“When’s your appointment with the doctor?” she asked her father as Stan left the office.

“Half an hour, but he can wait. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Father, I appreciate all your concern, but I really can handle things here.”

He leaned on one crutch and shook his head. “It’s not that. I wanted to talk to you about Mr. Magnusson.”

Just the sound of his name sent a pang through her chest. Had it been a month since she’d last seen him, riding away out of her father’s backyard? Because it felt like an entire year’s worth of sleepless nights.

“What about him?” she said, trying to make her voice sound normal.

“Are you in love with him?”

She balked at the accusation, crossing her arms below her breasts. Yes, her father had seen her fall apart a few times in the first days after Lowe had disappeared out of her life, when she was intermittently racked with anger and hurt. But she’d pulled herself together. Mostly. “I don’t know why you’re asking about this. Nothing’s changed. He’s made no attempt to contact me.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

“What you asked doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t be surprised to never see the man again.” Admittedly, she’d once or twice taken a taxi past the Magnusson house to see if she could spy his red motorcycle in the driveway. She never did, and subsequently gave up trying. “For all I know, he’s run off to Egypt again. And considering the way we parted, I feel quite sure he won’t be trying to sell the museum anything else he finds in the desert.”

Her father squinted. “He’s not in Egypt. In fact, he stopped by the house this morning before I came over here.”

Her stomach pitched and a tingling sensation raced through her limbs. A dozen questions popped into her head at once, but the only one she could get out was: “Why?”

“He was showing me a few things he found in Philae.”

Oh. Not to ask about her, then. Just business. And the thought of her father doing business with him made her chest spark with quick anger. “You’ve got to be joking. Are you mad? You met with him, knowing that he hawks forgeries?”

“These were authentic. Mostly ceramics, a few tools.”

“Father.”

“Don’t look at me like I’m an imbecile,” he said grumpily. “I can see just fine now, you know. And I asked him to bring them to me—not the other way around.”

Impossible. How in the world . . . ? Her pulse spiked. “Are you saying you’ve had contact with him before this?”

“I didn’t want to upset you.”

“You’re doing a fine job of it now.”

“Now, now. Calm down and send those things away.”

She glanced in the direction he was looking. A couple of Mori were crawling out from the shadowed space behind a row of books.

Noel’s descent into the underworld might’ve removed the aging magic that the man had embedded inside her father, but it hadn’t severed her connection to the Mori. When she’d first realized this, she’d nearly destroyed her father’s kitchen in a tear-filled rage. But she’d come to terms with it and was now resigned to the fact that they were there to stay. Curse or blessing, it was hers to keep.

And her responsibility to control. Shutting her eyes, she quickly willed them away and took a deep, cleansing breath. “I’m fine,” she mumbled. “Go on.”

“The last time I saw him, Magnusson mentioned he was thinking of donating some of his finds to Berkeley, and I asked if I could see the ceramics.”

“How many times have you seen him?”

“We had unfinished business. Naturally I asked him to call on me.”

“What sort of unfinished business?”

“Payment, of course. Think of it this way—your mother got us into this mess when she took up with Noel. Therefore, using her family’s fortune to get us out of it was the least she could do for us.” Hadley was taken aback by her father’s frankness. He never spoke of her mother this way. Perhaps he was moving on, in his own crotchety way. “And a deal is a deal,” he finished. “The sum we originally agreed on wasn’t really for the amulet itself.”

“You paid Lowe?”

“Two weeks ago.”

“He was planning to cheat you.”

“Regardless, the amulet was found—”

“Mostly by me!”

“—and Noel is gone. Magnusson fulfilled his part of the bargain, so I fulfilled mine. I would’ve felt guilty not doing so. And the fact that he didn’t demand it made me feel better about him.” He nodded his chin toward her and spoke in a softer voice. “If I can look beyond his mistakes, perhaps you might consider doing the same. He’s gone to great lengths to ensure Levin didn’t taint your professional career with gossip.”

How, she didn’t know, but she’d be damned before she begged her father to tell her. “He has shown no interest in contacting me, so I don’t see what difference any of this makes.”

“Perhaps you should give him the benefit of the doubt,” he said, tucking his crutches beneath his arms. “And that’s all I’ll say on the matter. Your life is your own. But do keep in mind that no matter what fulfillment you’ll find inside these walls, it’s a poor excuse for failing to search for other fulfillments outside them. Don’t let your drive for success be your only happiness.”

Funny words coming from a man who’d done exactly that, but she watched him leave the office without comment—mostly because she was too upset to speak. All the hurt and grief she’d so carefully managed to keep locked up inside her head came rushing to the surface.

“Miss Bacall?”

She shook away her chaotic feelings and glanced up at the doorway to see the accounting secretary who was watching the front desk while Miss Tilly drank herself silly at the office party. The woman held out a bright orange tiger lily in her hand. “This came for you.”

Hadley silently cursed Miss Tilly for not informing the woman. “That goes in the trash.”

“The trash? But why?”

Because no matter how many times she told the delivery boy to stop bringing them, he insisted that he’d get in trouble at work, and didn’t she know who the Magnussons were? As if the family would come after him with machine guns if he failed to deliver a stupid flower. Ridiculous. Hadley sometimes wondered if Miss Tilly told the delivery boy to keep coming because she was sweet on him.

“Never mind,” she told the secretary, suddenly feeling more defeated than angry. Her father’s speech had confused her. Fifteen minutes ago, she’d been perfectly fine. Well, that was a lie. Not fine, but coping. Enduring. And yes, maybe occasionally grieving what she’d lost with Lowe, especially after she stopped hoping he might show up and at least try to explain why he’d lied to her.

But he didn’t.

Truth be told, she was probably more upset with him for giving up on her and what they’d had together than she was about the lying. After all, her father had lied to her, too, and they’d made amends. Did Lowe not think she was worth the effort?

A heavy sigh inflated her chest. She just didn’t think she could survive grieving for him all over again.

“What was the name of the florist?” she asked the secretary.

“Lunde Flowers.”

Maybe it was time to admit that it was truly over between them. And time to cut the last tie to him, once and for all.

She called a taxi and left the office early, giving the driver the florist’s name. The cab carried her south of the park, into the Fillmore District. Not more than a block or so from Adam’s shop. She should’ve known.

After asking the taxi driver to wait, she strode into the florist’s, a calm resignation propelling her steps, and rang a bell at the front counter.

A blond middle-aged woman with pink cheeks appeared from a door. “Good afternoon,” she said with a heavy Scandinavian accent. “How may I be helping you?”

“A couple of months ago, someone ordered flowers to be delivered to me at my office. A daily delivery of lilies—”

“Oh! Mr. Magnusson, ja.” She smiled. “You are at the museum.”

“Yes, that’s me.”

The woman’s brow creased. “You have been getting your deliveries?”

“Yes, no problem there. I came because I want them stopped.”

“Why? Is the quality not good?”

“The quality is fine.” Hadley inhaled a calming breath. “Mr. Magnusson and I are not seeing each other anymore, and I suppose he forgot to come in here and halt the deliveries himself.”

“Oh, that is terrible. Poor man.”

For the love of God, not her, too. Was everyone cheering for Lowe today?

“He has lost so much,” the florist said solemnly. “First Mr. Goldberg, and now his sweetheart.”

Hadley tilted her head. “Did you say Mr. Goldberg? The watchmaker?”

“Ja. What a terrible tragedy. We are so sad for his passing.”

She stilled. Surely the woman’s message was lost in translation. “You do not mean he’s died, do you?”

The florist nodded. “He was killed in his shop. The police still do not find killer. You did not hear? It was in the newspaper.”

Hadley stood stiffly for several moments, desperately trying to steady her nerves and think rationally. “When did this happen?”

“A month ago.”

A month. That was . . . when she last saw Lowe. When he’d torn into her father’s backyard in a rage, and attacked Noel and—Oh, God! “What about the little girl? Did she? That is, I mean, was she killed?”

“No.” The florist intently shook her head, frowning at Hadley like she was a horrible person for even thinking such a thing.

Hadley blinked rapidly and backed away from the counter. “I have to go. Thank you.”

“Wait! What about the deliveries?”