The Mystery Stone

one

Whitefield, New Hampshire—1998

The attic door creaked open with a slight push. Jeanette flipped the light switch upward and squinted at the dim, uncovered bulb hanging from the ceiling. Tom stood close, pressing against her hip.

Stop nudging forward, she whispered through gritted teeth.

I wanna see inside. He knocked his elbow on her rib cage.

Jeanette shifted her backside, leaning in front of the entry, and blocked his path. Jack told us to stay downstairs. We’re not even allowed up here.

Then why did you follow me upstairs?

Because you’re the world’s most annoying little brother and always get into trouble.

Well, you’re the universe’s bossiest sister and never leave me alone. Tom stiffened his torso and huffed, folding his arms across his chest.

Jeanette dropped her shoulders and exhaled long. Let’s just hurry before Jack comes home. If we’re caught, Mom and Dad will never let us spend another summer in the White Mountains. She stepped aside, and Tom bolted into the center of the room.

He searched in every direction. Whoa, cool.

Jeanette rested against a dusty wall; the smell of old books and a dampness lingered in the air. What do you expect to find in a boring attic? She glimpsed at the sheet-covered furniture and writing desk in a corner with stacks of boxes bordering the space.

Tom looked around at all the objects until he spied a framed pencil sketch propped on top of a chest of drawers. Something exciting, like this picture. He scurried toward the drawing and tripped over his shoelaces. With a thud, he crashed onto the wood planks and bumped his chin.

Jeanette jolted and rushed over, dropping to her knees. She laid a palm on his body, and he shuddered. Are you okay? Her voice made a high-pitched squeak.

Tom’s shoulders shook as he sat upright, giggling with a bloody mouth and an extra gap in his grin.

You’re missing a tooth!

Tom spit into his hand and showed her the slimy incisor resting in a pool of pink saliva.

Jeanette scrunched her face and turned away. Ew, so gross.

I know you are, but—

Now we’ll get busted for exploring Jack’s house, and he’ll call Mom and Dad. They’ll pick us up, take you to the hospital where a doctor will perform a ten-hour surgery putting your tooth in place and we’ll never, ever come back here again for the rest of our lives. Jeanette stood and brushed the thick film of dust from her favorite pair of Bongo jeans.

You think you’re so smart ’cuz you’re a teen, but it’s my last baby tooth and I’ve been wiggling it for the past week.

Jeanette stared at him and rolled her eyes. Shouldn’t you already have all your permanent teeth?

No. He climbed to his feet. I’m younger and—

Whatever! Go rinse your mouth before Jack returns.

Tom stumbled down the hall toward the bathroom. Jeanette tucked loose strands of hair that slipped from her headband behind her ear and focused on the framed artwork. Taking slow, steady steps, she approached the dresser, fixing her eyes on the image, and her pulse increased.

Her fingers gripped the cool metal frame, and she moved under the single, dangling lightbulb for a better look at the picture. She stared at the rectangular-shaped drawing, her vision absorbing the shading around the peculiar markings on the surface surrounding what appeared to be a face, but not of human origins, and a coolness quivered throughout her nerves.

It’s an ancient relic.

Jeanette gasped and the frame slid from her fingers, smashing onto the floor. Fractured glass scattered round the paper and on the splintered wood beside her three-hole Doc Martens Oxford shoes. She twisted her torso and faced Jack standing in the doorway. Now she was totally buggin’ because Tom always caused trouble and dragged her into it to take the fall.

Um, I didn’t mean to…

It’s all right. You have a curious mind. He strolled into the middle of the room and picked up the broken picture frame. Remember, curiosity creates innovations and leads to discoveries that drive the human spirit, pushing us beyond our perceived limitations to explore the unknown and delivers us into true freedom. Jack angled his head to one side. He shook the loose glass from the frame into a trash bin and tugged a corner, pulling the paper out.

My grandfather told tales of mysterious stones buried all over the world. Jack leaned closer and passed her the portrait. This drawing is a depiction of one near Bergen, Norway.

Why are they called mysterious?

Archaeologists are inconclusive about their findings on the objects, and some believe ancient civilizations used the items in sacrificial rituals to the gods.

Jeanette gulped the gummy feeling lodged in her throat. Like human sacrifices?

Wicked. Tom snuck behind her and snatched the drawing from her hands.

Hey!

Where is it now? Tom wedged himself between them as his eyes brightened, roving over the detailed image.

Never discovered. Historians gave up the search and we’re left with little documentation and only this sketch. Jack tapped the edge of the page. Turn it over.

Jeanette leaned closer and opened her eyes wider, examining the simple map scrawled on the back, including the signature of their great-granddad, Sjur Hillestad.

What happened?

In 1870, your great-grandfather sailed to Quebec with my grandfather. They pursued a new quest here in America, settling as farmers and this—he poked the paper—became a forgotten dream.

Jeanette kept her eyesight fixed on the smooth, contoured charcoal lines of the drawing. She stared so hard that her vision watered, blurring the image. Jack had a way of spinning a yarn and shared the gift of telling tales as his father did for the guests at The Glen House Hotel.

I’m going to find the stones. Tom waved the drawing in the air.

As if…

I’ll be a world-famous archaeologist and discover more than one stone without you watching over my shoulder.

Ha! You can’t even walk two feet without tripping and knocking out your teeth. Jeanette crossed her arms and tilted her chin upward. If you go to Norway, you’ll probably mess the whole thing up, and get lost or injured or something worse.

Now, now, kids. Don’t say anything you’ll regret. Jack raised a flat palm in the air.

Nettie started it, Tom said.

I did not.

I’ve heard plenty from both of you. Let’s go downstairs and have a nice cuppa cocoa. Jack slipped the picture from his hands and laid it on the desk.

Tom hung his head downward and slouched with a deliberate pout. Jeanette had a feeling he’d be willful enough to hunt for the stones. They played pretend archaeologist, geologist, or any kind of researcher, since the ages of four and six. She noticed the gleam in his eyes at first sight of the stone relic. As soon as he was old enough, Tom would search for it or die trying.

Jack stood between them and wrapped his arms around their shoulders, guiding them outside the attic. Cheer up. You’ve got your whole lives ahead of you.

Jack, do you think when I grow up, I’ll find the stone?

Who knows, anything is possible. He paused and faced them. The most important lesson I can share is whatever you choose to pursue in life, do your best, work hard and never give up, especially on your dreams.

Jeanette loved Jack like a grandpa, but she doubted Mom and Dad would approve of him putting ideas in Tom’s head about searching for lost stones around the globe. Yeah, dream big, do what you love, and all that stuff. She hoped for an exciting future too—a world-renowned geologist like Florence Bascom, contributing to the scientific community, traveling internationally and exploring the oceans. Of course, she’d balance work, a family, and have at least two kids.

One thing was for sure, she wouldn’t waste her time on old stones that Jack’s granddad probably invented in one of his tall tales. So many discoveries laid right before them. Jeanette pivoted on her heel and followed Jack. She clasped the doorknob and glanced at the drawing of the mysterious stone one last time. An eerie sensation rippled through her body, as if the image of the etched face in the stone would haunt her forever. Jeanette wriggled her arms to shake off the feeling, flipped the light switch, and closed the door.

two

Kinsale, Ireland—Present Day

Jeanette trudged up an incline on Barrack Street in Kinsale, Ireland and blew out a heavy breath. Tom did it again, another international crisis for her to handle and bail him out of a serious situation.

In the past seven years, she traveled halfway around the world for Tom because of his lifelong obsession with relics. She stopped walking at the top of the hill, turned left and followed the directions toward Friary Lane. If it wasn’t for Tom’s boss, Simon Bonhoeffer, emailing her about his concerns and her previous work with his excavation team in Vermont, she wouldn’t have left home in a spur-of-the-moment decision.

Who was she kidding? She always jumped on a plane, boat, train, or car whenever and wherever Tom needed her help to get him out of trouble. Grandma always taught that family sticks together, no matter the cost.

The street curved toward the right, leading her to a cul-de-sac. Jeanette took a deep cleansing breath and salty sea air filled her sense of smell. Her eyes fixed on the port below and she glanced at the address written on the envelope she held in her hands. She spun on her heel and squinted at the matching number posted at the end of the road, 5 Friary Lane. Her shoulders drooped and she sighed. Tom had better get his act together or else…

Jeanette stood at the edge of a gray-painted gate, skimming the front entry lined with bells-of-Ireland. The tall, slender plant with unusual cone-shaped flowers bordered the perimeter of a garden and walkway. She flipped the latch on the inside of the entrance and strolled toward the door, passing a silver bicycle propped against a wrought-iron bench. A quintessential home in Ireland, ready for a photographer to snap a picture and include the photo in next year’s calendar of Irish cottages.

Hello, what would ya be wanting?

Jeanette whirled around and dropped her brother’s letter on the wet cement. She faced the Irishman walking along a stone pathway beside the cob house. The white color was a stark contrast to the vivid pink, green, and blue buildings in the town, five minutes away.

Sunrays streaming through the clouds in the light rainfall obstructed her view of him and she flitted her lashes. Hi, I’m looking for Conlin Murphy.

You’ve found him.

She extended her arm for a greeting and propelled ahead as the rubber sole of her boot snagged a rock.

He laughed under his breath. Ya must be Nettie. Conlin clasped her hands with a hearty shake and a wide smile.

Jeanette Hillestad. Her head bobbed to the side, shaking her hair loose from the clip, holding a mess of tangled tresses. She must’ve arrived at the correct place since no one but Tom used her childhood nickname.

Come in, come in. We needn’t stand in the rain at all. Conlin brushed her hip as he crouched and picked up the dropped note. He passed it to her, then dug into the pocket of his navy wool coat, standing at the burgundy shade door, and pulled out a set of keys dangling from a tiny die-cast sailboat.

Fáilte. Conlin moved aside, outstretching his arm. Welcome.

Jeanette ambled under the archway. Thanks, and I appreciate you allowing me to stop by on short notice.

No bother. Conlin followed behind and shut the door. May I take your jacket?

He removed his coat, hung it on a rack, and yanked off a black beanie. Brown curls with auburn undertones sprouted below the hairline on his forehead, drawing attention to his azure-blue eyes. Jeanette averted her stare and took off her outerwear, handing him the garment.

Make yerself comfortable. He gestured toward the couch. Will ya have a cup of tea?

No, thank you.

Conlin peered over his shoulder on his way to the kitchen. Ah, of course you will.

Jeanette rolled the cuff of her sleeve and glanced at her watch. Already a quarter till four in the afternoon, after traveling on a red-eye flight and driving for a couple hours from the airport. She staggered backward, and her shoes squeaked on the hardwood floor, forcing her into a lounge chair. Jeanette set her crossbody handbag on the seat and dug out her phone to take notes.

She didn’t waste a second and got straight to the order of business. When did you last see Tom?

Haven’t seen the lad in three, maybe four weeks. He handed her a ceramic teacup and sat across from her on a forest-green sofa.

A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed to make way for words. I don’t get it. Tom wrote in his letter that he was staying here for the past few months but neglected to mention why he visited Kinsale.

Conlin sipped his tea. Sure, ye’re confused and have questions. He leaned back against a cushion. I’ll tell you what I know.

Jeanette inhaled hard and held her breath, preparing herself for Conlin’s news. All the worst-case scenarios filled her mind. Did Tom have an accident and sustain injuries or get into circumstances beyond his control again? Her nerves remained knotted the moment she departed from Logan International Airport and boarded the flight to Ireland. Jeanette joggled her head side to side. No point in jumping to conclusions. She raised her gaze and focused on Conlin.

He finished his drink and placed his teacup on the table. Thomas came into my office at Inland Fisheries Ireland, in Macroom. He was looking for a group of men we questioned about illegal netting in protected waters.

Why would Tom be interested in fishing laws?

They weren’t catching salmon. Conlin scratched the short stubble on his chin and glanced at the ceiling. They’re part of a crew searching for artifacts.

A coldness ripped through her body. The minute Tom told her he stopped in Ireland after he visited Norway, she figured he had a lead on another relic. Discovering a piece of unwritten history motivated most of Tom’s actions.

Jeanette shifted in her seat as her limbs tightened. She didn’t like where the facts pointed. Her mouth opened, but she paused, listening to the rest of Conlin’s information.

Two days later, I ran into Thomas at a pub in town and he was looking for a summer rental. I offered him a lease term for our detached guesthouse. Conlin poured more tea into his cup. Details about his involvement with the others digging for the artifacts are unclear. Y’know what I mean?

Jeanette understood and often experienced the difficulty of keeping up with Tom’s hunt for relics. Did he tell you where he was going next?

The last time I saw Thomas, he took his belongings and planned on being gone for five days. When he didn’t return after a week, I rang him but never got a response. Conlin’s lips pressed into a straight line and his eyebrows cut low. That’s all I know.

A tightness constricted her chest and she stared at the light creamy tea. The cup warmed the chill in her fingers and steam rose from the hot liquid, infiltrating her nose with a malty scent. She took a large gulp and lifted her gaze toward Conlin. Whenever I text or call his cell, there’s no answer. Then I received a written letter and an email from his boss and thought he might be in trouble. She petted the length of her loose tresses. Did the men that you questioned seem suspicious?

Em, Thomas didn’t think they posed a threat. A crease between his eyes deepened as he leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs. I’m concerned about—

The front door opened. A teenage girl walked in and dropped a messenger bag onto the floor of the entry. Howya, Da? The girl gawked and shifted her glance between the two of them as she kicked off her boots.

How’re t’ings, dear one? C’mere, meet Thomas’s sister, Jeanette. Conlin extended his hand and motioned at her. This is my daughter, Saoirse.

Nice to—

Did Thomas come back? Her tone escalated, and her body swayed, moving from one foot to the other.

Not yet, he said.

Her shoulders wilted, dragging her feet a few inches, and she smiled thinly. Howrya?

Okay, thanks. Jeanette shook her hand.

Saoirse folded her arms across her waist and bent her neck to one side, scrutinizing Jeanette’s appearance. I see a family resemblance in the color of your hair and eyes.

Jeanette fussed with her messy hairstyle, shoving several strands into a plastic hairpin. It’s the look of our Nordic mother.

Both ends of Saoirse’s lips curled upward. Are we searching for Thomas together?

Floundering with a response, she sent an inquisitive stare to Conlin, then passed it to his daughter. I… um…

Saoirse bounced on her tiptoes and questioned her dad. Did ya tell her about the gurriers lookin’ for the stone Thomas found?

Conlin wrinkled his brow with a dissuading headshake. Pour yerself a cuppa and Jaffa’s are in the press.

Saoirse exhaled aloud and swooshed her long brown hair over her shoulder as she traipsed into the kitchen.

Jeanette placed her cup on the table and lowered her hips to sit, then straightened her posture upright, unable to settle into her seat. What stone and why all the secrecy? If Conlin had additional information, he needed to divulge it and without delay.

Yer brother made quite an impression.

He has that effect on people. She fidgeted with her hands and grabbed her handbag. I won’t take up any more of your time, but I’d be grateful if there’s anything else you can share about Tom’s visit.

You’re staying in town, yeah?

At the Trident Hotel. I’ll give you my cell number.

Sure. He stood and pulled his phone from the back pocket of his denim jeans, handing her the device to type in the digits.

Please call me if you hear from him or recall more details, she said.

I will, so.

She can stay in the guestroom, yeah? Saoirse chewed a bite-sized round cake and washed it down with tea.

Jeanette caught Conlin peering at his daughter. Well, I better get going. She strolled across the living area, halted at the door, and twirled around, bumping into Conlin’s biceps as he followed close. Thank you for your hospitality and accommodating my brother.

Not a bother. Conlin stared into her eyes for a moment. He reached over her shoulder and snatched his coat from the rack. I’ll drive you.

Her posture shrank with the nearness of his body. There’s no need. I rented a car but left it at the hotel to enjoy the twenty-minute walk after sitting for hours.

How about we meet at the pub? Saoirse’s face brightened and she nudged her dad’s arm.

Em… He rubbed the back of his neck with an uneasy appearance.

I’ve had a long day and I’m tired. Jeanette smiled and her sight trekked between them. Nice meeting both of you.

Do ya want me to show you the way into town? Conlin bent closer and opened the door.

Jeanette stared at him longer than she intended and stepped outside. I’m fine, thanks.

All right, take care, Jeanette, and let us know when ya hear from Thomas.

Okay. She raised a flat palm and gave a single wave.

Conlin leaned against the doorframe and returned the silent gesture, holding up five fingers. Jeanette turned and flinched at the sound of Conlin closing the door. A gusty sigh escaped her lips, realizing she traveled thousands of miles to receive minimal information and he could have answered her questions in an email. A nagging feeling that he knew more than he shared persisted, and she remained determined to get answers from Conlin Murphy.

three

Acool October breeze stirred and slipped underneath her plaid scarf. Jeanette tightened the knot and inhaled the briny sea air. The drizzle taunted her untamed mane, enlivening strands that embraced her nape. She swiped and pushed them back, attempting to control the wild locks. It didn’t help that she grabbed the wrong jacket without a hood. She was certain her look mirrored her frazzled mood.

The confirmation that Tom disappeared rocked her senses, and the conversation with Conlin provided limited details about Tom’s stay in Kinsale. Saoirse mentioned stones, but Conlin seemed apprehensive about giving her all the facts. Once again, Tom took off on one of his escapades, got into trouble, and waited for her to bail him out. Perhaps turning in early for the night would give her clarity in the morning.

A stale taste filled her mouth. The last meal she ate was the bland food during the flight from Boston to Shannon. Did she want to bother and eat now? A growl quaked her belly, and she wrapped her arms around her waist, needing strength to sort out Tom’s disappearance.

Smoke billowed from the roof of a pub a couple of feet away on O’Connell Street. Jeanette pulled the brass handle on the crimson door and scanned the room. A group of men gathered at the bar and empty tables lined the perimeter.

Jeanette strolled through the center of the lounge and settled into the corner near a fireplace. She removed her damp puffer jacket, draped it on the chair, and inhaled the burning turf in the hearth. The earthy, moss-like aroma wafted from homes, pubs, and throughout the countryside on her drive from Shannon Airport to the town of Kinsale.

A server approached. What can I get for you?

Jeanette ran her fingers over the surface of the glossy wood table and glanced at the menu. I’ll start with a vegetarian Irish stew and still water.

Be right back.

Jeanette admired paintings of the old town, lining the exposed brick, and a harp hanging on the wall. The fire warmed her body and she unwrapped her scarf. Unfolding Tom’s letter, she read it for at least the tenth time. His choice to delete his social media accounts, setting an out-of-office automatic reply for his emails, and Mr. Bonhoeffer’s call prompted her journey to Ireland. Tom’s cryptic message left little to no information or leads. Perhaps Mom and Dad were right, and her search was a wild-goose chase.

Jeanette massaged her temples. Each blink weighed heavier and the dim lighting in the pub urged her to sleep. The toasty temperature had her ready to call it a night.

Here you are. She placed the bowl on the table. On holiday?

Not exactly. I was hoping to see my brother after he spent the summer in town. Maybe you’ve met him? Jeanette pulled out her phone and tapped the camera roll icon. She scrolled through her digital library to a family picture from last Christmas and angled the image toward the fresh-faced brunette.

She stared at the photo for a minute. Haven’t seen him and I’d remember that face. He’s a handsome fella.

Jeanette presented a courtesy smile. She grew up hearing about how good-looking, smart, accomplished, and successful her younger brother proved to be in any situation.

What’s his name? I’ll ask the staff and some locals.

Thanks. His name is Thomas Hillestad.

The server returned to the counter and chatted with a few men at the bar. Jeanette inhaled the steam circulating from her dish. Garlic clove and thyme awakened her senses. She blew on a large spoonful, and the rich, hearty red-wine tomato paste slid down her throat.

Finishing the entire portion in less than thirty minutes, she reclined on the wooden bench with a satisfied stomach. She sipped her water, washing the tangy flavor from her taste buds.

A man with shimmering silver-red hair limped toward her table. Ye looking for the brother?

Jeanette traded a glance with the stranger. Yes, do you know him?

He joined in for a round, slagging over a few jars.

Would you mind telling me about your time with him, Mr.…?

Around here they call me Michael.

Nice to meet you, I’m Jeanette. She extended an arm across the table. Please have a seat and let me buy you a drink.

He pulled out a chair and sat. There’s a kind one, like Thomas.

Of course, like Tom… How could this man know she’s the older sibling and taught him everything he knows?

Howrya getting along? the server asked.

I’ll have the usual, Michael said.

Nothing for me, thanks.

Ah, have a jar of the black stuff.

Jeanette straightened her shoulders and managed a polite grin. Okay, just a half-pint.

There you go now. Michael lolled in the chair, similar to Jack’s posture, when he began one of his stories. After his arrival, a group of shifty characters had taken an interest in Thomas’ business and a sleeveen with a French accent caused a ruction while three others were starting.

Jeanette wound a curl on her finger and tapped her toes to a jittery beat. Why was Tom keeping his involvement with these people a secret?

The woman brought their order and set the glasses in front of them. Sláinte. He raised the pint glass and gulped the thick foam layer atop the dark liquid.

Jeanette sipped the stout and squinted at the strong wheat taste, turning bitter in her mouth. She coughed and took a swig of her water. Do you remember the last time you saw Tom?

It would be about a month since I’ve seen the lad. The others come in once a week.

Did Tom tell you what they wanted?

Ah, ye know Thomas is dog wide and the lad’s gas craic altogether during a session. I’d wager he left Kinsale to avoid trouble.

Jeanette scratched her head. She struggled to understand all his slang, but Michael made it clear he had a great time with Tom in the pub, and whatever he found gained attention and initiated conflict.

Michael polished off his Guinness. He held his hand in the air and called out, Same again.

Jeanette took two sips and hiccuped. She wasn’t a regular drinker, and she felt the effects.

Michael said, Ye can’t expect to keep up wit’ the brother.

Heat roared up her neck and she eyed the glass, ready to conquer the challenge, and downed the entire drink. Straightaway the alcohol bubbled in her brain and added to her fatigue. She might need a taxi instead of staggering back to her hotel. She shut her eyelids to stop the whirling in her head.

You discovered the best pub in town, an Irishman said.

The voice broke through her foggy mind as her eyes popped open and she turned toward the man. Conlin and Saoirse stood at the edge of the table.

Jeanette stared at him for too long, recognizing he wore eyeglasses now, drawing her deeper into his blue irises, and she blinked hard to refocus her thoughts. Yeah, I’m passing gas craic with Michael.

A smile peeked from behind Conlin’s fist held to his lips, restraining his laughter. Jeanette’s cheeks burned and she darted her gaze toward the empty pint glass.

Saoirse giggled and scooted across the bench beside Jeanette. Gas craic means great fun.

Jeanette grazed her front teeth along her lower lip and caught Conlin’s amused expression as fine lines creased the corners of his mouth.

He kept his eyesight fixed on her and removed his coat. I’m surprised to find ya here.

Brushing loose hair strands from her forehead, she angled her chin upward. Why? I was hungry.

Told ya to invite her to the pub, Saoirse said.

Right, I didn’t extend true Irish hospitality. He glanced at Michael and patted his shoulder. How’s the form?

On me last legs. How’s the Murphy clan? Michael moved over to another chair, inviting Conlin to join them.

Not too bad.

We’re chatting about the brother, Thomas. Michael finished his second pint.

Conlin shifted the casual conversation and spoke in an inquisitive tone. Find out any news?

The guys taking notice of Tom’s work sound insistent… I’m concerned, Jeanette said.

Michael said, I explained they were giving it out to Thomas.

Saoirse rested her elbows on the counter and bent forward, perking up in her seat. And did ya tell her about—

Moira. Conlin raised his hand and waved at the waitress.

She swung beside the table, leaning close to Conlin, and pulled him into a side hug. How’re things?

Grand. And yerself?

Mighty! Her face beamed and she straightened her posture. Will ye be having the usual?

Conlin gave her a single nod and winked. Moira’s face flushed, and she glanced at Saoirse. A cola for ya?

Sure, t’anks.

Jeanette studied the interaction between Moira and Conlin. Muscles tightened in her stomach, churning a mixture of stew and Guinness. I should go and get some rest. She shoved her arms into her jacket and tied her scarf around her neck.

Saoirse slid off the bench and moved aside. Stay for the craic.

Jeanette’s eyesight flitted round the room until landing on Conlin. Part of her wanted to hang out, yet she needed to sleep after a flight, drinks, and unsettling news about Tom. Maybe another time.

She shook Michael’s hand. It was nice to meet you and thank you for talking to me. Jeanette turned toward Moira. I’ll take the bill now and please add everyone’s order to mine.

You’re a kind soul. Michael lifted his glass in a toast and dipped his chin.

It’s the least I can do for the consideration you all showed Tom.

Here ya are. Moira handed Jeanette the card machine and she completed the transaction.

Saoirse flipped her hair to one side. See ya, Jeanette.

All the best, Michael said.

Conlin reached and placed his hand upon hers. Please, stay. A warmth surfaced under his touch, feeling a kinship, and he jerked his elbow rearward, releasing his grip as if the mutual awareness muddled his senses. Em… we interrupted your meal.

Not at all. I’m exhausted after a long day.

He seemed more agreeable now than he did earlier. Perhaps it was an ideal opportunity to gain more information about the stone