Page 95 of Skin and Bones

“There’s a lot more paperwork when someone dies,” Dash said, leading me to the couch. He sat me down and then sat down next to me, so close he had to put his arm around me. It was a good thing too, because I hadn’t stopped shivering since we’d left the restaurant.

“Will he confess?” I asked Dash.

“He already has,” Dash replied. “Everything he said at the restaurant is on tape. Between that and the DNA evidence from both crime scenes, he’s done.”

I absorbed this, feeling a complex mix of emotions—triumph and exhaustion, relief and a lingering sadness for lives cut short by one man’s ambition. “Elizabeth deserved better,” I said quietly, the words catching in my throat.

“She did,” Dash agreed, his fingers finding mine and squeezing gently. “But thanks to you and the Silver Sleuths, she’s finally getting justice. You finished what she started.”

We sat in companionable silence for a few minutes while the Silver Sleuths bustled around the house, plying me with blankets, tea and alcohol. Chowder had launched himself into my lap and was doing his best to console me by promptly going to sleep and snoring.

“Where’d you learn to shoot like that?” I asked Dash softly. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am for your accuracy.”

He smiled and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “You know the deal,” he said. “That’s a personal question.”

“Another dinner?” I asked, my mouth quirking in a smile.

“With a twist,” he said. “Dinner at my house. Chowder can be our chaperone.”

I couldn’t help myself. My gaze dropped to his lips and the urge to lean in and taste him was more than my already overburdened senses could bear. So I straightened my spine and cleared my parched throat.

“Dinner,” I said, nodding, and then I leaned into him and let him hold me.

It had been so long since a man had held me. And I ached as those needs—those feelings—rushed through me after lying dormant for so long.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Dash asked, his voice gentle in the quiet. He massaged the tension in my shoulder until I relaxed against him again.

I sighed and said, “I was just thinking about how sometimes you have to disturb the surface to see what’s been hiding in the depths all along.”

“Profound,” he said. “What does that mean?”

“I have no clue,” I said. “Just the inner musings of a thirty-four-year-old widow and tea shop owner. Don’t pay her any attention.”

“That’s going to be a problem,” he said. His thumb was making small circles on the back of my neck and it was driving me to distraction. “I plan to pay her attention every chance I get. You see, ever since I met her I can’t stop thinking about the thirty-four-year-old widow and tea shop owner. Thoughts of her keep me up at night.”

My lips twitched with good humor. “I’ll send you home with some chamomile tea to help you sleep.”

“I think you’re going to be a real handful, Mabel McCoy,” he said, rubbing Chowder between the ears.

“And?” I asked.

“And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

I laid my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes, breathing in his familiar scent and letting the last week fall away. Elizabeth’s case was closed, but my story—our story—was just beginning to unfold.

And for the first time in ten years, I couldn’t wait to turn the page.