sheltered in their pretty little world South of Broad Street. The fairy tale had ended that night, but the magic between them had lasted until her car lights disappeared from his view on the night she left town.
No, that wasn’t exactly true. If he was honest with himself, their relationship had soured long before that night. The magic had ended when they lost their baby.
But he didn’t want to think about that. He’d long since relegated that sad time to the fringes of his memory. Best not to dredge up the fear and the blood and the look on Arden’s face when she knew it was over. Best not to remember the panicked trip to the ER or the growing distance between them in the aftermath. The despair, the loneliness. The feeling inside him when he knew it was over.
Reid had learned a long time ago not to dwell on matters he couldn’t control. Pick yourself up, dust yourself off and get on with life. Hadn’t that been his motto for as long as he could remember? If you pretended long enough and hard enough, you might actually start to believe that you were happy.
In fairness, he hadn’t been unhappy. He still knew how to have fun. He could still ferret out an adventure now and then. That was worth something, he reckoned.
With a jolt, he realized that Arden was watching him. She physically started when their gazes collided. Her hand went to her chest as if she could somehow calm her accelerated heartbeat. Or was he merely projecting?
He took a deep breath, but not so deep that she would notice. Instead, he let a note of impatience creep into his voice. “So that’s it, then? You’re just going to ignore the elephant in the room.”
She smoothed a hand down the side of her dress as if to prove her nonchalance. “What would you have me do?”
“I would expect a little emotion. Some kind of reaction. Not this...” He trailed away before he said something he’d regret.
“Not this what?” she challenged.
He struggled to measure his tone. “You don’t have to be so impassive, okay? It’s me. You can drop the mask. I just told you that a magnolia blossom was found at the crime scene. Only a handful of people in this city would understand the significance. You and I are two of them.”
“White or crimson?”
Finally, a spark. “White. A common variety. Nothing exotic or unusual as far as I’ve heard. It probably doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like the killer placed a crimson magnolia petal on the victim’s lips. Still...” He paused. “I thought you’d want to know.”
Arden’s expression remained too calm. “Who was the victim?”
“I told you, I don’t know anything about her. The name hasn’t been released to the public yet. Nor has the business about the magnolia blossom. We need to keep that to ourselves.”
“How do you know about it?”
“I have a detective friend who drops by on occasion to shoot the breeze and drink my whiskey. He sometimes has one too many and let’s something slip that he shouldn’t.”
“What does he think about the murder?” Arden asked. “Do they have any suspects yet?”
“He’s not working the case. His information is secondhand. Police department gossip. The best I can tell, Charleston PD is treating it like any other homicide for now.”
“For now.” She walked over to the French doors and leaned a shoulder against the frame. Her back was to him. He couldn’t help admiring the outline of her curves beneath the white dress or the way the high heels emphasized her toned calves. Arden had always been a looker. A real heartbreaker. No one knew that better than Reid.
She traced her reflection in the glass with her fingertip. “When did it happen?”
“The body was found early this morning in an alleyway off Logan.” Only half a block from Reid’s new place, but for some reason, he didn’t see fit to mention that detail. There were a few other things he hadn’t shared, either. He wasn’t sure why. He told himself he wanted to keep the meeting simple, but when had his feelings for Arden Mayfair ever been simple?
She dropped her hand to her side as she stared out into the gathering dusk. Already, the garden beyond the French doors looked creepy as hell. The statues of angels and cherubs that her grandmother had collected had always been a little too funereal for Reid’s tastes. The summerhouse, though. He could see the exotic dome peeking through the tree limbs. The Moroccan structure conjured images of starry nights and secret kisses. He and Arden had made that place their own despite the bad memories.
“Reid?”
He shook himself back to the present. “Sorry. You were saying?”
“The cabdriver had the radio on when I came in from the airport. There wasn’t a word of this on the news. No mention of a homicide at all. Ambrose didn’t say anything about it, either.”
“No reason he would know. As I said, the details haven’t yet been released. With all the Twilight Killer publicity recently, the police don’t want to incite panic. Keeping certain facts out of the news is smart.”
Arden turned away from the garden. “What do you think?”
“About the murder?”
“About the magnolia blossom.”
Reid hesitated. “It’s too early to speculate. The police are still gathering evidence. The best thing we can do is wait and see what they find out.”
The hazel eyes darkened. “Since when have you ever waited for anything?”
I waited fourteen years for you to come back. “I have no choice in the matter. I don’t have the connections or the clout I had when I was with Sutton & Associates. All I can do is keep my eyes and ears open. If my friend lets anything else slip, I’ll let you know.”
She regarded him suspiciously. “You’re saying all the right things, but I don’t believe you.”
“You think I’m making this up?”
“No. I think you came over here for a reason, but it wasn’t just to tell me about a murder or to suggest we wait and see what the cops uncover. You’re right. Only a handful of people would remember that a white magnolia blossom was left on the summerhouse steps the night my mother was murdered. Everyone else, including the police, focused on the crimson petal placed on her lips—the kiss of death that became the Twilight Killer’s signature. The creamy magnolia blossom was never repeated at any of the other murder scenes. Which means it was specific to my mother’s death.”
“That’s speculation, too. We’ve never known that for certain.”
“It’s what we always believed,” she insisted. “Just like we became convinced that the real killer remained free.”
“We were just dumb kids,” Reid said. “What were we—all of twelve—when we decided Orson Lee Finch must be innocent? No proof, no evidence, nothing driving our theory but boredom and imagination. We let ourselves get caught up in a mystery of our own making that summer.”
“Maybe, but we learned a lot about my mother’s case and about how far we were willing to push ourselves to uncover the truth. Don’t you remember how dedicated we were? We sat in the summerhouse for hours combing through old newspaper accounts and scribbling in notebooks. We even rode our bikes over to police headquarters and demanded to speak with one of the detectives who had worked the Twilight Killer case.”
“For all the good that did us,” Reid said dryly. “As I recall, we were not so politely shown the door.”
“That didn’t stop us though, did it?” For the first time, her eyes began to sparkle as she recalled their ardent pursuit of justice. The polished facade dropped and he glimpsed the girl she’d once been, that scrawny, suntanned dynamo who’d had the ability to wrap him around her little finger with nothing more than a smile.
“No,