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Frederick didn’t like leaving Zahra behind, but he refused to let Grace travel to Louisa Steen’s house alone—not with a murderer on the loose. At least with an officer stationed outside Lillias’ house, he felt marginally better about Zahra’s safety.

Marginally.

As Grace maneuvered the car through Harrington’s streets, however, he began to wonder if Zahra, Lillias, and Miss Cox were actually safer than he was.

After securing their own car, Grace had insisted she drive to Miss Steen’s, citing her greater familiarity with Harrington.

It was true, of course—but familiarity hardly compensated for experience.

She’d taken a grand total of three driving lessons before their honeymoon, and the results were …

Well, they were currently testing his faith.

After nearly mowing down a man on a bicycle, taking a corner at what felt like breakneck speed, and clipping a tree so closely the leaves brushed the side mirror, Frederick began to think he’d have had better odds fending off the counterfeit Officer Clark.

“I’m certain Miss Steen’s neighborhood is just down this street.

” Grace grinned as she took another turn with alarming gusto.

Frederick’s fingers dug into the doorframe.

“We used to visit a church member here when I was younger.

She had the most glorious pink dogwoods—truly, they looked like something out of The Secret Garden. “

He smiled. Despite it all.

How could he help it?

In the span of a single day, his wife had faced her father’s deception, the loss of her childhood home, and her brother-in-law’s violent death.

And still her smile cut through the murky weight of it all, just as it had since the first day they’d met.

He prayed that, even with tragedy closer to her heart this time, she’d cling to that inner sunshine.

Over the months of their marriage, he’d come to realize he couldn’t keep her safe—not entirely.

So he’d learned to trust God for both their hearts.

Or at least, he’d gotten better at trusting God.

The houses on either side of the street formed two neat rows, each small and unassuming but tidy. Quaint, yes—and proving Miss Louisa Steen came from a working-class family.

Grace stopped the car on the street near a house with the number matching the address on the envelope Lillias had given her, but his bride didn’t immediately exit the car. Instead, she looked over at him, brow creased.

“What’s wrong?” Frederick asked.

Her lips pressed into a thoughtful line before she leaned toward him. “Do you think we should open the envelope first?”

Air burst from Frederick’s throat. “What?”

“No, of course not. We shouldn’t.” She shook her head and reached for the door handle, then turned back to him. “But—”

“But?”

“But why would Lillias want us to deliver this letter to her former maid before the police interviewed her? That seems … odd, doesn’t it?”

He couldn’t deny it. The same thought had been nagging him since Lillias made the request, but between their brief conversations and Grace’s rather spirited driving, there hadn’t been an opportunity to bring it up.

“Grace.”

“The letter isn’t sealed, Frederick.” Her wide eyes implored as her voice dropped to a whisper. “What if reading it could stop something worse from happening? Isn’t it better to be prepared?”

Frederick exhaled a short laugh. “Darling, I admire the heart behind your reasoning, but I also know your keen sense of justice. You’d regret tampering with it later.”

She studied him for a long moment, and then her shoulders drooped. “You’re right. I would.” She sighed, lips twitching faintly. “Mostly.”

“Perhaps if we deliver it directly into Miss Steen’s hands, we can observe her reaction and gather information without compromising Lillias’ trust.”

“You’re right, as usual. My mystery-loving spirit got the better of me. I needed your good sense to rein me in.”

He exited and rounded to her door to assist her.

“I don’t think it was the mystery-loving spirit as much as your protective heart,” he said, offering her his arm and starting toward the front door of the house.

“This is different from all our other … adventures. It’s your family, Grace.

But I hope it will be much more short-lived than our previous cases. ”

“ Cases !” Her eyes flashed wide with her smile. “Oh, you called them cases. I love it when you refer to us as proper sleuths, Frederick. It’s so exciting.”

Her smile wavered—just the faintest flicker so subtle no one else would have noticed. But Frederick did. He knew those tiny shifts, those rare flakes of vulnerability in her bright optimism. The current situation hit her much more deeply than she let on.

“And,” she added quietly, “with all the factual difficulties surrounding this particular situation, it helps to add a little fictional delight. Just enough to soften the ache of reality, don’t you think?”

“One of the many benefits of fiction, darling.” He placed a hand over hers on his arm, his voice dropping as he met her gaze.

“But we’re in this together, as we have been.

Fiction or no.” A playful wink accompanied his words.

“But let’s keep our detective minds sharp until we figure out what your sister has dragged us into, shall we? ”

“Yes,” she agreed, squeezing his arm with a conspiratorial smile. “Something feels more unsettled in that house than just the death of my brother-in-law.”

Indeed.

Frederick reached the door first, keeping Grace just a step behind him in preparation for whatever they may find on the other side. His first knock brought no answer, but the second stirred movement. The door creaked open to reveal a much more composed Miss Steen.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her accent carrying the rounded tones of the nearby mountains.

Frederick nodded. “Miss Steen, isn’t it?”

“It is.” Her chin lifted, her eyes narrowing as she gave him a thorough once-over.

“Good afternoon. We’ve come regarding Mrs. Dixon.”

Miss Steen’s sharp gaze darted to Grace, then back to Frederick, and she cast a wary glance at the street. After a moment’s hesitation, she opened the door wider. “He told me you’d be coming, but I didn’t expect you till this evening or tomorrow morning.”

Frederick’s unease deepened. He? How did anyone know they were coming when they hadn’t even known it themselves?

A silent exchange with Grace conveyed the same question. To her credit, her expression remained perfectly neutral save for a subtle quirk of her brow.

“Did he prepare you for our inquiry?” Frederick asked, keeping his question ambiguous.

“Said you’d want to know about the Dixons’ house and all that was going on there.” She chuckled and waved toward a pair of chairs poised around a simple table in the middle of the room. “With what he paid me, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

Frederick’s mind raced. Paid her? Who exactly did Miss Steen think they were? He gestured for Grace to take a seat, concealing his mounting tension with an obligatory smile. “Thank you for your cooperation. We’re eager to get to the bottom of this matter.”

“Ain’t much guesswork to it.” Miss Steen looked over at Grace. “Is that your secretary or is she one of them new female detectives I’ve heard tell about?”

“The latter, Miss Steen.” Grace perked up at the mention, sending Frederick a saucy grin. “Detective Percy has been an excellent mentor in the process.”

Detective Percy indeed. Frederick’s brows lifted, his lips twitching, but he quickly masked the amusement, turning to Miss Steen with a polite nod.

“I’ve heard tell of female detectives but ain’t never seen one with my own eyes.” Miss Steen gave Grace a fresh look with an approving nod tagged on before she shrugged and looked back at Frederick. “I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but I’m glad to be rid of that house.”

Grace flinched, just barely, at the blunt statement.

“And with what Mr. K gave me to share my thoughts?” Miss Steen added. “I’m planning to leave this town as soon as I can.”

Mr. K. The name—or initial—landed like a stone in Frederick’s gut. Whoever this Mr. K was, he had chosen a loose-lipped informant.

Air whooshed from his lungs.

Unless, of course, that was the point.

But if there was some Mr. K involved, it likely meant Lillias wasn’t the murderer, didn’t it? Yet, it seemed that someone wanted them to think so.

“How long had you worked for the Dixons?” Grace’s question brought Frederick back to the conversation.

“Two months back.” Miss Steen leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. “Started about a month before the babe was born, but I’d heard about them long before.”

“Had you?” Grace continued.

“Reputations carry in small towns.” Miss Steen answered. “And based on all I’d heard I should have known better than to take the position.”

Frederick tilted his head. “Why is that?”

“Everyone knew about Mr. Dixon’s gambling,” Miss Steen said flatly.

“Living with a man who can’t control his vices is hard enough for a wife, let alone a child.

” She shook her head, her features dark with something that looked too personal to be feigned.

“I grew up with a drunk. It’s no life—always waiting for the next blow to fall. ”

Grace shifted beside him, her usual poise briefly disrupted. Frederick didn’t need to look to know her thoughts were racing, no doubt rearranging the details into chapters and clues, the way she did with her favorite mysteries.

If the whole town knew not only about Tony Dixon’s gambling but also any discord between him and Lillias, it didn’t bode well for Lillias’ reputation—or her defense.

“Are you saying”—Grace cleared her throat—”that Mr. Dixon was violent with his wife?”

“Violent?” The woman barked her laugh. “Not at all. He treated her as queenly as his funds would allow, letting her complain and shout to the top of her lungs about how poor they was. But he wasn’t happy and neither was she is what I’m saying.”