Page 110 of Roses Are Dead
“How in the hell do you know how much I—” Oh, right. Kate. Or Zoe. “Your women, I swear.”
“Better watch yourself. Yours seems like a ringleader.” He nudged Fin. “Sierra’s got competition.” Then he winked.
Fin laughed. “Ain’t no competition. Betty Jo already declared a winner.” He strode toward his truck as we joked around. But he couldn’t just leave it hanging there, could he?
Jackson and I traded glances. Who was going to ask first? I doubted either of us wanted to know the truth.
Fin pulled out a plastic bin filled to the brim with black fabric and shiny shit. “I didn’t buy that.”
He glanced up. “Not yet.”
Fuck my life.
Fin popped the lid. On top was a Ziplock bag filled with jewelry. Most of it was silver. There were stones of all colors and sizes embedded in rings, necklaces, and even a fragile-looking crown. He shifted that to the side and dug out a long package wrapped in a hide. “Here it is.”
He unrolled the bundle, and the jeweled scabbard winked in the moonlight.
Jackson whistled. “Damn.”
Fin tipped his head, accepting the appreciation. “Wait ’til you see the blade.”
The important part, according to everything in Fin’s world.
“Here, you do the honors.” He held it out with both hands.
It was barely a foot long, but heavy. I took it by the hilt. The span was too small for my big hands, but probably perfect for Rose’s. I fiddled with the catch that kept the knife locked in place. It was a crescent moon, hooked around a mounted black stone. In the dim light, I couldn’t tell if the stone was clear or not, but it sparkled like a well deep in shadow.
“That’s onyx. Edie says it wards of bad juju. Sierra won’t touch it. Says it’s cursed.”
Perfect. I slipped the knife free and admired the veins in the steel. Damascus knives were always my favorite. The intricacies of each fold told a story. The honed edges glittered.
“Best be careful. It ain’t been blooded yet. It’ll be thirsty.”
Fin and his superstitions. I slipped it back in the scabbard before handing it to Jackson. He admired it for a little too long. He went as far as to balance the unsheathed dagger on an outstretched finger. Not by the tip, but at a sweet spot above the bolster. “It’s a little blade-heavy.”
“That’s better for cutting. She ain’t got the upper arm strength for stabbing.” Fin snatched the blade out of his hand and spun it before slipping it into its protective case. “I got a thigh belt for it, too. She can wear it under her skirts. Speaking of…” He set the knife on top of the jewelry bag and pulled out a long velvet dress.
Betty Jo had outdone herself. Unless…I eyed the fantasy-themed embroidery. “Did Edie make this?”
“Yup. And the jewelry. She heard about your woman from Betty Jo and got busy.”
Busy wasn’t the word for it. More like obsessive. I swallowed. Her work was not cheap. “How much?”
Fin made a noise that told me nothing. Then he clarified, “Indy doesn’t know.”
That meant Edie gave it away.
“And when he does?”
Fin shrugged. “I figure eight grand.”
Holy Frigg. At least it wasn’t five or six digits.
Jackson slapped my arm with the back of his hand. “Kate’s wedding dress was nine large. Are you wussing out?”
“Fuck off.” I pulled out my wallet and began counting out Benjamins. “There’s three grand. If Indy bitches, shut him up for me.”
“That’d take another two hundred.” Fin eyed my near-empty wallet.
