“I found a note, from Juliet. One she wrote to her dead sister. The day before she died.”
Daniel looked confused. Claire wasn’t certain whether to be happy about that or not.
“Is that why I am here, surrounded by this foul salt? Because of a note?”
“Juliet broke off your engagement.”
Daniel closed his eyes, and such pain flashed across his face, it hurt to see. “My mother did not approve of the match, and made it known, publicly. Juliet was afraid that if she married me, I would lose everything.” He met Claire’s eye. “When I was attacked, I was on my way here to tell her that my mother had no control over me, or my finances, and even if she did, I would still happily marry. With Juliet at my side, I was a rich man, no matter how much money I possessed.”
“If you loved her as you say, openly, why did she write this?”
Claire held the note up so Daniel could read it.
“Where did you find this?” His voice was deadly quiet, the rage in it leaving goosebumps on Claire’s arms.
“In her secretary.”
“This is not Juliet’s handwriting.”
Claire stepped back. “I compared it—”
“She did not write this. Do you have another sample?”
“I—yes.” Claire pulled another folded note out of her pocket. “They are identical—”
“They are close, but this is where the forger made their mistake. Juliet wrote her thoughts in notes, which everyone knew. What only Emily and I knew was that Juliet always signed those notes.”
She looked at the second note. “I didn’t see a signature when I compared them, and I don’t see one now.”
Daniel let out an impatient sound. “After the last word, in the second note. She always ended them with a hand drawn sprig of lavender. Sometimes she wove it into the lettering of the last word. Hold up the bloody paper—there, right there.” His finger stabbed at the paper. “Check all of her notes, and you will find the same. She did it on all her correspondence, whether it was notes to herself, or a letter to a friend. I found it charming, and clever. Her middle name was Lavender.”
He looked at her, defiant and scared. Claire met his eyes, hoping that what he just told her was not some smooth lie. “Annie—please bring me the pile of papers on the desk. Wait until I tell you to hand them to me.”
She watched Annie sprint to the desk and gather up all the correspondence she had pulled out of Juliet’s secretary, then turned to Daniel. “Move one inch while she is passing the papers to me over the salt, and I will drive this poker straight through you.”
“Understood, witch.”
It hurt that they were back to the barely contained animosity. Even as she suspected Daniel, she still liked him, wanted him to be innocent. Keeping her gaze on him, the tip of the poker leveled an inch from his chest, she held out her free hand, careful not to cross the salt. Annie laid the papers in her open hand and backed away quickly.
Daniel didn’t even blink.
Glancing up at him every couple of seconds, Claire scanned the other correspondence. Every single one had the sprig of lavender, sometimes cleverly worked into her name, other times a small drawing at the end of the note or letter.
“Have I passed your damn fool test, witch?”
“I’m sorry. I had to know, before I left my power wide open.” She broke the salt circle with her foot and stepped away from Daniel. He glared at her as he stood, as he walked past her, finally freeing her from that vengeful, powerful gaze. Her next words stopped his furious stride. “Someone was meant to find that note, Daniel.”
He swung around—and disappeared, reappearing in front of her, so close she almost stumbled backward. His hand caught her wrist, his icy grip burning into her skin.
“I would seek to learn who wrote it, from one who would know.”
He studied Claire, like she already had the answer…
“Oh,” she whispered. “You think—”
“I do. Which means she has known, all these years, who murdered my Juliet.”
Annie cleared her throat. “Care to let me in on the joke?” Claire held out her hand, and pulled Annie down to whisper in her ear. “Holy sh—” She cut herself off, and met Claire’s eyes. “How?”
“Just as we did with Daniel. A trap.”