Page 119 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

Roman reads over my shoulder. “Anyone working under that request could have copied individual pages without creating another record.”

“Myrtle usually prepares the packets,” Scarlet says, scrolling through the list. “Volunteers collate them. Donors review them. Festival committees borrow whatever makes forever sound marketable.”

“Cameras?”

“Front desk only. The records room has a lock and an air conditioner that threatens mutiny every summer.”

The access record is a pool large enough to hide in. Whoever selected the lines could have done it during legitimate festival work, then passed the copies to someone outside town.

Scarlet taps the copying date. “If they were already searching these records eleven days before the theft, the bundles were planned before anyone knew the tooth was missing.”

“Or the theft and the bundle came from the same plan,” Roman says.

I flag every name for links to Magnolia, temporary vendors, regional riders, and known transport routes. The search will take time, which means our next useful move is physical. We need the archive box, the heritage display packets copied under Myrtle’s request, and any record of missing attachments.

The landline rings. Scarlet startles, and Roman rubs his thumb along her knuckles while I answer.

Honey speaks before I finish identifying myself. “Wes, there is a florist box on our porch, and Callum says nobody touches it until you get here.”

“Who is Callum?”

“My alpha. My beta, Micah, has the dogs in the back room. We are all away from the windows.”

A male purr rolls beneath her voice, close and protective.

“What does the box look like?”

“Brown cardboard. Magnolia sticker. White ribbon.” Her breath catches. “Scarlet’s name is written beneath ours.”

Scarlet pushes to her feet.

I lift one hand. “Honey’s pack has her protected. Give me thirty seconds to secure the scene.”

Her eyes flash, but she stays beside Roman.

I put Honey on speaker. “Did anyone see the driver?”

Callum answers, his voice rigid with control. “White delivery van with a magnetic Magnolia sign. Male driver. Leather glove on his left hand, despite the heat.”

Roman rewinds the greenhouse footage and freezes at the courier stepping over the fence. His left hand remains curled near his body. “Could be the same man,” he says. “We need a clearer comparison.”

I tell Callum to move everyone to the far side of the house and wait for Tom’s deputies. Honey refuses to end the call until Scarlet speaks.

“I’m here,” Scarlet says.

“Good.” Honey’s voice softens. “Whoever sent this is trying to upset you, and I refuse to reward poor manners.”

Scarlet lets out a shaky breath. “Don’t open it.”

“Callum offered to sit on me.”

“I offered to hold you,” Callum replies.

“Alpha revisionism,” Micah calls from farther away.

Their pack frequency carries through the phone, warm and coordinated. Scarlet must hear it. The strain in her expression eases by a fraction.

I grab my shoulder holster and keys while Roman packs gloves, masks, and evidence sleeves.