“What’s the matter?” he asked in her ear.
Kaine squinted. She had caught a glimmer of a shining reflection in the far corner. But she didn’t see it now. She backed up a step, and Grant moved with her.
“I thought I saw something.” Kaine edged past him. She rocked from her left to her right foot, hoping to catch a glimpse of the reflection. Nothing. She took another step. The sunlight through the attic window bounced off something tiny in the corner of the bare space. “Over there.” Kaine pointed.
Grant looked in the direction she pointed. “I don’t see anything.”
“It’s shiny. Or it was.” Kaine reached the corner of the room and knelt on the floor. She couldn’t see it anymore. Palming the floor, the filth collected on her hands as she ran them across it hoping to feel whatever it was she’d seen.
Grant knelt beside her. “Like glass? Be careful you don’t slice your hand.”
“I will.” Reaching the corner, Kaine ran her fingers by the floorboard where the sun shaft was brightest. The tips of her fingers met something smooth, wedged in a small gap between the floor and the wall. “I’ve got something.” She tugged at it.
“Careful.” Grant’s breath was warm on her neck as he leaned over to watch.
Kaine worked her fingers beneath it and pulled. It released. A gold locket. Its tarnish layer was thin and barely darkened the reflective surface.
“Whoa. That looks old.” Grant’s statement echoed Kaine’s thoughts.
They both straightened and looked closer at the locket resting in her palm. Its chain dangled off and swayed below her wrist. She touched the engraved foliage on the front.
“I’m surprised it could even be wedged in there without someone seeing it,” Kaine said.
Grant tapped it lightly with his index finger. “You never would have seen it if it hadn’t caught the sun.”
She pried at its tiny clasp with her fingernail, slowly opening the locket. She blinked in surprise. The inside of the locket was lined with an aged ivory material. What caught her attention, though, was a navy blue ribbon, embroidered, which held strands of baby-fine blond hair.
“Hair?” Grant appeared fascinated by it.
Kaine shook her head. “Weird. Why would someone put hair in a locket?”
“Well, in centuries past, hair was kept in memory of a loved one, or as a token of love.”
“You mean they cut hair off a corpse?” Kaine handed the locket to Grant so he could get a better look.
“Or a lover.” He studied the hair and ribbon.
Why did that make her blush?
There wasn’t a chance Kaine would want a lock of hair in a necklace around her neck whether the donor was alive or dead. She preferred the more contemporary token of a gemstone.
“It was to remember them by,” Grant explained. “Like if I gave you a lock of my hair to keep near your heart.”
Kaine raised her brows. “Did guys really do that sort of thing back then?”
He nodded. “Exchanging hair wasn’t uncommon.”
“A love note wasn’t enough, huh?” Kaine received the locket back from him and carefully snapped it shut, hiding the token of memory or love. An etching on the back caught her eye. Holding it closer, she read the inscription and reached out to grip Grant’s wrist.
“Grant, look.” As she bent over the locket, her heart pounded. Grant’s whispered “What—?” only enhanced her surge of adrenaline. They turned toward each other, and Kaine knew the astonishment in Grant’s eyes mirrored her own.
“Ivy.” Kaine traced the engraving with her finger. “My great-great-grandmother’s name. Is this her locket?”
Grant leaned back against the attic wall. “Unless there was another Ivy we don’t know about.”
Kaine closed her hand around the locket. “Why is it here in Foster Hill House?”
Jamming his hands into his pockets, Grant looked her in the eye. “The bigger question is, whose hair is that?”
Chapter 17
Jvy
She would not survive. Ivy’s feet slipped and slid in the mud as the rain continued to beat down on her. She threw a glance over her shoulder. No one. Had she outrun him or had he given up the chase as she approached town? Joel’s boardinghouse came into view as she ran into the village, glad she’d overheard him telling her father where he was living and his room number in case he was needed. Her home was at the opposite end of Oakwood, and she told herself the distance, rain, and fear was what sent her in a fast run toward Joel and not her home. She was running from the same shadow of a man who had killed Gabriella. It had to be. If he caught her, this time he wouldn’t fail in killing her too. Safety was her first concern, propriety a distant second. That reasoning catapulted her into the boardinghouse and up the stairs to Joel’s room.
Her fist connected with his door in a frantic knock. Nothing. Ivy knocked again, a three-time rap. Her wet hair clung to her face, and she raked it away with her fingers. Her dress clung to her in damp folds. She looked over her shoulder again as if convinced the man from Foster Hill House had followed her into the house and would charge up the stairs any minute.
She was about to knock again when the door swung inward. Joel stood framed in the doorway, his pinstriped shirt untucked and hanging over his trousers. His rumpled hair sprang up from his head. Ivy ignored his impressive physique and pushed her way inside, ducking under his arm that held the door open.
“Close it. Please!” Ivy’s command was met with compliance.
“Ivy Thorpe, have you taken leave of your senses?” His raspy voice sent shivers through her. He shut the door firmly with a glance into the hallway. “You shouldn’t be in my room.”
“He followed me.” She ignored his scolding and sank onto a ladder-back chair by the lone desk and a bed with a white iron frame opposite her.
“Who followed you?” Joel hadn’t left the door. His hand still gripped the knob as if ready to toss her out.
“I don’t know!” Ivy peeled off her wet gloves. “Him! The man who attacked me. The man who killed Gabriella!”
“Slow down.” Joel pushed up his sleeves and leaned against the door. “You saw him?”
“Just a glimpse. A man. I didn’t recognize him.” Ivy drew a deep, shuddering breath. “And I’d just seen Mr. Foggerty. What if it’s him? What if Mr. Foggerty is trapping more than otters?”
Joel pushed off the door. “Stop, Ivy. I need you to collect yourself.”
“I am collected.” She skewered him with a glare. “I’m always collected.”
Joel tilted his head and stared back at her, silently arguing with her self-assessment. “What happened? Exactly.”
Ivy set her gloves on the desk and folded her hands. At least she was safe here. Safe. A pistol lay on the desk next to her gloves. There was some comfort in knowing Joel was armed.
“I went to the orphanage to make some inquiries.”
“Ivy.”