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“After that business with the mirror,” Cleo put in, “it’s clear the four of us are in this together. So.”

“Fair enough.”

But as he drove into town, he shot Sonya a look as if to assure himself on one single fact. She was fine.

“And more news,” Sonya began. “Cleo finished the painting she’s trading to Owen. And it’s breathtaking.”

“Probably finished,” Cleo corrected. “But I’m happy to take thebreathtaking.”

“If you can stay tonight, we’ll go up so you can see it.”

“Sounds like a win all around for me.” He parked, sent her a smile. “I’ve got a maybe bag in the trunk.”

The same young hostess greeted them in the Lobster Cage, and cast her wistful eyes on Trey.

“She’s got it bad,” Cleo commented when the hostess had passed out menus and walked back to her station.

“She’s twenty,” Trey muttered.

“I had a serious crush on my art history professor. I was nineteen,” Cleo remembered. “And I’d have to guess he was more than twice that. I’d have been in serious trouble if he’d taken advantage.”

“Got over him, didn’t you?” Trey asked.

“Yes, but the memories are sweet.”

Sonya remembered their server with his orange-streaked dark hair in a topknot. An environmental engineering student who’d shifted from in-person college to remote when his father had fallen ill.

“Good evening, ladies, Trey. Can I start you off with some drinks while you wait for the rest of your party?”

“He should be right along. How about a bottle of sauvignon blanc?” That got the go-ahead. “Bring four glasses, Ian. If Owen wants something else, he’ll tell you when he gets here. Which is right now,” he added as Owen walked in.

While his hair looked windswept and fell wherever it chose, he’d obviously put on a fresh shirt, fresh jeans.

He dropped down in the booth beside Cleo. “Sorry,” he said. “Got busy.”

“We just got here. I ordered a bottle of sauvignon blanc.”

“Great. What are the rest of you drinking?”

“That busy?” Trey commented.

“And then some. Hey, Ian.”

“Hey, Owen. I’ll get your wine right out to you.”

“Good busy?” Cleo wondered as the server left the table.

“Busy’s usually good in business.”

“It sounds like things have been busy at the manor, too. You wanted to wait for Owen to tell us. Well, here’s Owen.”

“Tell us what?”

“Cleo found a portrait of Lisbeth in the studio closet.”

“No shit. Huh.” Owen sat back. “Who painted it?”

“Collin. Your uncle,” Cleo specified. “It’s absolutely beautiful.”