tried to sell her one because Sweet Tooth should have protection on hand for nervous couples.” Honey’s golden-brown eyes move toward Scarlet. “Junie told her the bakery already had three highly caffeinated omegas. She took a picture because she thought it was weird.”

“Over-caffeinated-omega security, love it.” Scarlet’s mouth curves. “Do you have the photo?”

Honey pulls out her phone and passes it to Roman.

I study the image over his shoulder. Pink cloth, mason jars of dried flowers, white thread wrapped around fake stone charms, a stack of folded flyers identical to the one sealed on the table. There is no vendor name, displayed permit, or face, only a hand with pale nail polish arranging bundles near the edge of the frame.

Roman enlarges the bottom corner. “There’s a crate under the table.”

A shipping label sits near the edge of the photograph, too blurry to read. “Send it to me,” I say.

Honey forwards the image to Roman who opens it on his tablet.

Scarlet sits between us in her sleep shirt, her hair tangled around her shoulders. Wes’s black shirt is folded beneath one elbow as though it belongs there now. She’s stopped pretending she’s gathering our things by accident. The shift is a quiet one, and I find myself cataloging it the way I catalog evidence.

Roman sharpens the photograph. The first word on the label could begin with an M. The rest dissolves into rain blur and shadow.

“Magnolia?” he says.

Scarlet leans over his shoulder. “Maybe.”

Honey studies the screen. “Magnolia Event Florals handles overflow festival flowers when the local growers can’t keep up.”

“Do they sell swamp lilies?” I ask.

“Not usually.” Scarlet enlarges the image again. “They sell event arrangements: roses, peonies, hydrangeas, magnolia branches. The kind of flowers people expect in photographs.”

“Which doesn’t tell us whether the crate belonged to the booth,” Roman says.

“Or whether the word is Magnolia,” Scarlet says.

Roman passes her a honey cake. She accepts it without an argument.

We build a limited plan while we eat. Confirm whether Junie’s image contains anything recoverable. Check festival permits for the old post office area. Ask whether Magnolia Event Florals supplied any materials to temporary booths. Collect a bundle from the rental pack if the bond medic releases it.

No one calls it a supply chain, but the thought is there.

Scarlet pushes her chair back and rises carefully. “I’m showering before we go anywhere,” she says.

Honey points toward the hall. “I’ll protect the baked goods.”

Scarlet glances at me. “Keep her away from my last honey cake.”

“No promises,” I say.

She takes the pastry with her and heads upstairs.

Water starts a few minutes later.