Page 42 of The Devil in Oxford
Confused, I gave my head a small shake as a child bumped into me from behind. “My what?”
“Favorite flavor.”
“Would you believe I don’t think I have one? I…” I couldn’tthink. Couldn’t answer. Favorite sweets were the sort of thing people who cared for one another knew. Favorite colors, names of siblings, the way one takes their tea. That I adore my baths. That Ruan preferred ginger sweets but still purchased lemon ones to remember a long dead friend. My aching head spun. It was a devastatingly human sort of detail that I was not at all prepared for, certainly not while we were chasing a murderer.
I heard him laugh softly behind me as he let go of me and laid his left hand on the small of my back, stilling my mind as that strange coolness rushed through my veins. “It’s only penny sweets, Ruby. Nothing more. Besides. I already knew you prefer ginger.”
I stared at him dumbfounded. Of course I did, but the fact that he also knew that was far more dangerous than anything else I was facing in Oxford.
CHAPTERNINETEENThat’s the Trouble with Murder
WEmade it back to the townhome without spotting the woman again, and yet I could not shake the sensation that it was not the last time we would see her. Ruan pulled the sack of sweets from his pocket and placed them gently on the table next to some cut hellebore that Mrs. Penrose must have picked up on her own at the market today. Untucking my blouse, I withdrew the stolen file from my waistband and laid it on the tabletop.
“You will be the death of me, Ruby Vaughn. I swear it.” His nimble fingers began unfastening the cuffs of his shirt and he rolled his sleeves up before washing his hands in the sink. He turned back to me, gesturing for me to sit.
Puzzled, I sank down onto the kitchen chair. “What are you…”
He took my chin in his fingers and tilted my head into the light, examining my wound. “Turn your head to the left.”
I did. “Ruan, I don’t understand—”
“Now right.”
I sighed and complied.
“And up?”
I let out a pained groan. “Please stop coddling me.”
Ruan placed his hands on his hips and raised his brows. “The blow to your head certainly isn’t affecting your stubbornness.”
“I’m not stubborn…” I grumbled. “I amfineas I told you. Besides, I don’t have time tonotbe fine. Mr. Mueller isdead, and we are still no closer to finding out who the killer is. That’stwobodies now instead of one.”
He ran his thumb tenderly along my cheekbone, before turning away to fill a kettle and set it on to heat. Either he agreed with my assessment that I was perfectly well, or he had simply grown tired of arguing the point.
“How did you know I was at the police station? Was it your—” I gestured at the center of his chest, still having trouble voicing the peculiar connection between us.
“No… oddly enough it wasn’t.” A pained expression crossed his face. “But there is something I need to tell you about this morning.”
I didn’t like the sound of that.
Ruan folded his arms, drumming his fingers on his forearms. “I went back to Harker’s museum after I left Laurent’s house. I started home, but could not recall if we’d locked the door to the museum when we left. I dropped by to make certain. It was probably four or five o’clock in the morning.”
I furrowed my brow. “The door was open though…”
He nodded grimly. “I know. It was when I arrived as well. Someone had pried it open. The wood was damaged. I decided to go inside and see if anything was taken.”
“Ruan, that was incredibly—”
“Reckless?” He cocked an eyebrow. “I recognize that. Especially in light of…” He gestured at my brow.
The kettle began to whistle, and Ruan took it from the range.
“Was anything taken?”
He poured the water into the nearby teapot. “All of the jars.Plus several crates near where we were standing. They also took the tongue.”
“It had been lying on the floor—why cut someone’s tongue out to begin with? I suppose if the jars were stolen, then this gives credence to Leona’s theory of cocaine.”
