Page 49 of Witches of Honeysuckle House
Owen took a closer look at the photo. “Is that …?”
He flipped the frame over and started to remove the backing; the lights glowed brighter overhead. When he pulled the picture loose, he found half of it torn. He stared at it for a moment then stood quickly and grabbed the photo of Tillie and Violet from the couch. When he held it up to the one of Regina, it fit perfectly.
“The other half,” Florence gasped. She leaned closer to Owen, so close their shoulders brushed and her mind tripped back to her hand on his bicep after the shop had dropped her in his lap. She shook the thought away.
“This photo was taken here,” Florence said. “Right out front. The bookshop used to beGrey’s Gifts.”
“What does it mean?” Owen asked. “Why would my grandfather have this, and why would your grandmother be torn out?”
Florence shook her head. “I don’t know. My mom rarely talked about her mother, and she never mentioned Violet.”
“Maybe they had a falling out?” Owen asked. “Like you and Evie?”
“It’s possible,” Florence said. “But that doesn’t help us understand why the curse started. If we’re going to solve this, we need to go back before Regina and Violet. We need to know what happened to my great-grandparents. I’ve asked around before, but it was seventy-eight years ago. There aren’t many people still alive who are old enough to remember the details. It was a tragedy—that’s all they could tell me.”
“We could go to the library, see if there are any old newspaper clippings,” Owen said.
Florence shook her head. “I’ve tried. There’s nothing pointing to any sort of magical cause. It was a car crash.”
“There might be a police report,” Owen suggested.
“But it was an accident,” Florence said.
“It’s still worth a try.”
Florence nodded slowly. They didn’t have much else to go on, and if Owen really wasn’t interested in her, then maybe Florence could get her own feelings in check to keep him safe.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Florence, Now
The sun had set by the time they stepped out of the shop, and the rain was coming down in sheets. Though Ink made to follow, as soon he stepped one paw on wet pavement, he turned around and went right back inside. If it weren’t for the urgency, Florence would’ve done the same. At least the shop had left two umbrellas by the front door.
“I’ll drive,” Owen shouted over the downpour. He pressed the button on his keys, and the truck parked right out front beeped in response. They made a run for it.
“Thank you for doing this,” Florence said, a little breathless, as she slid into the passenger seat.
“It’s part of my family’s history, too.” Owen wiped his wet hands against his jeans. “Too bad the café’s closed or we could make a copy of the police report and read it over there.”
“Something else to discuss over coffee,” Florence said with a touch of sadness in her voice. She pulled off her glasses to clean the rain from her lenses.
“I’m not sure that would count as me taking you out, but the way you’ve avoided my offers, it might be the only way to get you over there.”
Florence slid her glasses back into place and looked up at him. “I thought you were only asking me to coffee to talk about your aunt.”
“I did want to ask you about her, yes, but that wasn’t all it was.”
Florence flushed, and despite the risks, she couldn’t help the way her heart warmed.
Florence had never had a reason to go to the police station—she wasn’t particularly fond of law enforcement—but if their website was to be believed, they were open to the public at all hours. After she and Owen made another dash through the pouring rain, she was pleased to find the doors unlocked and an older man sitting at the front desk.
Florence shook out her umbrella and turned.
“Please leave your umbrellas by the—” the police officer cut himself short. “Florence Caldwell.”
“Yes, hello,” she said, her eyes landing on his name tag. “Officer Rollins.”
He crossed his arms as he glanced from her to Owen. “The thirteenth isn’t for a few more days.”
