Under_The_Whispering_Door_by_TJ_Klune

didn’t know if anyone would answer. It’d be a strange number appearing on
her screen, and she’d probably end up ignoring it as most people did.
She didn’t.
“Hello?”
Hugo said, “Can I speak with Naomi Byrne?”
“Speaking. Who’s calling, please?” The last word was quieter, and
Wallace knew she had pulled the phone away to look at the number, frowning
as she did so. He could see her clear as day in the corners of his mind.
“Ms. Byrne, my name is Hugo. You don’t know me, but I know your
husband.”
A long pause. “Ex-husband,” she said finally. “If you mean Wallace.”
“I do.”
“Well, I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you this, but Wallace died a
couple of months ago.”
“I know,” Hugo said.
“You … do? You spoke of him in the present tense, and I just assumed—it
doesn’t matter. What can I do for you, Hugo? I’m afraid I don’t have long. I
have a dinner meeting to get to.”
“I won’t take much of your time,” Hugo said, looking up at Wallace who
nodded.
“Were you a client of his? If there’s a legal issue, you need to call the
firm. I’m sure they would be happy to assist—”
“No,” Hugo said. “I wasn’t a client of his. I guess you could say he is—”
“Was,” Wallace hissed. “Was.”
Hugo rolled his eyes. “He was a client of mine, in his own way.”
A longer pause. “Are you his therapist? I don’t recognize the area code.
Where are you calling from?” Then, “And why are you calling?”
“No,” Hugo said. “I’m not a therapist. I own a tea shop.”
Naomi laughed. “A tea shop. And you say Wallace was a client of yours.
Wallace Price.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think I ever saw him drink a cup of tea in his life. Forgive me for
sounding dubious, but he wasn’t exactly the tea type.”
“I know,” Hugo said as Wallace groaned. “But I think you’d be surprised
to hear that he learned to enjoy it regardless.”