Page 41 of Royal

I nearly spilled my coffee all over the counter.

About fucking time we got a lead.

“When?” I asked.

Mary answered, and the timeline matched Beth Monroe’s murder.

“Why didn’t you report them stolen?” Ruby asked, sounding as irritated as I felt.

“Didn’t think to,” Mary responded, shrugging her frail shoulders. “In my day, you didn’t go bothering the police with matters like that. Whoever stole them, I hope they got some good use out of them.”

“You can say that,” I said dryly. “Your intel would’ve helped law enforcement a lot if you’d reported it.”

“Oh my.” Mary’s face went white, and she lifted a hand to her mouth. “I apologize, detectives.”

Don’t have a heart attack, Mary, for the love of God.

“Do you have any type of security camera?” Ruby asked.

“No, hon. I’m afraid I don’t.”

Of course she didn’t.

We’d found where the killer had gotten theNarcissusflowers, but we didn’t have any way to track him down. No name or even a description. Before heading back to the station, Ruby and I went to the neighborhood behind Pam’s Floristry and asked if they’d heard or seen anything suspicious the night the shop was broken into. No luck there, either.

Just when I thought we’d gained headway, it all went to shit. Much like everything else in my life.

When I got home later—somewhere around midnight—I was exhausted. But I was also hungry, so I decided to reheat the lasagna Aunt Abby had cooked and brought over for me the day before. Thinking of her, I decided to give her a call.

“Hello?” she answered on the second ring.

“Hey. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“You didn’t. Can’t sleep tonight, so I was crocheting.”

“More bad dreams?”

“Listen, Grayson.” She took on a serious tone, and I braced myself for whatever she was about to tell me. “I’m well aware you don’t believe in my gifts. And that’s fine. You don’t have to. But to me, they’re real. My beliefs are real.”

I felt like a pile of shit. I’d never meant to upset her.

“I’m sorry if you thought I—”

“Don’t be sorry,” she said. “You’re entitled to your own beliefs, sweet boy. I just wish you’d listen to me and try to understand. The dreams I have aren’t always clear, but there’s no mistaking how they make me feel. I keep seeing you in a dark place, and all I feel is panic. Fear. I’m worried.”

No matter if I believed her or not, I’d always support her. She’d never given up on me. I owed her a lot. More than I could ever repay.

What was the harm in humoring her?

“Okay,” I said. “Tell me about the dreams. I promise to really listen this time.”

Often, she said her dreams werevisions or omens. Tonight, she told me about seeing me in some kind of dark place again.

“We’re not making much progress finding the killer,” I said once she’d finished. “Maybe the dark place you’re seeing is the anxiety I’m feeling.”

“Maybe,” she answered. “I tend to see people I’m connected to much clearer than ones I’m not. If you’re worried, it might be affecting me, too. That’s not a bad deduction, detective.”

I smiled before shoving more lasagna into my mouth and chewing.