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“I knew a lot about her. I clocked her for what she was the moment I saw her hanging out at the country club with the likes of Tara Staudenmaier. One of my friends pointed out that was the girl you were dating. And the first thing out of my mouth was she couldn’t be much older than eighteen. Fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree, Delia.”

“You take that back.”

“Why? Because I saw myself in her?”

“Helena wasn’t looking for a payday. She wanted other kinds of validation.”

“Like I said, I saw myself in her.”

“Why are you even bringing this up?”

“Because I know how it would look if word got out your girlfriend was technically a teen when you started dating. Oh, it would not have mattered if she had been lying about your age. It would tarnish your reputation for at least ten years. Your father gets away with it because he’s a man. An older man with grown children and lots of money. We women don’t get that kind of pass, especially if the younger one is also a woman. Seen it time and again.”

“You’re not supposed to sound wiser than me.”

“I have a feeling I matured a bit before you did. Then again, a big scandal that happens when you’ve barely graduated from high school does that to you.”

“I am so sick of talking about maturity.”

“Take your father. Probably no more mature than the day your mother met him.”

“Almost forty years ago at this point!”

Emma shrugged in that c’est la vie way that only made her more intriguing to her stepdaughter. She’s got it all figured out. Her life, her marriage, even her future without Eustace when he inevitably passed away long before Emma. What was that like? How could Delia be more like that?

How could she stop giving a fuck what other people thought about her?

Delia was in the middle of debriefing from a meeting when her boss Jerry knocked on her door and grunted, “You’ve got a call on Line 2. New girl at the desk passed it on to me.”

“Who is it?”

Jerry didn’t bother doubling back to answer. “Some chick from Olympia!”

The color drained from Delia’s face. It can’t be… Helena wouldn’t call her at work. She’d gone straight to Delia’s cell phone, right? There were ways to recover it from her phone even if she had deleted Delia’s number.

She inhaled the deepest breath before taking the call on her desk phone. “Delia Benoist,” she said on the exhale. “The Boyle Group.”

The voice was not Helena’s. Not even close. “Hi. I’m sorry to interrupt your day. I know it’s the mid-afternoon over there on the East Coast.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

The next beat was pregnant with tension. “Brynn Morgan. I’m Helena’s… friend. She’s currently staying with me.”

“What can I do for you? I’m afraid that I don’t have an association with Helena any longer. If she’s done something–”

Brynn interrupted her. “She’s in trouble. I’ve done all I can to help her, but she will barely open up to me about anything. Only reason I’m calling you is because I’m at my wit’s end. Legal avenues are not helping.”

“What are you talking about? What kind of trouble?”

“Are you familiar with someone named Irene Feist?”

Delia’s throat was dry enough to warrant grabbing her water bottle off the corner of her desk. “Yes. What about her?”

“She’s creeping around my neighborhood trying to flush Helena out of my house. I’ve talked to the police and there’s nothing they can do, even though we have Helena on paper saying she doesn’t want anything to do with her stalker. Because that’s what this woman’s doing. She’s bad news, Ms. Benoist.”

“I’m aware.” Delia stole a drink of her water and steadied her breaths with a meditative moment. “I don’t know what this has to do with me. I have no power over the situation.”

“I thought you might like to know. According to Helena, you two were very close.”