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Rose’s eyes filled with tears. “You’re right. It happens all the time.”
“Maybe it doesn’t even have to feel that sad?” Sean suggested.
But Rose wasn’t so sure. There was tremendoustragedy in life. She’d been around long enough to reckon with that.
Sean said goodbye and wished her a good night. “It was one heck of a day,” he said before he closed the door between them.
Rose returned home. She felt frantic and strange and got undressed as soon as she entered her bedroom, pulling on a ratty T-shirt she’d had since Mississippi. She felt like herself in it. Then she poured herself a glass of wine and went out onto the veranda to call Hilary. Before she could, though, her client’s name filled the screen.
“Hi! How are you?” Rose’s voice was overly bright. How could she have forgotten about the stolen sculpture? It hung above the rest of her life like a guillotine blade.
“I have to admit,” her client said, “I’m not terribly happy about this robbery. We both know how much money I’ve already put down.”
Rose groaned and rubbed the back of her neck.It’s always one thing after another.
“I want to give the cops a little more time,” Rose said hesitantly. “But otherwise, I’m happy to make you a new sculpture. It’ll just take a bit more time.”A lot more time,her brain added.
The client grumbled and said something like, “I should have hired Bobby Bilton.”That stung. Rose knew Bobby Bilton’s work. It was derivative. It also sold very well.
She’d lost work to Billy before.
Rose called Hilary after the client got off the phone and told her what they’d learned today at the records office and in Natalie’s room. Hilary listened, captivated, then urged Rose to take care of herself.
“Of course,” Rose said.
“I don’t like that you’re playing around in his territory again,” Hilary said. “I’m sure he can sense you messing around where you don’t belong.”
“I literally bought the estate,” Rose reminded her. “I didn’t even buy it from him.”
“I doubt he likes that, either,” Hilary said.
Rose rolled her eyes, grateful that Hilary couldn’t see her, then made an excuse to get off the phone and watch television inside. It had been ages since she’d zoned out, and it felt wonderful to forget about everything for a while.
Of course, it all came crashing back into focus when she turned off the television again.
It was one thirty in the morning. Rose’s phone lit up with a message from Sean. Rose’s heart slammed to a stop. She sat up in bed and blinked at the cold light of her phone. It had been a long time since a man had written her in the middle of the night.
SEAN: I think I figured something out.
SEAN: Can I come by tomorrow morning?
ROSE: Yes.
SEAN: Do you like donuts?
ROSE: Isn’t that the old police officer cliché?
SEAN: Do you want donuts or not?
Rose giggled at her screen.
ROSE: I love donuts. Who doesn’t?
Sean appeared on her front stoop at eight thirty the following morning. Rose had already been awake since five, vacuuming and scrubbing kitchen counters. She had no idea what Sean had “figured out,” but she guessed it was another piece of this elaborate Oren puzzle.
She was right.
Sean set himself up at the kitchen counter and spread out the donuts: caramel, chocolate, vanilla, and maple, all filled with cream. Rose’s blood sugar shot to the heavens after just one bite. She poured them both cups of coffee and settled in beside him.
