Page 54 of Her Cruel Dahlias

Cricket’s breath caught as she trailed a finger down the side of the golden frame. “You still have it?”

“I’ve had several customers offer to purchase it, but I could never get rid of this piece or the one of Bram.”

She studied the painting beside it of Bram when he was about fifteen years old, running a brush through his horse’s mane. “I would love it if you painted me a piece that I can take with me one day.” Or at least she hoped she would make it to that day…

“Of course.” Anika brought a hand across her growing belly as she pulled out a set of paintbrushes from the desk drawer. “Now, would you like to dance while I paint?”

Cricket lifted one of the thicker brushes. “I’d like to paint this time.”

“Then we’ll paint.”

They sat beside one another and worked on their art pieces, but as Cricket moved the brush, dipping it into various shades of reds, blacks, and greens, she couldn’t stop herself from painting vines covered in red roses and black dahlias.

Cricket lost track of time as the hours ticked by. Eventually, Anika stood, stretching, and said, “Should we get something to eat in the garden? Then we can proceed to target practice.”

A thrill coursed through her at the thought of pulling the trigger of a gun, and Cricket found herself eager to begin learning to use the weapon as she and Anika shared cucumber sandwiches and lemon tea. Anika proved herself to indeed be an excellent shot, striking the target through the center before handing the rifle to Cricket. “Calm your nerves,” she said. “Exhale. Focus just below the center.”

Cricket took a deep breath, holding the gun steady as Anika had told her to do. She then aimed, the bullet piercing not far from Anika’s.

“Brilliant!” Anika grinned.

They took turns firing shots until Bram’s voice echoed behind them. “I suppose asking you both to rest would be too much.”

“This was something I should’ve been teaching Cricket already. She’s a natural,” Anika said.

“I’m sorry to have to end your entertainment, but there may be a new lead and I need Cricket to come with me to meet with someone who says the Dahlia Murderer attacked her. Leslie specifically asked for Cricket and refused to talk to us without her present.”

Cricket furrowed her brow. It couldn’t be the same woman, could it? “Leslie? From the Garland?”

Bram nodded. “It happened last night, but she says she was afraid to come forward until today. She doesn’t trust us since word spread about the incident with Charles, and she’s uncertain what the other authorities are capable of, so she wants you there. The main reason is that you survived your murder.”

“Leslie does realize that my murderer was a different person, right? And even then, I only lived because a necromancer brought me back to life.”

Bram shrugged. “She doesn’t care and is very adamant about it. She just wants to talk to you.”

“Yes, of course I’ll go,” Cricket said. It would be a way for her to possibly find out more and could help the case.

Anika took the gun from her. “Be careful. I’ll have the servants prepare a meal for when you return.”

Cricket walked beside Bram to the carriage and sat opposite him. He picked up a notebook to read over as the horses took them away from the manor.

“Still no matches on the handwriting?” Cricket asked.

He sighed. “No. Miles and the other authorities have been going from home to home, questioning and searching. But they keep coming up empty. There’s also a chance the murderer isn’t a resident here. In a city of thousands, a stranger wouldn’t easily stand out, it’s true—especially if they’re attempting to blend in.”

There had to be a way to uncover something faster. “And no luck on finding another necromancer?”

“We’re still hoping to find one.”

If they ever did, maybe they could revive Juniper. That possibility led to hope blossoming in her chest, that maybe a necromancer would come out of hiding and journey to Nobel.

The carriage drew to a stop in front of the authority building, and Cricket followed Bram inside to a room at the end of the hall where Leslie waited. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a plait, and her pale blue eyes lit up as they met hers. She straightened in her chair, blinking with a content expression. “Cricket,” she said.

Cricket took the woman’s hands and sat. “Oh, Leslie, are you all right? What a horrid trial you experienced.”

“Yes, I’m fine. May I talk to you alone first, though?” She stayed facing Cricket, but she watched Bram out of the corners of her eyes.

Cricket nodded to Bram, and he shut the door, leaving the two of them alone. “You were attacked last night? What happened? Was it after you left the pub or somewhere else?” She was lucky she escaped the bastard when no one else had.

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