Page 92 of The Dead Come to Stay

“Foley’s actions have endangered one of your refugees, while also threatening your position with the Burnhopes. Is that right? And you were, what? Planning to return this stolen treasure to him and ask him to go away quietly?” His eyes strayed to the figurine again. Wasthatheavy enough to be a murder weapon? He’d have it bagged and sent to forensics.

“I wasn’t sure what I’d do with it, and that’s the truth,” Sophie said. “I was about to have hundreds of people descend on the biggest fundraiser of the year. Ronan could be dealt with later.”

“Ronanwasdealt with later,” MacAdams said darkly.

“Ms. Wagner, where you were last Friday night between 11:30p.m. and 3:00 a.m. on Friday night?”

“Here. With Burnhope and a room full of people.”

“Do you have concrete proof of that?” he asked. “Not just the glad-wishing of your favorite donors?”

Sophie tilted her head—then, unexpectedly, she smiled at him.

“Yes. Yes, I do. We had a camera crew cover the event for marketing. It’s been flashed to a drive. Six hours of footage—and you’ll see I’m always there.”

That was highly convenient. MacAdams would be sure they went through every frame.

“I’ll take it with me,” he said.

“Back at my office. Shall I bring it to you?”

“I’ll follow and wait,” MacAdams said, not that he expected her to bolt. Rather, he had a last question. “I want to ask youabout one of your patrons. He was at the charity ball, and I take it he’s a big donor: Gerald Standish.”

It could be his imagination, but Sophie appeared relieved.

“Ohhim.He’s here, I imagine. He keeps bar hours every day between two and four.”

Chapter 27

Thursday, 14:00

Jo held her breath. A wooden box lay upon the art nouveau table next to the champagne they’d abandoned that morning. The lid was carved in roses and darkened with the patina of age. It had come from Spain, purchased on an art-buying trip and had spent the last five-plus years in a safe-deposit box.

Arthur—who knew more about banks than Jo could ever hope to—explained that only four of them still offered safe-deposit boxes, and one of them was in facthisbank. He’d protested that he, at least, did not have a safe-deposit box. But it seems he did, in fact. By what means Aiden had worked this minor miracle was a matter of speculation (and possibly the forging of Arthur’s signature), but he returned with the prize now before them. Midafternoon sunshine slipped through the windows and left squares on the carpets; they’d spent the day searching, but finding always felt a little anticlimactic, in the end.

“Do you know, I’m afraid to open it,” Arthur said.

“I think it’s time, though,” Chen suggested. She’d been sitting on the sofa with Pepper, resting “old bones,” which hadnonetheless almost outwalked the rest of them. Now she stood and took her position next to Arthur. “Let’s finish that journey.”

“I’m glad you were here for it,” Arthur said, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I never meant to drift away.”

“Oh, you meant to. But now you’re sorry, and that’s enough.” She guided his hand to the box latch. “Don’t keep us in suspense, darling.”

Arthur lifted the lid.

“Oh,” he said, a tiny sound. He lifted out a small velvet pillow and its precious cargo: a ring, and a note: “Will you marry me?”A shudder passed through Arthur, then he collapsed into a dining chair andsobbed. Chen cradled the man, whose hoarse voice escaped in a broken question:

“Why—why didn’t he ask me? Before the end?”

Why set up an elaborate game only to hide it? It was raw and painful and hard to answer. But Jo thought she knew.Miss Havisham.

“Arthur?” she asked quietly. “You remember the letter? Aiden couldn’t wait to meet me. Then nothing happened.” She’d pictured him then, waiting for a young Jo who never arrived. Now she imagined Aiden buying rings and wine bottles. “He was supposed to get better. When he didn’t—” Jo struggled to find the right words “—he thought you would be happier if you never knew the loss of joy.”

Arthur lifted his head to look at her, his firm jaw trembling.

“He waswrong,” he said, swallowing hard.“He was so wrong.”

“I know,” Jo told him, sinking to her knees by his chair. “But he’s told younow.”