Page 25 of Never Been Gargoyled (Harmony Glen #4)

Feydin

W hen she finally got up to shower, I found myself grinning at the ceiling like a fool.

My mate was happy. Content. The way she hummed in the shower and the casual way she'd kissed me goodbye before disappearing into the bathroom all spoke of someone who was comfortable with what had happened between us.

I was still lying there, basking in contentment, when her phone rang.

“Feydin!” she called from the bathroom. “Could you get that?”

I found her phone on the side table, the caller ID showing a number I didn't recognize.

“Hello?”

“Is this Ms. Osborne?” The voice was crisp, professional, and immediately put me on guard.

“This is her attorney. Who's calling?”

“David Kingsley from Bland, Kingsley & Franks. I need to schedule a meeting with Ms. Osborne as soon as possible. We've discovered some new evidence that significantly impacts the case.”

My stomach dropped. “What kind of evidence?”

“I'd prefer to discuss this in person. Would this afternoon work?”

“What time?”

“Two o'clock. Same location as before, the tea shop.”

“We'll be there.”

After I hung up, I stared at the phone. New evidence that significantly impacted Dazy's case? That couldn't be good.

Dazy appeared in the bathroom doorway, fully dressed, her hair still damp from the shower. “Who was that?”

“Rebecca's lawyer. He wants to meet this afternoon. Says they have new evidence.”

The happiness drained from her face. “What kind of evidence?”

“He wouldn't say over the phone.”

She sank onto the edge of the bed, her shoulders sagging. “I was hoping we'd have more time to search for those letters.”

“We still might find them. This could be a bluff.”

But even as I said it, I didn't believe it. The lawyer had sounded too confident, too pleased with himself.

Hours later, we sat across from David Kingsley in Harmony Tea Shop, the same table where we'd first met with Rebecca. The lawyer was younger than I'd expected, probably in his late twenties, with perfectly styled hair and a suit that cost more than most people made in a month.

“Thank you for meeting on such short notice.” He pulled a leather folder from his briefcase. “I think you'll find what I have to show you very interesting.”

He slid a photocopied document across the table. “Helga Morrison's personal diary, dated forty-nine years ago.”

My blood ran cold. Dazy picked up the pages with trembling hands.

As she read, her face paled. When she finished, she set the pages down with shaking hands.

“What does it say?” I asked, though I was afraid I already knew.

“It's all there,” Kingsley said smugly. “Helga's pregnancy, her decision to give the baby up for adoption, even her regrets about not being able to keep the child. She clearly states that she hopes someday Rebecca will understand why she made the choice she did.”

“This could be forged,” I said.

“We had it authenticated by a handwriting expert. It's genuine.”

Dazy was staring at the table, not speaking. I could see her retreating into herself, the joy from this morning completely erased.

“Where did you find her diary?” I asked.

“Among her belongings in the nursing home.”

“I collected them,” Dazy said sharply. “There was no diary there. ”

“Rebecca visited her mother not long before her death.” His slick smile grew.

“She went through Helga’s things?”

“Her mother’s things.”

Dazy crossed her arms on her chest. “She shouldn’t have touched anything.”

He shrugged.

“Diary entries don’t invalidate her will,” I said.

“Perhaps not. But it certainly raises questions about her mental state and her motivations.” He gathered the papers back into his folder. “I think you'll find that the judge will be very interested in why a mother would ignore her biological child and leave her entire estate to a distant relative.”

“I wasn’t a distant relative,” Dazy said. “I visited her all the time in the nursing home. We played cards. Talked about all sorts of things.”

“That hardly matters now.” He rose and left.

Dazy and I sat in silence for a long time. The tea shop was equally quiet, heightening my bubble of shock and disappointment.

“This changes everything, doesn't it?” Dazy finally said.

I wanted to lie, to tell her it would be okay, but I couldn't. “It makes things more difficult.”

“She really is Helga's daughter. But Helga ignored her letters.” Dazy's voice was flat. “Maybe I don't deserve the estate after all.”

“Don't say that.” I reached across the table and took her hand. “Helga made her choice for a reason. We just need to figure out what that reason was.”

But even as I said it, I could feel hope slipping away. The diary entries were damning.

I flew her home. I could feel Dazy withdrawing, building walls around herself to prepare for the inevitable loss. It made my chest ache.

“I'm going to work in the garden,” she said, her feet dragging as she crossed the foyer and started up the stairs to get changed.

I wanted to go with her, to stay close and offer comfort, but I could tell she needed space to process what we'd learned. Instead, I flew to the hardware store and bought the items needed to fix a toilet on the second floor.

The work helped channel my frustration. It felt like a small act of protection, a way to secure what might be our last few days in this place.

When I finished, I found Dazy in the side garden, pulling weeds with more force than necessary. She'd been crying. I could tell from the redness around her eyes.

I explained what I’d done inside.

“Thank you.”

I studied her hunched shoulders, the defeated slump of her posture. This wouldn't do. If we only had limited time left here, I wanted to spend it helping her create something beautiful, not wallowing in despair.

“Come with me,” I said. “I need to show you something. ”

I led her to the boxes of lights I’d picked up at the hardware store and left on her porch. “I was thinking we could hang these in the trees. Create the magical atmosphere you talked about.”

For the first time since the meeting, her eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Really. And I found some materials to build benches. Stone and wood. They'll be sturdy enough to last for years.”

“Even if I'm not here to sit on them?”

“Especially then. Someone should benefit from your vision, even if it's not you.”

We spent the rest of the afternoon working together. I strung lights between tree branches while she directed me on placement, her artistic eye guiding the design. The physical work seemed to help her mood, and gradually, she started talking again.

“I keep thinking about how I'd run this place as a business,” she said as we took a break to admire our progress. “Like, how do you price admission so people can afford it, but you don't take a loss?”

“You'd need to calculate your operating costs first. Maintenance, utilities, staff if you hire any. Then factor in seasonal variations. You'll have more visitors in spring and summer than winter, though I’m sure you’ll be busy around the holidays.”

She looked at me with surprise. “You know about business management?”

“I helped Helga with the estate finances, and I have a minor in business. ”

“What would you suggest for pricing?”

I thought about it. “Start with a modest admission fee and discount for children. You could offer annual memberships for locals. That creates a steady revenue base.”

“And special events?”

“Those could be higher. Seasonal festivals, educational workshops, evening events with the lights we’re installing. People will pay more for unique experiences.”

She was nodding, getting excited despite everything. “I could do plant sales too. Seedlings in the spring, herbs and vegetables during growing season.”

“Exactly. And consider partnerships with local schools for field trips. Educational programs generate goodwill and steady bookings.”

As we talked, I could see her vision taking shape. She had the passion and creativity to make this place magical. She just needed the opportunity.

“You'd be amazing at this,” I told her.

“Would have been amazing at it,” she said sadly.

“Wherever you end up, whatever happens with this place, you'll create something wonderful. I believe that.”

She smiled then, the first real smile I'd seen from her since before the meeting. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“You woke me up,” I said simply. “In every way that matters.”