“He really wanted to help Felicity.”
Another grumble, louder now. “That girl. He is developing feelings for her, and I have told him it is unwise. He will not allow me near her for a proper assessment of her suitability.”
I smile. “My parents used to do that. Tell me they weren’t thrilled about a relationship and then ask to meet the boy. That warned me to keep him far, far away.”
“It is not the same. I am concerned for her.”
“That’s half your concern. The other half is for him, whether he’s falling for a girl who won’t fall back. And the other half is worry that they’ll both fall for each other … when he’s not going to be here forever.”
“You were not good at math, were you, Casey?”
“You’re a complicated man.”
He waggles a finger. “Do not flatter me. Next time, I insist on being consulted. I do, however, appreciate that you came by to speak to me about it, despite the lateness of the hour.”
I pause.
“That is not why you came, is it?”
“Sorry,” I say. “If I’d thought of it, I would have, but I came to talk about Émilie.”
“Émilie?”
“The woman—”
“I know who she is. I presume someone saw us speaking and warned you we were having a tête-à-tête?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, I planned to speak to you myself about it tomorrow. When I was no longer annoyed with you.” He settles in. “She came by to discuss Sebastian, or so it seemed at first. She said she’d learned of his condition and feared I hadn’t been warned by the council. I told her that I was forced to make the diagnosis myself, and I was not pleased about that. She apologized, and then asked about new residents who came after Sebastian, whether I had concerns about any of them. Terribly considerate, I thought.”
“Uh-huh, let me guess. She asked about each individually, not as a group.”
His eyes widen in mock surprise. “As a matter of fact, she did. How ever did you guess?”
“Because you planned to talk to m
e about her visit, which you wouldn’t do unless you saw something suspicious in her questions. She starts asking about Sebastian, knowing you’d be upset about being misled there. Then she parlays that apology into dutifully asking after each subsequent new resident, to hide the fact she’s concerned about one person in particular.”
“Mon Dieu. One would think you were a detective, Casey Butler. How astute of you.”
“You know what would be a real show of astuteness? If you could hazard a guess on which resident she was interested in.”
“Sadly, I am not a detective.” He crosses one leg over his knee. “And our Miss Émilie is herself very astute, enough to ask after each new resident with equal concern and listen to my responses with equal interest. I know only that she wanted my assessment of each recent resident, particularly whether I feared that any, like Sebastian, weren’t what they claimed to be.”
I sputter a laugh. “We’re a town of people who arrive under false pretenses.”
“So I said, but she was looking for more.”
“She suspects someone’s backstory is false. Not just their cover story, but the one they gave the council. Huh.” I lean back. “Well, that’s one good thing about the council restricting the inflow so much. There are only a handful of suspects.”
“And that raises another concern I wished to bring to your attention. My application for an extension has been denied.”
I straighten. “What?”
“Yes, I am equally shocked. Requesting my extensions has always been a formality. This week, I was denied.”
“Shit. Émilie’s right. They really are shutting us down.”