Free The Ruby Locket by Anita Higman, Hillary McMullen

all my strength, like a cowboy entering a saloon. Unfortunately, a portly man in a chef’s hat happened to walk by and the edge of the door caught him square in the side. Crying out in French, he fell sprawling on the floor—a massive, white-aproned heap.
                  I gasped. “Oh no! I’m so sorry.” I reached out to him, accidently putting weight on my weak ankle and before I knew it, I was toppling onto the poor chef’s belly, squashing more French expletives out of him.
                  As I rolled off him onto the cold tile floor, Wyatt rushed up to us, his expression an odd mixture of concern and mirth. “Are you okay?” He helped me to my feet and then knelt before the blubbering chef, who held the side of his face. “Ca va?” Wyatt asked the man, a hand on his beefy shoulder.
                  “No!” The large man struggled to his feet and spit out a long string of rapid fire French, his hands flailing as he stomped out of the kitchen, leaving me and Wyatt alone.
                  I gaped at Wyatt, my face beet red. “Do you know what he said?”
                  “Some of it. You’re better off not knowing.” Wyatt bit his lip to keep from grinning.
                  I covered my face with my hands and groaned. “My breakfast is totally going to get sneezed on.”
                  Wyatt perched on the edge of a nearby stool. “Nah. Franc loves to complain. And you’ve given him enough ammo for the next six months.”
                  Sighing heavily, I sat on a stool beside him. “I actually came down here to chew you out.”
                  He laughed. “But instead you got chewed out by an angry Frenchman.” Then his expression became serious. “Listen, I’m sorry I lied to you earlier. About the locket.”
                  “And you left out the fact that we’ll be related pretty soon.”
                  Wyatt held up a finger. “Barely related.” He looked down for a moment, swinging his foot. “I really do have an explanation about the locket. I just didn’t feel like telling the truth to a total stranger.” From his pocket, he pulled out the locket I’d seen him with earlier. He coiled the fine silver chain into the hollow of his palm and placed the locket on top, its heart-shaped face encrusted with a blood red ruby. He idly flipped the locket open—it was empty—and then clicked it shut, as if he’d been hoping to find something within. “It was my mother’s. Ivan gave it to her before they were married. And honestly, I was afraid he would try to give it to your mom before the wedding.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t have that.”
                  I nodded. “I don’t blame you. It must be hard—another family barging into your home and taking up Ivan’s time.”
                  His hand closed over the locket and he shoved it into his pocket. “This will never be my home. And I don’t care what Ivan does with his time.” Wyatt stood to leave, but I suddenly didn’t want the conversation to end.
                  “You were right to take the locket. I think Ivan might be reusing some of his old moves on my mom.”
                  Frowning, Wyatt said, “What do you mean?”
                  Taking a deep breath, I told him about the speech I’d heard Ivan give my mom out on the balcony and how it was identical to the letter he’d written to Celeste.
                  Wyatt’s eyes drilled into mine. “Normally I wouldn’t be this open with someone I just met, but since you’re about to be in the same boat as I was—” here he looked around the kitchen, even though it was deserted. He leaned in close to whisper, his mouth inches from my ear. “I don’t think my mother killed herself.”

 
     
     
    Chapter Eleven
    Anne
     
    M y pulse quickened. “What are