“She did it,” he said. “She never told me.” He opened the book and read a poem before closing the book again. “Can I keep this?”
I looked over at Saul who nodded and said, “I don’t see why not. We’ll let the sheriff know you have it, but it was in another part of the warehouse from—Who wrote it?”
The smile that broke across Robard’s face was brilliant. “Celeste did. She was quite the poet, and she’d always wanted to produce her own book. I told her she could use our equipment anytime, but I just assumed she hadn’t gotten around to it before she disappeared.” He held the little purple book up again. “But she did.”
My throat was tight, and I felt like I might cry. Instead, I said, “I really do look forward to learning more about your friend. She sounds amazing.”
Robard cleared his throat
