Page 175 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

“And rather than abandoning the idea,” Wes says, “they try to make the relief hold.”

“With the Love Stone,” Scarlet says.

The evidence supports the theory.

Scarlet’s phone vibrates on the table. Myrtle Vane. Wes places it on speaker while Tom starts a trace from the doorway.

“Scarlet?” Myrtle asks. Her voice carries the careful warmth people use when they’re trying not to sound worried.

“Myrtle.”

“I wanted to check on you.”

Scarlet glances at us. “That’s thoughtful.” The edge in her answer is slight, but I know her well enough to hear it.

“After everything you have been through, I’ve been concerned.”

“I’m feeling better.”

Wes’s hand remains wrapped around Scarlet’s ankle beneath the blanket. I keep my fingers woven through hers.

“I’m glad,” Myrtle says. “I worried my visit might have been too much.”

“It wasn’t.”

A pause follows. “Are the investigators still with you?”

Scarlet’s gaze shifts to Wes. “Yes.”

“I suppose that’s for the best.”

The answer sounds harmless.

Myrtle sounds like a concerned town elder checking in on an omega, but my chest tightens at the recognition that she has established Scarlet’s condition, her location, and whether she is alone in less than a minute.

“Did you hear there was a fire at the museum? There have been emergency vehicles going through town all afternoon. First Heritage Hall, then half the sheriff’s department heading down Old County Nine.” Myrtle exhales softly.

“People saw them leave?” Scarlet asks.

“This is Sweetheart Haven. Things like that don’t happen here.”

“What are people saying?”

“That the museum theft is connected to something outside town. Someone said the old refrigeration annex was involved, but no one seems to know why.” Myrtle lets the uncertainty sit between them before asking, “Do you?”

Scarlet looks at the annex photographs spread across the table. “They’re still working through what they found.”

“So they did find something.”

Not concern this time. Interest. Scarlet hears it too.

“I didn’t say that.”

“No.” Myrtle’s voice returns to its careful softness. “You didn’t.”

Wes leans closer to the phone, though he remains silent.

Myrtle continues. “I only wondered whether all this has anything to do with the records you were studying, your grandmother’s maps and the older routes.”