Page 94 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

“No.” I pull on the gloves from my pocket before lifting the paper.

It’s a photocopy. Scarlet’s body goes rigid beside me. Three lines have been circled in dark ink:

Held too tightly.

Release worsens after false protection.

Consent mark fails when only one side agrees.

Scarlet makes a small sound.

Roman rises slowly. “The camera was already installed.”

“Yes.”

“Whoever placed it knew the camera was there and accepted the risk.”

Scarlet stares at the page. “They’re using her.” Her voice has gone flat. “My grandmother. My flowers. My house.” She looks at the evidence bag in my hand. “Now she gets another place on your board.”

“Yes,” I say.

Roman curses behind her.

Scarlet pales.

I continue before the answer can cut deeper. “It goes on the board because someone selected this text and staged it here for us to find.”

Her mouth tightens. “Convenient.”

“Deliberate.” I gesture toward the greenhouse without stepping closer to her. “The paint is fast and crude. The bundle is arranged. The paper was protected from the rain. It was purposeful.”

Her gaze moves from the paint to the bundle.

Roman kneels beside the flower bed. “It was constructed to be read.”

“By me,” Scarlet says.

“Possibly,” I answer. “By all of us, certainly.”

She laughs once, the sound splitting at the edge. “Wonderful. My dead grandmother has entered scape-goat portion of the investigation.”

“Scarlet.”

“Don’t.” Her eyes lock on mine. “I know that face. You’re arranging me into the case again.”

A harder answer would be easier. Instead, I tell her the truth. “I’m arranging the evidence around you because someone keeps putting it there.”

Her lips part.

“I’m not turning you into a suspect,” I say. “I’m trying to understand how your history is being used so we can stop whoever is doing it.”

The rain thickens.

Water runs through my hair and down the back of my shirt. Scarlet stands close enough that I can feel the heat of the body Roman and I had beneath our hands minutes ago.

The instinct to touch her is overpowering but I force myself to wait.

Her gaze drops to my open hand. Then she steps to me. Her forehead presses to my chest, and her fingers close around the sides of my shirt. I wrap one arm around her shoulders. Roman moves behind her, setting a warm palm against her lower back. The three of us stand in the rain with evidence at our feet and danger somewhere beyond the trees.