Page 89 of Southernmost Murder

“Do I need to get more tissues?” I asked warily.

She winced but ultimately shook her head and carefully removed a cardboard box. She opened the top, discarded the wrappings, and tilted it toward me. It was a long dagger, but I wasn’t familiar with its origin or period.

“It’s a rondel dagger,” Lucrecia stated. “I had it authenticated back when it was first given to us. Sixteenth century, Italian in origin. Maybe a family heirloom, since he mentions it belonged to his grandfather.”

“It’s terrifying.” I reached in and carefully held the blade to examine. “Holy crap. It’s four-sided.”

AnXon my heart.

I SHOVEDeverything I needed for that night into the third-floor closet, then swung the hook into the lock as my cell rang. I straightened and pulled it free from my back pocket. Jun—again. He’d called nearly half a dozen times to check in throughout the day. “Hey, Jun.”

“Hi, Indy. Is everything going okay?”

“Yeah. Nothing suspicious yet, but I should probably make to look like I’m leaving.”

“And you’re certain—” Jun started.

“One hundred percent,” I replied, cutting him off. “I know it’s him. The button came off a near-perfect costume. It doesn’t belong to the house—how could Smith have monogram buttons made popular during the decade he was dead? Tourists wouldn’t notice such a minor inaccuracy on a costume, though.”

“Then we’ll be there,” Jun answered, no tone of doubt in his voice.

I started walking down the stairs to the second floor when I stated, without much thought to the digression, “Rogers killed himself.”

Lucrecia Kennedy had left for St. Augustine about an hour prior and had loaned me the dagger and diary. She said her museum would be honored if they were displayed in the Smith Home—but I wasn’t sure it was something my heart could handle. Did the truth need to be known? Yes, absolutely. Every bit of it, even if Smith’s piracy tarnished his legacy and I upset a bunch of locals. But to put a spotlight on a weapon that ended the life of a lonely man? I didn’t want their story to be remembered that way.

“What are you talking about?” Jun asked.

I stopped on the bottom step and slowly sat down. “He spent almost ten years trying to find Smith’s body,” I said, voice shaking. “And then he hid him in the wall. Rogers didn’t want Smith to share a plot with his wife.”

Jun didn’t say anything.

“And then he killed himself,” I said, choking up.

“Aubrey,” he said gently.

“I shouldn’t let this bother me,” I replied, clearing my throat. “I’m a historian, and it’s not very impartial. Just… you know.”

“I know,” Jun said simply. He understood.

I loved him.

I needed to tell him.

I’d loved him for a long time, and it’d taken three years to realize it, but I fully planned on making up for that blip on our radar. Jun was going to have one hell of a good future with me.

Cross my heart.

“You still there?”

“Sorry. Yeah.” Over the phone wasn’t how I wanted to say the L-word, though.

“We don’t have to do it this way tonight,” Jun began. “We can catch him another—”

“No, this is surefire,” I insisted. “He’s got a lot to go away for, and I don’t want to ruin our chances.”

Jun let out a small breath. “Then everything is ready?”

“Ready, Freddy.”