Arden jumped when she heard footsteps on the front porch. She was seated at Reid’s desk trying to concentrate on work, but now she leaped to her feet and hurried over to the window to glance out. She could see Reid through the sidelight. Before he had a chance to insert his key in the lock, she drew back the door, grabbed his arm and all but yanked him inside. She’d never been so relieved to see anyone.
“Hello to you, too,” he quipped, and then he saw her face as she closed the door and turned the dead bolt. He tossed his jacket on the banister and removed his sunglasses. “Arden? What’s going on?”
“Someone broke into your house after you left.”
“What?” He took her arm. “Are you okay? Were you hurt?”
Even as shaken as she was, his concern still gratified her. “I’m fine. I wasn’t touched. He never even saw me. When I realized it wasn’t you, I went upstairs and hid.”
“How did he get in?”
“He came in through the back door.”
His hand tightened on her arm as he glanced past her into the kitchen. Then his gaze shot back to her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I was scared and I’m still a little wobbly, but I’m fine.”
He laid his sunglasses on the entrance table without ever releasing her. “When did all this happen?”
“A little while ago.”
“Did you call the police?”
Arden hesitated. She hadn’t called the police. She hadn’t called anyone. The reason didn’t matter at the moment. They would get to that later. “There wasn’t time. It happened so quickly...”
He took both her arms and studied her intently as if he needed to prove to himself she wasn’t injured. She inhaled sharply. She’d forgotten how dark his eyes were. A deep, rich brown with gold flecks that looked like tiny flares in the sunlight streaming in through the windows. He’d removed his tie and rolled up his shirtsleeves. He was very tanned, Arden noticed. She wondered if he still went to the beach on weekends. She wondered a lot of things about Reid’s life, but now was not the appropriate time to ask questions or wallow in memories. An hour ago, she’d been certain an old killer had come to track her down. She could still picture his shadow across the closet floor, could still hear the sound of his breath as he stood in the doorway searching through Reid’s clothes. Had he known she was there all along? Had he left her alone in order to prolong his sick game?
“Arden?”
She jumped. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
Reid canted his head as if trying to figure something out. “Can you tell me what happened?”
She nodded. “I said someone broke in, but that’s not entirely accurate. He had a key. He let himself in the back door, and he didn’t seem at all worried about being caught. He must have seen you leave and thought the house was empty.” She moved away from Reid’s touch and turned to glance back out at the street. Everything looked normal, but she could imagine someone out there watching the house, perhaps plucking a magnolia blossom from a nearby tree as he vectored in on the window where she stood.
“Did you get a look at him?” Reid asked. “Can you describe him?”
“Not really. I only glimpsed him through the window. He seemed to be about your general height and build.” She scoured a neighbor’s yard before turning back to Reid. “Have you given a key to anyone lately? A repairman or a neighbor maybe?”
“I don’t give out my keys.” He spoke adamantly.
“Did you get the locks changed after you moved in?”
He winced. “I’ve been meaning to.”
“Reid. That’s the first thing you’re supposed to do when you move into a new place.”
“I know that, but I’ve been a little busy lately.” Now he was the one who turned to glance out the window. He looked tense as he studied the street. They were both on edge. “This is my fault,” he said. “I should never have left you here alone.”
She scoffed at his reasoning. “Don’t be ridiculous. You couldn’t have known something like this would happen. And you did caution me not to let anyone in. That’s why I hid. I kept thinking about what you said earlier. We’re both connected to that murder. If your warning hadn’t been fresh on my mind, I might have confronted him. Who knows what would have happened then?”
“You’ve always been quick on your feet,” Reid said. “So you went upstairs to hide. Could you tell if anything was missing when you came back down?”
“I don’t think he took anything. But he may have left something.”
Reid frowned at her obliqueness. “What do you mean?”
“He went up to your apartment. By that time, I was hiding in your closet and I couldn’t see anything. I heard him walking around in the bedroom, opening dresser drawers and looking out on the balcony. When he came over to the closet, I was certain he knew I was in there. You can’t imagine the things that went through my head. I even thought I smelled magnolia...” She rubbed a hand up and down the chill bumps on her arm. “You must think I’m crazy.”
He gave her a strange look. “Because you smelled magnolia? No, I don’t think you’re crazy. Far from it. What happened then?”
“He dropped a note on the floor. Or else it fell out of one of your pockets. He kicked it to the back of the closet as if he didn’t want you to find it right away.”
Reid had gone very still. Something flickered in his eyes. “Do you have the note?”
She took it from her dress pocket and handed it to him. He unfolded the paper and scanned the contents. Arden watched his expression. The look that came over his face frightened her more than the intruder.
“That’s the dead woman’s name, isn’t it?” she asked quietly.
He glanced up from the note. “How did you know?”
“The police chief had a press conference earlier. I streamed it while I worked.”
“Did he say anything about suspects? Or the magnolia blossom?”
“He was pretty vague. They’re pursuing several leads, leaving no stone unturned and all that, but he didn’t say a word about the magnolia blossom.”
“They’re still keeping that close to the vest,” Reid said.
“Or else they have no idea of the significance.”
“I think they know. They don’t want to panic the public with premature talk of a copycat killer.”
“Maybe,” Arden said pensively. “I keep going back to my mother’s murder. The magnolia blossom left on the summerhouse steps was all but forgotten because the crimson kiss of death soon became Finch’s signature. You said yourself only a handful of people would understand the implication of a white magnolia blossom. You and I are two of them. My mother’s killer is a third.”
“I don’t want to get sidetracked with a long conversation about Orson Lee Finch’s guilt or innocence,” Reid said. “Right now, we need to focus on our immediate situation.”
“I agree. First things first. Why would someone break into your home and leave that note? Did you know this woman?” Arden had expected an instant denial; instead, he dropped his gaze to the note, pausing for so long that her heart skipped a beat. “Reid?”
He glanced up. “I didn’t know her, but it’s possible I may have seen her on the night she was murdered.”
Arden caught her breath. “When? Where? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I didn’t know until last night. I’m still not certain it was her.”
“Reid—”
He headed her off. “I’ll tell you everything I know, but I need a drink first. It’s been a long day.”
Arden followed him into the kitchen. When he got a bottle of whiskey from one of the cabinets, she took it from him and poured the contents down the sink.
He didn’t try to stop her, though his look was one of annoyance. “Why did you do that?”
“Because a drink is the last thing you need,” she said firmly. “Until we figure out what’s going on, we both need to keep a clear head.”
He looked as if he wanted to argue, and then he shrugged. “Water, then.”
She handed him a chilled bottle from the refrigerator. He took a long swig before recapping and setting it aside. “Let’s go sit in my office. This could take a while.”
Arden led the way this time, taking the position behind his desk where she had been working earlier. Reid didn’t seem to notice or care. He plopped down in a chair across from her, his long legs sprawled in front of him as he braced his elbows on the armrests.
“Where should we start?” Arden asked.
“I’m still trying to figure out why you didn’t call the police,” he said.
“I told you. There wasn’t time.”
“I mean afterward. Why didn’t you at least call me?”
“You said you had meetings all afternoon. I didn’t want to leave a voice mail. I thought it better that I tell you in person. As for the police...” She paused. “How long have we known each other? Since we were four years old, right? Has there ever been a time when I couldn’t read you like a book?”
He lifted a brow but kept silent.
“I knew the moment you came to Berdeaux Place last evening that you were keeping something from me. I felt it even stronger this morning. I didn’t want to involve the police until I could figure out what you might be mixed up in.”
Reid looked taken aback by her revelation. “You were trying to protect me?”
“Why does that surprise you? We’ve always had each other’s back.”
“Fourteen years, Arden.”
“So?”
“That’s a long time.”
“Some things don’t change, Reid.” She tried not to think about the loneliness of those fourteen years. “My turn to ask the questions,” she said briskly. “Who was that man on the street you talked to this morning?”
He answered without hesitation, as if he’d decided it was pointless to keep things from her any longer. “Dave Brody.”
“Your father’s ex-client? What did he want?”
Reid sighed. “It’s a long story—in a nutshell, he has a bone to pick about his defense. Ever since he got out of prison, he’s been coming around making veiled threats. He watches the house, follows me when I leave. That sort of thing.”
“But you weren’t his attorney. Why is he harassing you?”
“He wants me to help prove that my father was responsible for Ginger Vreeland’s disappearance.”
Arden stared at him in shock. “Responsible...how? He doesn’t think—”
“No, nothing like that. He thinks she was paid to leave town.”
“That’s still insane. Boone Sutton is one of the best defense attorneys in the state. Why would he get rid of his own witness?”
“Apparently, Ginger kept a little black book with all her clients’ names and their preferences. Kinks. Whatever you want to call them. Brody is convinced my father was one of her clients. He was afraid of what might come out during her testimony so he arranged for her to disappear.”
“But she was prepped for her testimony. Wouldn’t he have known what she would say before he called her to the witness stand?”
“Witnesses have been known to fall apart under cross-examination,” Reid said. “Plus, we don’t know what went down between them before she left town. Maybe she blackmailed him. Offered to keep quiet in exchange for money.”
“Wow.” Arden sat back against the chair. “I have to say, this is getting really interesting.”
“I’m glad you’re entertained.”
“Don’t tell me you’re not. Boone Sutton and a prostitute? Wouldn’t that set tongues to wagging!” A dozen questions bubbled, but Arden batted them away so that she could remain focused on the situation at hand. “What happens if we find Ginger Vreeland and her little black book? What does Brody plan to do with the contents?”
“My guess is, he’s looking for a big payday. Barring that, he’ll settle for my father’s public humiliation.”
“And you’re helping him,” Arden said. “So what does he have on you?”
“Are you sure you want to hear this?”
“Yes, I think I’d better.”
He told her about the confrontation in the alley and Brody’s claim that he had photographs from the bar. He told her about the note, the laced drink and the possibility that someone with a lot of power was setting him up for murder. Arden leaned forward, watching his expression as she hung on his every word.
By the time he finished, she was aghast. “This is unreal. Who would do such a thing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you sure Brody’s not the one setting you up? Or maybe he’s just making it all up to get you to help him.”
“He showed me a photograph from the bar, so he’s not making everything up. As to the rest...” Reid shrugged. “I don’t put anything past him.”
“What are you going to do?”
“For the time being, try to keep a low profile.” He massaged his temples with his fingertips.
“What did you tell the detective who came by here this morning?”
“Nothing of what I just told you.”
“Why not? If someone is setting you up, the police need to know about it. At the very least, you should tell them about Brody’s threats.”
Reid dropped his hands back to the armrests. “You saw the way Detective Graham looked at us this morning. He didn’t even bother to hide his contempt.”
“He did have an attitude,” Arden agreed.
“More than an attitude. He came to my front door with a chip on his shoulder. Turns out, our paths have crossed before. He arrested me several years back. Apparently, my father pulled strings to arrange for my release and have my record expunged. Then he made sure Graham wasn’t promoted to detective for another five years.”
Arden digested that for a moment. “Does your father have that kind of clout with the police department?”
“Yes. But if he interfered with anyone’s career, it likely had more to do with my black eye and cracked ribs than it did with the initial arrest.”
“Graham beat you up?”
“Not personally, no. Two thugs jumped me in the holding cell, and I’d be willing to bet Graham was behind the attack. I think he wanted to teach me a lesson. Maybe he still does. The point is, if he gets a look at those photographs, he’ll zero in on me to the exclusion of any other leads or suspects. If he goes to the bar and asks the right questions, someone may remember that they saw me leave with the victim. I didn’t,” he added quickly. “But Brody is right. The power of suggestion is a real thing. That’s why eye-witness testimony can be so unreliable.”
Arden shook her head. “I had no idea all this was going on. No wonder you looked like death warmed over when I got here this morning.”
“Felt like it, too.”
She said hesitantly, “This is a long shot, but you don’t think your father could be behind this, do you? You said you were fired from Sutton & Associates. It must have been a serious falling-out if he also disowned you. Maybe this is his way of teaching you a lesson.”
“Boone Sutton is a lot of things, but he’s no murderer,” Reid said.
“Maybe that girl wasn’t supposed to die. Maybe Brody was just supposed to harass you so that you would be forced to return to the firm. But he took matters into his own hands because he has his own agenda.”
“It’s possible, of course, but I don’t see my father getting into bed with a guy like Dave Brody. Not with their history.”
“Their history is precisely why he would have thought of Brody in the first place. But leaving that aside, is there anyone else who would want to frame you? Do you have any other enemies that you know of?”
He scowled at the window as if he were deep in thought. “There may be someone,” he said slowly. “You’re not going to like hearing about it, though.”
“I take it you don’t mean Detective Graham.”
Reid’s gaze came back to hers. “Your grandfather was waiting for me when I came out of the courthouse earlier. He asked me to take a ride.”
“What?” Arden could hardly comprehend such a thing. “Clement Mayfair asked you to take a ride? Why? What did he want?”
“He warned me to stay away from you.”
“What?”
Reid nodded. “He thinks now that your grandmother is gone he can have a relationship with you. He doesn’t want me standing in the way.”
“He said that? I’m...speechless,” Arden sputtered.
“I was pretty surprised myself,” Reid said.
“Surprised doesn’t even begin to cover it. That man...that insufferable man...has never once shown the slightest bit of interest in me, and now he’s warning you to stay away from me?” She got up and paced to the window. “This just proves I’m right. He’s up to something.”
“I think so, too,” Reid said. “Until we can figure out his agenda, you should stay away from him.”
She marched back to the desk and plopped down. “Oh, no. I’m going over there tonight to give him a piece of my mind.”
“Arden, don’t do that.”
“Who does he think he is? He can’t bully my friends and get away with it. He can’t bully me. I won’t let him.”
“Calm down, okay? I understand how you feel but listen to me for a minute. Arden? Are you listening?”
She folded her arms. “What?”
“Clement Mayfair is a powerful man with unlimited resources. We have to be careful how we take him on. We have to keep our cool. He said I didn’t want him for an enemy and I believe him.”
She glanced at Reid in alarm. “Does this mean you don’t want to take my case? Maybe you don’t want me working here, either. I understand if you don’t. I could walk out the door right now, no hard feelings.”
“I didn’t say any of that.”
“I know, but I came here this morning and more or less forced myself on you.”
A smile flitted. “I’m not sure I would put it quite that way.”
“You know what I mean. I made it nearly impossible for you to say no to me. I’m giving you that chance now. Say the word, Reid.”
He gave her an exasperated look. “Did you even hear what I said? We need to be careful how we take him on. We. Us. You and me.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
He entwined his fingers beneath his chin as he gazed at her across the desk. “Weren’t you the one who said we make a formidable pair?”
“Yes, but that was before I knew my grandfather had threatened you. You’re trying to start your own firm. The last thing you need is Clement Mayfair making trouble for you. And you don’t need to protect me. I can take care of myself.”
The gold flecks in his eyes suddenly seemed on fire as his gaze intensified. “I told you before, old habits die hard.”
“Fourteen years, Reid.”
“Some things don’t change.”
* * *
ARDEN HAD A difficult time forgetting that look in Reid’s eyes. She thought about it all the way home. She thought about it during an early, solitary dinner, and she was still thinking about those golden flecks when she drifted out to the garden. The sun had dipped below the treetops, but the air had not yet cooled. The breeze that blew through the palmettos was hot and sticky, making her wonder if a storm might be brewing somewhere off the coast.
She started down the walkway, taking note of what needed to be done to the gardens. She wouldn’t linger long outside. Once the light started to fade, she would hurry back inside, lock the doors, set the alarm and curl up with a mindless TV program until she grew drowsy. For now, though, she still had plenty of light, and the exotic dome of the summerhouse beckoned.
As tempted as she was by memories, she couldn’t bring herself to climb the steps and explore the shadowy interior. She diverted course just as she had last evening, finding herself once again at the greenhouse. She peered through the glass walls, letting her gaze travel along the empty tables and aisles. No one was about. She wondered if her uncle had already been by before she got home. He had been cordial and pleasant, but Arden still didn’t feel comfortable with his having the run of the place. Did she dare risk offending him by asking for the key back? Or should she take the advice she’d given to Reid and have all the locks changed?
That wouldn’t be a bad idea in any case, she decided. For all she knew, there could be any number of keys floating around. The notion that her grandfather might have gotten his hands on one was distinctly unnerving.
As she stood gazing into the greenhouse, her mind drifted back to her conversation with her uncle and how as a child he’d snuck out of his father’s house every chance he got so that he could come here to Berdeaux Place. Arden could imagine him in the garden, peering through the glass walls of the greenhouse to watch his mother and sister as they happily worked among the plants. How lonely he must have been back then. How abandoned he must have felt. What could have happened in her grandparents’ marriage to drive Evelyn away, taking her daughter and leaving her son behind to be raised by a cold, loveless man? How could any mother make that choice?
The answer was simple. She hadn’t been given a choice.
And now Clement Mayfair wanted a relationship with Arden, his only granddaughter. After all these years, why the sudden interest in her welfare? The answer again was simple. She had something he wanted.
Maybe it was her imagination, but the breeze suddenly grew chilly as the shadows in the garden lengthened. She turned away from the greenhouse, trusting that her mother’s cereus wouldn’t bloom for another few nights.
She paused again on her way back to the house, her gaze going once more to the summerhouse dome. Did she dare take a closer look? Once the sun went down, the light would fade quickly and she didn’t want to be caught out in the garden at twilight. Orson Lee Finch was in prison and would likely remain there for the rest of his natural life, but another killer was out there somewhere. One who knew about the magnolia blossom that had been left on the summerhouse steps.
Arden approached those steps now with a curious blend of excitement and dread. She stood at the bottom, letting her gaze roam over the domed roof and the intricate latticework walls, peering up at the window from which her mother’s killer had once stared back at her. Then she drew an unsteady breath as her mind went back to that twilight. She had stood then exactly where she stood now, her heart hammering against her chest. Her mother had lain motionless on the grass, her skin as pale as moonlight.
Even without the bloodstains on her mother’s dress, Arden would have known that something truly horrible had happened. She hadn’t fully understood that her mother was gone, not at first, but she knew she wanted nothing so much as to turn and run back to the safety of the house and into her grandmother’s comforting embrace. A scent, a sound...a strange knowing...had held her in thrall until a scream finally bubbled up from her paralyzed throat. Then she hadn’t been able to stop screaming even when help arrived, even when she’d been led back inside, away from the body, away from those disembodied eyes in the summerhouse window. She hadn’t calmed down until her grandmother had sent for her best friend, Reid.
His father had brought him right over. Back then, he had always come when she needed him. Some things don’t change.
The breeze was still warm, but Arden felt the deepest of chills. She hugged her arms to herself as she placed a foot on the bottom step. A rustling sound from inside the summerhouse froze her. Was someone in there?
More likely a squirrel or a bird, she told herself.
Still, she retreated back to the garden, rushing along the flagstone path, tripping as she glanced over her shoulder. No one was there, of course. That didn’t stop her. She hurried inside and locked the door against the encroaching shadows. Then she unlocked the liquor cabinet and poured herself a shot of her grandmother’s best whiskey.
Arden downed the fiery drink and poured another, carrying the glass with her upstairs to her bedroom. She turned on all the lights and searched through her closet until she found her secret stash—the reams of notes she and Reid had compiled during their summer investigation. They had only been children playing at detective, but even then they’d been resourceful and inquisitive. Formidable. It wasn’t inconceivable that they may have stumbled across something important without realizing it.
Carrying everything back down to the front parlor, she dropped to the floor and spread the notebooks around her on the rug. Imagining her grandmother’s irritation at such a mess, she muttered a quick apology before digging in.
Thumbing through the pages, she marveled at how much time and attention a couple of twelve-year-olds had devoted to their endeavor. She finished her drink and poured another. She wasn’t used to hard liquor and the whiskey soon went to her head. It was dark out by this time and she turned on a lamp before curling up on the sofa, leaving notebooks and markers strewn across the floor. It was too early to sleep. She would be up at the crack of dawn if she went to bed now. She would rest her eyes just for a few minutes. She would simply lie there very still as the room spun around her.
Sometime later, her eyes flew open, and for a moment she couldn’t remember where she was. Then she wondered what had awakened her so abruptly. A sound...a smell...an instinct?
Just a dream, she told herself as she settled back against the couch. Nothing to worry about.
But she could hear something overhead...upstairs. Where exactly was the scrabbling sound coming from?
Bolting upright, she sat in the lamplight listening to the house. Berdeaux Place was over a hundred and fifty years old. Creaks and groans were to be expected. Nothing to worry about.
The sound came again, bringing her to her feet. Squirrels, she told herself. Just squirrels. Nothing to worry about.
A family of squirrels had once invaded the attic, wreaking havoc on wiring and insulation until her grandmother had hired an exterminator. He’d trapped mother and babies and transported them to White Point Garden. At least that was the story Arden had been told.
She wasn’t afraid of squirrels or mice, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep until she made sure nothing had found its way inside the house. Grabbing her grandmother’s sword, she followed the sound out into the foyer. She wasn’t sure what she hoped to accomplish with the blade. She certainly wouldn’t run a poor squirrel through, but she liked to think she had enough grit to protect herself from an intruder. If nothing else, the feel of the curved hilt in her hand brought out her inner warrior woman. She went up the stairs without hesitation, pausing only at the top to listen.
Her grandmother’s bedroom was at the front of the house, a large, airy room with an ancient, opulent en suite. Arden’s room was at the back, with long windows that overlooked the garden. Her mother’s room was across the hall.
Arden following the rummaging sound down the hallway, pausing only long enough to glance in her room. Everything was as she’d left it that morning. Bed neatly made up, suitcases unpacked, clothing all stored away.
She crossed to her mother’s room, hovering in the hallway with her hand on the knob. After the murder, Arden’s grandmother had locked the room, allowing only the housekeeper inside once a week to dust and vacuum. The room had become a mausoleum, abandoned and forbidden until Arden had gone to her grandmother and told her how much she hated the locked door. It was as if they were trying to lock their memories away, trying to forget her mother ever existed.
After that, the door had been opened, and Arden had been free to visit her mother’s room whenever she desired. She used to spend hours inside, sitting by the windows or playing dress up in front of the long, gilded mirror. Sometimes she would just lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling as she drank in the lingering scent of her mother’s candles.
Arden wasn’t sure why she hesitated to go inside now. She wasn’t afraid of ghosts. She wasn’t afraid to remember her mother, whom she had loved with all her heart. She had a strange sense of guilt and displacement. Like she had been gone for so long she had no business violating this sacred place. Her emotions made little sense and felt irrational.
Taking a breath, she opened the door and stepped across the threshold. Moonlight flooded the room, glinting so brilliantly off the mirror that Arden was startled back into the hallway. Then she laughed at herself and reached for the light switch, her gaze roaming the room as she waited for her pulse to settle.
Her mother’s domain was just as she’d left it all those years ago. The room was pretty and eclectic, bordering on Bohemian with the silk bed throw and thick floor pillows at all the windows. A suitable space for the mysterious young woman her mother had been. Arden could still smell the scented candles, but how was that possible? Surely the scent would have faded by now. Unless her grandmother had periodically replaced them. She may have even lit them from time to time.
Arden walked over to the dresser and lifted one of the candles to her nose. Sandalwood. The second was patchouli. The third...magnolia.
She was so shocked by the scent, she almost dropped the glass holder. Her fingers trembled, her heart pounded. She quickly set the candle aside. It’s just a scent, she told herself. Nothing to worry about.
Hadn’t she been the one who had talked her grandmother out of chopping down the magnificent old magnolia tree that shaded the summerhouse?
It’s just a tree, Grandmother.
“It’s just a scent,” she whispered.
But the notion that someone other than her grandmother had been in her mother’s room, burning a magnolia candle...
It was just a scent. Just a dream. Just squirrels...
Arden backtracked out of the room and closed the door. She hurried across the hall to her room, locking the door behind her and then shoving a chair up under the knob. She was safe enough at Berdeaux Place. The doors were all locked and the security system activated. No one could get in without her knowing.
She went over to the window to glance down into the garden. She could see the top of the summerhouse peeking through the trees and the glint of moonlight on the greenhouse. The night was still and calm, and yet she couldn’t shake the scary notion that someone was down there hidden among the shadows. She’d once been expert at climbing down the trellis to escape her room. What if someone else had the notion to climb up? Was she really safe here?
She couldn’t stand guard at the window all night. Neither could she close her eyes and fall back asleep. She was too keyed up now. Too wary of every night sound, no matter how slight.
Scouring the grounds one last time, she finally left the window and lay down on the bed, her grandmother’s sword beside her. She thought again of Orson Lee Finch in prison, but the image of an aging killer behind bars gave her no comfort because another killer had already struck once. If someone wanted to set Reid up for murder, who better than her as his next victim?
She pulled the covers up over her and snuggled her head against the pillow, but she didn’t fall asleep until dawn broke over the city and the light in her room turned golden.