Chapter 9 June
JUNE
The station was quieter than usual. A phone rang somewhere down the hall, and one of the deputies was bent over a report at the front desk, barely looking up as they passed. June followed Holt into his office, already reaching for her purse.
He moved ahead of her and brushed past in the doorway.
It was the slightest contact. Shoulder against shoulder. Nothing anyone else would have noticed. Still, the instant it happened, her heart gave a ridiculous little leap that made her silently curse herself.
It was absurd.
She was old enough to know better than to react to a brush of fabric and warmth like a schoolgirl whose hand had been caught at the movies.
June pulled herself together and crossed to the chair opposite his desk.
She opened her purse, took out her notepad and pen, and began flipping through pages of notes.
Fires. Incidents. Judy. Lucy’s truck. Teacups.
Timelines. Names. Fragments that might matter later.
She found the page she wanted and added another note about the fake truck and the bumpers.
Across from her, Holt had sat down behind the desk. When she looked up, he was sketching on his own notepad.
At first, she thought he was making a list. Then she saw the shape under his hand.
It was the bracelet. Perfectly drawn from memory. Holt had always been a great artist.
June watched him for a moment. His focus had narrowed, his brow slightly furrowed, his mouth set in that line he got when something had reached below the surface and touched old ground.
“Do you think Victoria or Tom has the entire set?” June asked. “The necklace, the earrings, the ring?”
Holt leaned back slightly and looked at the drawing as if it had appeared on the paper without his permission.
“I don’t know.” He blew out a breath. “I’m still a little shocked we found it again.”
June understood that, too. Objects could carry memory in a way people never quite prepared for. A ring, a photograph, a cracked mug, a bracelet. They could turn years inside out in seconds.
“There’s so much around this jewelry set and the theft that’s still unanswered,” Holt said.
“Like what?” June frowned, watching him.
He set the pen down and rested his elbows on the desk.
“What you said earlier. About my mother and my uncle not wanting to press charges or report it missing.” A deeper line formed between his brows. “Why would they do that over an expensive family heirloom?”
June tapped the pen lightly against her page, thinking it through.
“Maybe they sold it to Tom’s parents. Or even Victoria’s father. If it was insured, maybe they thought they could take the insurance money and keep it quiet.” She tried to offer a logical explanation. “It was around the time of all your sister’s medical expenses.”
Holt considered that.
“It was insured, as far as I remember.” His eyes landed on the sketch once again, staring at it as if it held all the answers.
“But if they’d claimed it,” June said, “they’d have had to open a case. Paperwork. Questions. Statements.”
“Exactly.” Holt nodded slowly.
“Then you need to ask your mother.” June’s eyes met his.
Holt looked up at the ceiling as if he might find an easier answer there, then dragged a hand down his face. “I could do that.” He caught her eyes again.
“No,” June said firmly. “You have to do that.”
Especially now that the bracelet had reappeared and there was a real possibility the Morrisons had the entire set, June didn’t see a way around the conversation. Mina might hate it. Holt might hate it more. That didn’t change the fact that they needed answers.
“You know I’m right,” June persisted.
“I know,” Holt admitted. “It’s just not a conversation I’m looking forward to.”
“The sooner you have it, the better.” June gave him an encouraging smile.
He gave a quiet huff that might have been a reluctant agreement.
She capped her pen and slipped the notepad halfway back into her purse.
“You can take the car if you want. I need to get over to the vet’s office anyway and help Lucy. She’s on duty there today.” June moved forward on the seat and sat holding her purse, ready to go.
“Thank you, I’ll take you up on that offer.” He pushed his seat back.
“Good,” June said. “The more information we have for the meeting this afternoon, the better.”
“I need to go check on my mother, anyway,” Holt told June. “She had a migraine this morning.”
June’s concern rose at once.
“Did she have two glasses of wine with dinner?” June looked at Holt inquiringly.
“No.” Holt shook his head. “Ice cream.”
“Oh, Mina, you never learn.” June sighed and then smiled at the memories that flooded her mind. “Your mother does love her ice cream.”
“Yes,” Holt said, picking up the page with the bracelet sketch and looking at it again. “But it doesn’t like her.”
June almost laughed at that, because it was such a ridiculous, familiar little truth. Mina could flirt her way through a room, reduce grown men to obedience with one arch look, and run half the family by pure force of personality, but give her too much dairy and she was felled like a tragic queen.
“If you don’t mind me taking the car.” Holt tore the page free, folded it once, slipped it into his pocket, and stood.
“Not at all.” June reached into her purse for the key fob and held it out. “I’ll walk over to the vet’s office. It isn’t far, and I wanted to stop at the flower shop anyway. I thought I’d take something bright and happy over to the new office.”
She stood as well, and Holt took the key from her hand, their fingers brushing briefly, making her stomach flutter and heart jolt ridiculously again.
June ignored the feelings.
They stood, and a few minutes later, they stepped out of the station together into the warm afternoon.
The air smelled faintly of salt and sun-baked pavement, and somewhere down the block someone was playing music low from an open storefront.
It was the kind of ordinary afternoon that should have invited ease.
Instead, June could feel the case pressing at the edges of everything.
“I just want to get my jacket from the car,” she told him as they reached the parking area.
Holt unlocked it with the fob before she had a chance to do anything and crossed around to the passenger side. By the time she reached him, he already had her jacket in hand.
“Thank you.” June glanced up at him.
He held it out to her, but when she took it, neither of them stepped back at once.
“Be careful,” Holt said.
His voice had changed. Not by much, but enough that she felt it.
She opened her mouth to answer, and before she could, he leaned in and kissed her.
It was not a reckless kiss, nor a long one. It was soft, warm, and so full of old memory that for one impossible suspended second, June forgot how to breathe.
It was not the kind of kiss people invented or reached for in a moment of heat.
It was the kind built over the years. A leaving-for-work kiss. A have-a-good-day kiss. A habit born of mornings, doorways, shared coffee, ordinary life, and belonging.
When he pulled back, Holt’s eyes widened as if he was as startled by what he’d just done as she was.
They stood there staring at each other.
June could hear the gulls. The hum of a passing car. The blood rushing in her ears.
“Holt,” she began, but nothing useful followed it.
He swallowed. “June, I…” Holt stopped and tried again. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened there.”
Her lips still tingled. Her knees felt faintly unreliable as she forced them steady. She gathered what dignity she could and gave a little breath of laughter, hoping it did not sound as nervous as it felt.
“No. I understand.” June swallowed and nodded. He kept looking at her. “I think,” she said, finding steadier ground as she went, “it was muscle memory.”
Something moved in his face then. Surprise. Regret. Something warmer. Something older. Then he gave a short laugh of his own and nodded.
“That’s it,” Holt said. “Muscle memory. An old habit resurfacing from back when we were married.”
“Exactly,” June said, with another nervous laugh.
“I’m so sorry.” Holt ran a hand through his hair.
“Don’t worry about it.” June forced calm into her voice and slid her arms into her jacket. “Now go get answers about the jewelry.”
For a second, he didn’t move, and she had the oddest feeling that if either of them said one wrong thing, the whole careful balance between them would shift.
Then Holt nodded, stepped back, and got into the car.
He started the engine, gave her a small wave through the open window, and pulled away.
June stood where she was for a beat too long after the car disappeared down the street.
Then she let out a slow breath.
Her stomach felt fluttery. Her knees were still untrustworthy. Most annoyingly of all, her lips still remembered him. She had to actually stop her own hand from rising to touch them.
“This is ridiculous,” June muttered under her breath.
No good could come from dissecting that kiss.
If she let herself examine it properly, June would have to admit that her heart had jolted in a way she had no business allowing. She would have to admit she had not only remembered kissing Holt, but she had also wanted to keep doing it for one dangerous second.
No.
Absolutely not.
June squared her shoulders and started toward the flower shop.
As June stepped up to the door and was about to step through, her mind was so full that she wasn’t concentrating and bumped into someone leaving the shop. Her purse flew out of her hand and hit the floor.
“Oh, excuse me,” June said, bending automatically, without looking up.
The man stepped back at once.
“Miss June?” The polished male voice asked.
She looked up sharply.
“Alfred?” June’s brows rose in pleasant surprise.
The Morrisons’ butler smiled with his usual careful politeness.
He looked older than he had when she was young, of course, but still impeccably put together.
Straight-backed. Neat silver hair. Crisp shirt.
Smart jacket despite the heat. Alfred had once smuggled extra cookies to her and Lucy when they visited Tom’s house as girls.
He had also possessed the rare gift of making teenagers feel seen without ever prying.
“I’m so sorry,” Alfred said. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“No, Alfred, this was my fault.” June stooped to gather her purse while helping scoop up the flowers that had slipped loose. “Here you go.”
He accepted them with a grateful smile.
As he did, June’s gaze landed on his hand, and a little wave of shock zapped down her spine.
She said nothing.
“Hopefully no damage done.” A beat later, she looked back up at him, then deliberately at the bouquets instead.
“They look fine,” Alfred assured her.
June smiled politely, but her mind had already gone tight and alert.
“It was nice seeing you again, Miss June,” Alfred said.
“You too, Alfred.” June stepped aside to let him leave.
He gave a small nod and turned to walk away.
June watched as he stepped to the curb and got into a dark car waiting outside. Before the driver pulled away, Alfred looked back once and gave her a final courteous nod.
Then the car was gone.
Instead of going into the shop, June walked to the small alley around the corner from it and pulled her phone from her purse to dial Holt.
He answered almost immediately.
“June, is everything okay?” Holt asked.
“The other night when you went to Victoria’s for dinner,” June said, keeping her voice low. “Did you notice Alfred’s hands?”
There was a brief pause.
“No. Why?” Holt’s tone had changed to one of curiosity.
“I just ran into him outside the flower shop,” June explained. “Holt, Alfred also has scratches on the back of one hand I could see.”