“Especially since I still haven’t been able to find out what was in that file that cop gave Vaughn,” Fletcher finished his thought. “I got my hands on a copy of the evidence logs, but there’s no mention of it being in the safe at Vaughn’s office or of the police cataloging it as part of their investigation. In fact, there wasn’t any mention of anything being in the safe. It’s like the file just . . . disappeared.”
Ah, so that’s what he was up to. His sources hadn’t been able to come up with the information he wanted, so he was willing to let me see if I could get it from Sebastian instead. Nothing bothered Fletcher more than loose ends and unanswered questions. I might not be as patient as he thought I should be, but he was more curious than a basket full of kittens exploring the world for the very first time. Still, I didn’t mind him wanting me to track down the file, since I was going to use it as an excuse to see Sebastian again.
“But you found the cop, right?” I asked. “The one who gave Vaughn the file? Can’t you just bribe him and ask him what he found?”
Fletcher shook his head. “Yeah, it wasn’t too hard to locate him, since you got his first name and his hometown, but I’m afraid it’s a little more complicated than that. The cop, Harry Coolidge, isn’t from around here. He works down in a town called Blue Marsh, near Savannah. From what I know, Coolidge is a smart, honest, decent cop. He won’t take any sort of bribe, and he’d start asking questions about how I even knew about the file. So that option is out.”
Fletcher hesitated, as if he was choosing his next words carefully.
“Coolidge has a reputation for being thorough and tenacious, a good investigator who can find clues that others miss. If Vaughn hired him to look into the terrace collapse, maybe even someone who was involved in the construction, it’s because that person was dirty—and clever enough to hide whatever he’d done.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll find a way to see if Sebastian has any information about the file. Maybe the cops let him go ahead and empty out the safe since he was next of kin. He might have the file buried in a stack somewhere and not even know it.”
“Maybe.”
Fletcher’s lips puckered, his nose scrunched up, and his eyes grew dark and distant, as if he was working through some sort of mental jigsaw puzzle and trying to make the pieces fit together in his head. But he shook off his thoughts and focused his attention on me again.
“All right. Feel Sebastian out during your date, and see if he knows anything about the file, where it is, or what Coolidge was looking into for Cesar. I’ll keep digging with my own sources.”
“You got it.”
His green gaze locked with my gray one. “But be careful, Gin. There’s something about this whole situation that’s still not sitting right with me. This thing could still go sideways on us.”
“Always.”
Satisfied for now, Fletcher went back to his book. Our powwow complete, I got to my feet and headed toward the hallway, ready to go upstairs, take a shower, and slip into bed. I reached the doorway and stopped, wondering if I should tell him that I had more than a casual interest in Sebastian, that finding out what he knew about his father’s file wasn’t the only reason that I wanted to see him again.
But I decided not to. It was one date, and Sebastian could still turn out to be a toad, like all the other rich guys who hit on me at parties. And if he wasn’t, if he was the person he’d been so far, the one who seemed so genuinely interested in me . . . well, I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.
“Gin? You need something else?” Fletcher’s soft voice snapped me out of my thoughts.
I glanced over my shoulder at him and shook my head. “Nah. I just realized that I forgot to say good night. So . . . good night.”
“Good night.”
Fletcher focused on his book again. I stared at him, ignoring the guilty twinges in my chest. If he had looked up at that moment, I might have spilled my guts about my feelings for Sebastian and confessed everything to him.
But the old man turned a page, thoroughly engrossed in his story.
So I let out a soft, relieved sigh, left the den, and headed upstairs for the night.
14
At precisely seven o’clock Monday evening, Sebastian Vaughn strolled into the Pork Pit, carrying a dozen roses. He grinned, crossed the storefront, and made a gallant bow before straightening back up and handing the flowers to me.
Instead of the typical red, these roses were a deep, dark color. At first, I thought they were black, but then, as I held them up to the light, I realized that the petals actually had a rich blue sheen. The stems were unusual too, milky white instead of the normal green. The thorns were the same pale color, although they seemed to be sharper and longer than usual. All put together, the flowers were beautiful, vibrant, and striking, just like Sebastian.
“Roses!” I exclaimed, playing the part of a girl who was thrilled by such things. It wasn’t too much of a stretch. Secretly, I was delighted that he’d brought me flowers. No one ever had before.
“I know most folks like red roses, but I thought that I would bring you something really special. They’re called Blue Velvet, and they’re from my family’s greenhouse,” Sebastian said.
I buried my nose in the roses, breathing in deeply and inhaling their scent. They smelled much sweeter than I’d thought they would, given their dark blue color, as though someone had distilled the petals down to their purest, most intense essence. Truth be told, the scent was a bit overpowering, almost cloying, and I had to scrunch up my nose to keep from sneezing. Not exactly the aroma I would have picked if I’d been giving myself flowers, but I appreciated the gesture.
I was standing behind the counter, close to where Fletcher sat behind the cash register, reading. Beaming, I held the flowers out to him.
“Aren’t they lovely?”
“Exquisite,” he echoed back in a wry voice.
“Is this your . . . father?” Sebastian’s eyebrows drew together as he looked back and forth between me and Fletcher, as if he was puzzled by the lack of familial resemblance.
“My cousin, actually,” I said. “He . . . adopted me after my family died . . . in a car accident.”
That was more or less the cover story that we’d developed long ago to explain my connection to Fletcher and Finn. Funny, but I’d never had a problem telling the lies before.
Sebastian nodded, his face clearing, and he stretched out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. . . .”