Page 29 of Secrets Along the Shore

But aside from the fact I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being right, I also didn’t want to let Sophia down.

“She needs me,” I mumbled under my breath and instantly wished I hadn’t.

“Who needs you?” Reuben didn’t know how to let anything slide.

“No one. Never mind.” I slid off the stool, regretting coming here in the first place. I think I had envisioned Reuben laying out the case file notes, engaging me with the theories and even minute possibility of ties between the women.

I could see now that he wasn’t going to do that. Probably couldn’t do that.

We’re on our own, Sophia. She could hear me. I was sure of it.

CHAPTER

EIGHT

“You’re crazy.”Livia hurried alongside of me as I hiked down the sidewalk. “They’re not going to want to talk to you.”

I shot her a quizzical glance. “Of course they will. They’re looking for their missing mother. They’re desperate for help.” I paused outside of the flower shop, my hand on the door. I needed to gentle my approach. I was trying my hardest to distance myself from the emotions conflicting inside of me, but I think it was making me more caustic and bitter. I didn’t want to be that. Aloof was fine. Cynical and unlikeable, not so much.

“I need to do this, Livvy.” I allowed my feelings to show for just long enough so that Livia could see how important Sophia’s death was to me.

Her brows pulled together. “O-okay. Yeah.” She gave my wrist a squeeze. It was automatic for her—the whole reaching out and touching me to show reassurance. Except, I didn’t like to be touched, and Livia had a hard time not reassuring me with pats and squeezes. I’d grown used to it for the most part.

The bell above the door did its little dance and ding-a-ling song. The air was saturated with flower perfumes, and my eyes instantly itched. Allergies were a beast. Liviaoo’dandaa’dat all the arrangements. Her face lit up as she paid special attention to a bouquet of lilies with some greenery that hung from the side of the vase like a vine. Ipreferred the potted fern. Green. Predictable. It also wouldn’t make my eyes itch.

“Can I help you?” A woman at least six inches shorter than me exited the back room. Her eyes were framed in cat-eye glasses and her hair was short and spiky. But I could see it. The sadness. The fear. The anxiety.

For a moment, I was tongue tied. I had felt all along that I had the credibility to walk into the flower shop owned by Rosalie Fiends and explain who I was. That my past alone would be enough to build rapport and give me the open door to ask my question. But now, I had lost my ability to speak. To put my thoughts into words. I didn’t want to announce who I was or identify myself based on my history. I didn’t want to be known by it. I didn’t want to reveal it—not to a stranger, anyway. So that left me with nothing but what would come across as sheer curiosity—and that seemed really wrong.

I was about ready to order an unnecessary bouquet of roses and get the heck out of there when Livia nudged her way in.

“I’m Livia.” She extended her hand with her disarming smile.

The woman shook hands with a cautious expression in her eyes.

Livia continued, releasing the woman’s hand. “We’re here on a sensitive matter. It’s in regards to Rosalie Fiends.”

“Rosalie?” Eyebrows shot up. Suspicion mixed with hope warred for first place on the woman’s face. “What about her? Do you know something? I’m her sister, Jean.”

Livia gave me a frank, dark-eyed look that told me it was my turn, and I’d better step up.

I made quick work of introducing myself, but it was when I mentioned that I’d been the one to find Sophia’s body, Jean’s expression shifted dramatically. She held up her hand to make me stop and then waved it toward herself.

“Come. Into the back room.”

Livia and I rounded the counter and followed Jean. Flowers were propped in buckets, bundled together by bands. Carnations, roses, baby’s breath, and more. It was a colorful kaleidoscope and the mixture of floral scents was both intoxicating and overwhelming. I was gratefulJean led past them and into a small office. It held a desk, some chairs, a computer. There were a few photographs framed, but other than that, there wasn’t much to adorn the room. It was simple and private.

Jean closed the door and motioned to the two chairs opposite the desk. She hurried to her chair and sank onto it, hopeful expectation in her eyes. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you reached out.”

I prayed my visit didn’t instill false hope in Jean. I would need to be cautious about what I said.

“I’m thankful that you were able to find Sophia,” Jean said.

“Yes. I—” Where had my words fled? I had a lump in my throat, and it wasn’t one of emotion, it was one of heartburn. I had a lot of nerve coming here, facing the sister of a missing woman, pretending to be able to help. I swept the small room with my eyes and there was no Sophia. Even my imagination wasn’t strong enough to conjure her up as a quasi-cheerleader.

Livia interceded once again. “Noa has been consulting with a detective on the Sophia Bergstrom case.”

Consulting was a stretch, but I let it go.