28. Roman Osprey #2
The evidence technician lifts a photocopied page from the box.
Scarlet’s grandmother’s handwriting crosses it, visible on the tablet Tom has propped for us on the dining table.
It’s the same phrase from Scarlet’s bundle.
A pale rectangle interrupts the center of the paper.
Four darkened corners surround the blank area, with a faint green stain near the lower edge.
Scarlet leans closer to the tablet. “That is where an attachment used to be.”
Dr. Cole enlarges the photograph on the screen. Pepper studies the image from her side of the call.
“What kind?” Tom asks.
“My grandmother mounted field material on her notes. Pressed flowers, pieces of bark, old maps if the route differed from county records. Sometimes she added vellum diagrams over the writing.”
Pepper magnifies the green residue. “It could be dried plant matter, but the photocopy has lost too much color to identify it from here.”
“The shape is too square for a loose flower,” Scarlet says. “Whatever it was had backing.”
Wes looks at her. “Do you have the originals?”
“I have field boxes she left me. Some came with her house. Others were packed away after she died.” Scarlet exhales through her nose. “I haven’t cataloged all of them.”
Honey turns from the window. “Did anyone outside your family know about the boxes?”
“The historical society knew we kept private records. Tom knows. Half the town assumes I inherited every strange scrap my grandmother ever touched.” I study the copied page from where I stand, close enough to make out the missing section’s outline and the faint green stain, but not the finer grain of the paper itself.
“The sender may only have an archive copy made after the attachment disappeared.”
“Or someone removed it from the original,” Wes says.
Scarlet rubs her thumb on his hand. “Either way, they believe the missing piece changes how the rest is understood.”
The technician seals the page and moves to the stone charm. Dr. Cole directs the swab collection. A rapid screening strip changes color.
“Presumptive positive for the carrier family,” she says. “The ribbon and inner tissue need separate laboratory testing. Seal and send all of it.”
Callum’s alpha scent sharpens before he reins it back.
Honey points at the charm through the window. “I would have picked that up first.”
Micah turns toward her. “Why?”
“It looks exactly like the sweetheart favors we put in bakery orders. I would have assumed it fell out of a festival delivery.”
The package was built around her habits. The florist label, white ribbon, and pretty charm waiting beneath tissue all invite Honey’s hands.
Scarlet goes pale.
I turn her toward me, sliding my hand to her jaw until her eyes meet mine. “The person who made that choice is responsible. Only them.”
“They watched her.”
“Yes.”
“They knew what she would touch.”
Wes moves behind her and rests both of his hands on her upper arms. Cedar gathers around us. “Then we learn how,” he says. “We don’t help them by pushing Honey away.”
Scarlet closes her eyes, breathing through the fear while my thumb strokes her cheek.
Honey comes closer. “I have been bonded to these two since I was twenty-one,” she says softly. “They have loved me through hurricanes, bakery disasters, a broken wrist, and the year I cut my hair to my chin because a magazine promised it would look effortless.”
Callum looks at her with something like reverent adoration. “You were beautiful.”
Honey’s face softens. “You told me that every morning.”
“It was true every morning.”
Micah comes to her other side. “We also bought every headband in three counties.”
“Aww. Remember when you found me that yellow one?” Honey says.
“You liked the yellow one.”
Her smile turns luminous. “I did.”
Their affection wraps around her with quiet sincerity.
She looks at Scarlet. “I trust them to tell me when they are scared. They trust me to decide what I can face. Let us do that for you too.”
Scarlet places her hand on Honey’s, fingers curling gently around hers. “Okay,” she murmurs. It’s a quiet gesture, but it opens space for everyone standing with her.
Tom’s radio crackles. A deputy at the sheriff’s office asks him to call in. He answers through his phone. “Bell.”
The deputy’s voice carries. “We received the neighbor footage. One camera caught the rear plate at the corner. The image is incomplete, but we have enough characters to narrow the vehicle.”
Tom looks through the glass at Wes. “How narrow?”
“Three white cargo vans registered or rented in the county match the visible characters. One belongs to Magnolia Event Florals. One belongs to a plumbing company. The third was rented yesterday through Cypress County Fleet and Tool.”
“Renter?”
“The rental was charged to a temporary festival-services account. The employee remembers a man collecting it with a gloved hand. He signed C. Rusk.”
Wes’s focus sharpens.
Tom repeats the name for the recording, then instructs the deputy to preserve the footage and request the rental agreement, payment records, and exterior camera recordings through proper channels.
Micah closes his laptop. “I will send the remaining neighbor files as they arrive.”
“Good,” Tom says. “Original files only.”
Across the room, Callum draws Honey against his chest and kisses her hair. Micah joins them, his hand settling beside Callum’s at her waist. Their bond closes around Honey with years of practiced care.
Scarlet watches them. Then she reaches for Wes and me without releasing her friend, four hands joined around a woman who is beginning to understand that safety doesn’t have to come from one place.
Whoever is sending these packages wants fear to separate Scarlet from everyone she loves. Instead, she’s standing in Honey’s dining room connected in every direction. I can’t think of a better way to ruin their plan.