Page 52 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

“By whom?”

“Guest archive request under a false name.” He leans one shoulder against the porch railing. “The records included blueprints from the Heritage Hall remodel.”

Roman sets the drink tray on the porch swing. “Myrtle also found missing pages from archive files connected to the original sweetheart rites. Same request name.”

“That’s not suspicious at all,” I mutter. My stomach tightens faintly. “Nobody pulls those records unless they already know what they’re looking for.”

I glance toward the swamp beyond the yard. Spanish moss sways slow between the cypress trees while dragonflies skim atop the water.

Roman nods. “Which means whoever took the Love Stone prepared before entering the museum.”

“We need to see the request forms,” I say.

“We will,” Wes answers.

“And the missing pages?”

“We know what files they came from, not what was on them. But it was with other ceremonial records.”

“We need to visit the springs,” I say.

Wes studies me over the rim of his coffee. “To see if someone has been using the ritual sites?”

“Exactly.”

His gaze sharpens slightly. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m not sure yet. But we should stop at Dupree’s roadside stand first. He’s got ritual supplies.”

Roman brightens. “Roadside produce?”

“You say that like it’s significant,” I say.

“It’s significant.”

Wes rolls his eyes. “You were raised in Connecticut.”

“And yet I still deserve peaches.”

Roman settles onto the porch swing and pats the space beside him. “Drink your coffee before it becomes another crime scene.”

“I’m capable of standing and drinking.”

“You’re wrapped in a quilt on a ninety-degree morning.”

“That’s unrelated.”

Wes takes the cup from my hand before I can protest and sets it on the railing. Then he studies the quilt. “You took that off the couch.”

“I own the couch.”

“It smells like us.”

My face warms again. “You’ve become very observant.”

“I’m an investigator.”

Roman lifts one brow. “That’s the explanation you’re using?”