"Oh, thank you," Ginger said. "I don't even own a pair." She put them on. "Oh, gosh. Those make such a difference. Thank you. I can't think of a thing I need. You have no idea how alive it feels to be outside again. I'm not used to being inside at all, much less inside over over two years.
"You know, the first time I ever had lemonade was when Robert fed me some after that man found me and brought me back. He gave me more today when we got here. It's incredible. My mother always had books for us to read, and some of them had summer parties in the stories where they always served lemonade. But, this lemonade stuff is pretty tart. In these books, they always served cake, ice cream, and lemonade. Now, forgive me but I'm curious about this thing I see in human fiction books? Were these people who wrote these books right in the head? Why would anybody serve sweet cake, doubly sweet ice cream, and then expect everyone to just love following all that lovely sweetness with sour lemonade? I can't imagine that would be tasty at all."
Robert was in the tub, soaking, eyes closed, when someone came in and sat down. He groaned, and opened his eyes to see it was only Kate.
"Oh, thank God, its you," Robert laughed. She laughed out loud and kissed him slowly.
"I'd better be the only one seeing you naked," she said.
"At my age, nobody else wants to," he replied dryly.
"Good. More for me," she smiled, "but when I see you soaking in the tub instead of dashing through a lightning fast shower, you were looking for somewhere for a little where no one was going to dare to approach you about anything for a bit. Were they getting on your nerves?"
"Maybe a tad," he confessed.
"Well, then, my love, if Jess and Brian and Khaat can keep everyone alive for just a couple of hours, how about I take you on a date for a change? Care to go to dinner with me?"
"You said the magic words. I would love to," Robert said.
"Then, you enjoy your bath and leave the rest to me," she smiled.
"And here I thought I'd talk you into joining me," he replied. She laughed.
"Later--maybe," she said. "I could bring you a glass of wine if you like."
"No, I think I'm fine. I shall relax and think of you and candlelight."
"You are such a romantic. It's a very good thing that nobody knows that but me," she said, kissing his forehead. "i'll see you later." She left the bathroom, and Michael called to her from his room.
"Find anything?" Kate asked.
"Well, it depends on what he's looking for. I can tell you they're antique. All of them. They're silver, not a pure silver. They're a silver alloy, but silver nonetheless. And they were made by the oldest wizard jewelry makers on record in France. They're very very old. To use them to just chuck a bunch of flowers around, that was a very expensive way to do it. Its the age and the provenance that makes them expensive, not the metal. And the provenance is proven right here on the back."
"Those little scratches?"
"Ah, but look at them under the best magnifying glass I have." he said. She took it and looked.
"Its a makers mark!"
"Ding, ding, ding! Lady wins the prize. That's precisely what it is. That mark is specific to some of the very earliest years of things being made by wizarding silversmiths that we have on record. I have no doubt that somewhere there certainly are older pieces, but these would have been collectable."
"So who takes valuable pieces and chucks them in someone else's yard?"
"Either a moron, someone with money to burn, or someone who's elevator does not go all the way up," Michael said.
"Well, that could be Suzanne on any of those."
"Or a lot of other people too," Michael replied. "It's not enough. i don't have fingerprints, dna evidence, fabric scraps, hair or any bloody other thing. What about these flowers?"
"Oh. They're poison. Don't eat them," she waved concerns about them away casually. He frowned at her.
"Sometimes you're just as twisted as he is. You say that, like its a message on a piece of junk mail. 'Oh, they're poison, dont eat them?' You, Kate, are not right sometimes."
"Says the man who plays poker with his hat rack and snuggles his post box when she tells you she's lost the affections of said hat rack," Kate laughed.