Chapter 8 #2
I took a deep breath, admitting it aloud for the first time. “I’m worried that if I see her, it won’t matter what she’s done. I’ll just love her and it will tear me apart to see her suffering.”
Herb placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Is that such a terrible thing, loving your sister?”
“I don’t know. Is it?”
“Only you can answer that question.”
Herb’s kindness touched me, and I forgot all about my original purpose in walking with him, which was to get information about the murder. But he brought it up. “I don’t think you sought me out just for my company.”
“No,” I said. “I’m looking into Jeanine’s murder. I want to know who you think might have killed her.”
He didn’t speak for a while. “It was a terrible thing. Really terrible. I know it might seem like one of us would want to kill her in order to save the shelter, but it wasn’t us, which leaves you and Jane. I don’t suspect you.”
The words rushed out of me. “You can’t think Jane would be capable of murder.”
He raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m not accusing her of it. I’m just saying, it wasn’t my friends.”
“Well, I’m saying it wasn’t Jane,” I said. “What do you know about Terence?”
“He hasn’t had an easy life. He experienced a lot of loss early in his life but instead of letting that turn him hard, it softened him.
He’s very loving toward the animals and he’s very devoted to his work.
” Herb shook his head. “Terence may like animals more than people but he’s a gentle soul.
He would never deliberately harm someone. ”
I didn’t tell him about how Terence had told Eun-Seo that he would help with the mouse problem at the rec center, indicating that he had access to the poison.
We reached the care center, so I let the subject drop. The building was old but well-maintained, with a cheery, red brick facade and big windows painted with large candy conversation hearts in various colors.
A lovely fae woman at the front desk greeted Herb as we entered, but her face turned bright pink when she saw me. “Hi, Charles Bingley,” she said.
I smiled, hoping she couldn’t read my awkwardness.
The Bingleys had old money and had been in the spotlight for generations, and our proximity to the fae royal family only amplified that spotlight.
Caroline handled celebrity better than I did.
Which was to say she didn’t have to fight the urge to run away when people she didn’t know seemed to know a lot about her.
I swallowed my discomfort and extended my hand to the woman. “Please, call me Charles.” I shook her hand. “And what’s your name?”
“I’m Celestine,” she said, forgetting to end the handshake.
I gently eased my hand from hers. “Pleasure to meet you,” I said, grateful that Herb had continued down the hall without me so I wouldn’t have to get into a prolonged conversation.
I waved at her as I turned and speed walked to catch up with Herb as he turned the corner. He led me to a door covered in papers.
“These are just copies,” he said, marking my attention. “And they’re just a few of our favorites.”
“What are they?” I asked, looking closer at the beautiful cursive handwriting.
“They’re our love letters.”
He pushed open the door, revealing a cheerful room.
It held a yellow daybed rather than the hospital bed I’d been expecting, and a little painted table where a large vase full of fresh daisies brightened the room.
Nothing about the space felt clinical. Suncatchers sent sparkling light reflecting across the room, and black and white photographs in gold frames were arranged artfully on one wall.
I removed my shoes before walking across the plush rug.
“Hello, my love,” Herb said to a lovely older woman who sat next to the window.
Her white hair was pulled up in an elegant bun, her posture straight.
Knitting needles and a skein of soft brown wool lay in her lap, seemingly forgotten as she gazed out the window.
She turned warm, glassy eyes on Herb and smiled, though it was unclear whether she recognized him or not.
“What would you like to do this afternoon?” he asked. “We could go to the lobby and play a game.”
She shook her head. “No. The pieces to my favorite games are always getting lost.” Her voice was soft and musical.
Herb frowned. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ll bring you some more tomorrow.”
She nodded once, then her eyes drifted to me. Herb adjusted the shawl that had slipped off of one of her shoulders. “This is Charles Bingley,” he said. “He’s a new friend.”
“I’m Jenny.” she said, extending her soft hand, which I gently shook. She turned to Herb. “What of the birds?”
“I saw a Pine Grosbeak early this morning.”
Her eyes lit up. “Any Dovekies?”
“Not yet, but I’ll keep an eye out.” He turned to me. “Jenny is the best at finding birds. She taught me everything I know.”
I spent the next hour listening to Herb tell stories from their lives together, how they loved to sail and hike and travel. Jenny chimed in occasionally. Herb was a good storyteller, painting vivid images of adventure, and I couldn’t help but imagine myself having experiences like those with Jane.
I left before Herb did, and on my way back to the car, I called the flower shop again.
“Did you decide on what message you’d like to convey?” the florist asked, her voice full of amusement.
“Yes. I’d like a bouquet with all the colors we discussed—red and pink and yellow and white. Oh, and also orange.”
She paused for what felt like a very long time before speaking. “I can create an arrangement that makes that bouquet look happy and colorful rather than chaotic. But I have to ask, after our discussion on the meaning of flowers, why did you decide not to go for a meaningful statement?”
“It’s quite the opposite, actually, I said. “The message I want to convey to this woman is that she’s everything to me.”