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"I've got merlot or sauvignon blanc with dinner. We'll save the whisky for dessert, if that's amenable for you." Marin clasps her hands behind her back. Something about her posture feels off tonight.

"Merlot would be nice," Josie says. "I also want to know what Florence said about me." She's having a little too much fun with this.

My stomach clenches as Marin's eyes dart to me.

"It's not what she said, it's what she didn't say." She has the nerve to wink at Josie. "I've already seen signs of her icy exterior melting away when she mentions you."

"Stai attenta,Marin," I growl.Watch yourself.

"Don't threaten her." Josie's frown cuts straight through my defenses. "If this is how you treat your staff, I'm not interested in helping you cover your ass."

My chest tightens as she moves to stand, but Marin reaches her first, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"It's fine," Marin says softly to Josie, something silent passing between them. She squeezes Josie's shoulder before letting go.

I dismiss Marin as soon as she serves our drinks, desperate to end the silent conversation between them. I take a sip of wine and start eating, trying to regain some semblance of control.

The silence is heavy for a long minute before Josie finally breaks it. "Is that how you always treat your staff?"

I meet her gaze, straightening my spine. "My staff doesn't behave like that in public. She knows better."

"You're not in public, Florence."

She puts her fork down and stands.

"I hope you can find someone to put up with your high-and-mighty attitude—long enough to pretend to like you—for your charity gala. I'm not the right person for the job."

8

Josie

I knock on Professor Zimmer's door.

"If you're a student," she calls through the closed door, "my office is closed for the day."

I twist the doorknob. It's unlocked, and I push the door open a few inches. "It's Dr. Mueller. I talked with you on the phone yesterday about some art pieces."

She waves me in. "Come in, Dr. Mueller. Come in!" Her black curly hair is pulled back into a chaotic bun. She stands up and offers me a hand. "I'm sorry to hear about your grandfather."

"I didn't even know he was alive until his lawyers sent me the paperwork regarding his estate." I sit down across from her. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I know you're a busy woman."

When I called the Delmont Auction House about getting some of Opa's collectibles appraised, I was surprised when they recommended an art specialist named Mary Zimmer. The sameMary Zimmer who teaches at Delmont University with me, just on the other side of campus.

Our specialties never overlap—neurology and art history are miles apart—both literally and figuratively—but she has a reputation among the wealthy for finding hidden treasures and for getting top dollar for them.

"You said you brought some photos of the items in question?" she asks, getting down to business.

I have a lot of pictures. A few hundred of them. Renna and Mel suggested taking pictures of everything of potential value.

"There are more than three dozen paintings of various sizes throughout the place."

"You have the legal right to sell these pieces?"

"There's a judgment against the property, but I have legal rights to everything as long as I pay that on time. That's about nine months from now. My lawyer told me I have rights up until that point, as long as it's my intention to claim my inheritance."

"Other people listed in the will can contest all of that," she points out.

I shake my head. "I'm the only person named in the will."