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“So you found a household on edge when you arrived?” Grace leaned closer, her expression much too serious for his peace of mind. She felt it too. The hint of possibility that her sister may be in much more trouble than widowhood.

“Like you can’t imagine.” A ruthless grin erupted from the woman.

“Those two were at each other’s throats day and night—or at least during the little time he was home.

And then the babe coming into the mix …” She shook her head, her voice dropping with weary finality.

“The only peace anyone got was when Mr. Anthony was out gambling or Mrs. Lillias was asleep. That’s the truth. ”

Frederick exchanged a look with Grace, a little apprehensive to voice the next question. With a deep breath, he turned to Miss Steen. “And do you know of anyone who would want to cause Mr. Dixon harm?”

Miss Steen snorted, a sharp, knowing sound. “You mean, besides his wife?”

Frederick shot a quick glance at Grace, whose face had gone pale. Too pale. He reached for her hand beneath the table, squeezing gently as he spoke. “It’s a difficult accusation to make, Miss Steen.”

“I’m just telling you what I saw,” Miss Steen said, matter-of-factly.

“Mr. Anthony wasn’t exactly a saint and, truth be told, neither was she.

But a woman can only take so much before something snaps.

” Miss Steen’s eyes narrowed. “The fact is that house was a powder keg long before anyone lit the fuse.”

Frederick’s grip on Grace’s hand tightened slightly. A powder keg, indeed—and they were standing squarely in its aftermath.

Besides Lillias?

Grace’s thoughts froze, and a chill took up residence throughout her body.

Surely not.

Lillias wasn’t capable of killing her own husband, or anyone else for that matter.

Was she?

After all, Grace had been the daughter in the family who’d indulged in all the gothic novels and mysteries, even staging her own investigations, which led to being trapped in a well in one instance and nearly arrested for trespassing on another.

But Lillias? She didn’t even like to read!

Grace inhaled sharply, her mind racing. Perhaps not reading such stories had left her sister ill-equipped for life’s darker troubles.

Without a healthy dose of fictional woes, maybe Lillias’ frustration had no proper outlet.

A woman who never confronted imaginary perils might flounder in the face of real ones.

Truth be told, Grace had survived so many imaginary dangers, some of the real ones paled in comparison.

Thankfully, Miss Steen didn’t seem to notice Grace’s internal monologue, because she simply continued her answer, keeping her focus on Frederick.

“You can’t really blame the woman,” Miss Steen said, with a tone suggesting she could blame her quite easily.

“Her husband was practically leaking money they didn’t have.

And she, being one of those high-and-mighty sorts, wanted to live in a certain way.

” She sent Grace a pointed look which only coiled the knot more tightly in Grace’s stomach.

“It was a mismatch from the start, I’d say.

He didn’t have the money to give her the life she wanted, and she didn’t have the patience to manage life with less. Someone was going to break eventually.”

Grace had read enough novels to steel herself against cavalier discussions of death—or so she thought.

Her pulse betrayed her, racing ahead. Miss Steen’s blunt assessment of Lillias and Tony’s differences brought into sharp focus what Grace had been avoiding: the glaring plausibility of her sister’s motive.

Grace hadn’t considered—really considered—how deeply Lillias might have been affected by her circumstances. When they’d switched roles, Grace stepping into Lillias’ place to marry Frederick, and Lillias marrying her child’s father, Tony, the decision had seemed practical. The righting of a wrong.

But Lillias had been groomed for a world of gowns, servants, and soirées. Reduced circumstances might have felt like exile. And Father’s financial ruin had made her position even more precarious.

But gowns and ballrooms don’t lead to murder. Grace’s breath hinged. Or did they?

She almost cringed.

And moral lapses weren’t the same as murder, surely?

Lillias’ decision to deceive an earl and marry Tony hadn’t been stellar, but Grace hadn’t placed it in the same league as homicide.

Then again, she and Frederick had encountered villains in their sleuthing—Celia Blackmore Percy had killed for status, Charles Smallwood for riches, and Daniel Laraby’s treasure hunt had left bodies—including his own—in its wake.

The desire for money was terribly powerful.

And Grace’s myriad fictional references only proved this all the more.

Determined to steer the conversation away from her sister, Grace leaned forward. “Were there any other possibilities? Someone who might have had a grudge against Mr. Dixon? Or perhaps Mrs. Dixon?”

Miss Steen tilted her head, unruffled. “Hard to say. Dixon was well-liked, far as I know. Though I wouldn’t know much about his gambling crowd.”

Frederick swept in with another question, likely noting Grace’s befuddlement. “Is there a chance the murder was part of a robbery? Did the Dixons have anything worth stealing?”

Grace offered him a grateful smile. Yes. There was another possibility. Especially with the nasty false officer slinking around.

“I suppose there’s always that chance.” The woman offered a nonchalant shrug. “The Dixons had more of the nicer things in their home than others in the neighborhood. Things that Mrs. Dixon brought from her father’s house.”

Oh, so perhaps her family hadn’t lost all those wonderful heirlooms after all.

“What sorts of things?” Grace rushed ahead and quickly returned to a more “detective” character. “What would you have considered worth stealing, especially knowing the neighborhood as you do?”

Miss Steen puffed up a little at the comment, lifting her chin in thought.

“Well, it’s the usual things, except their home would have been prime pickings.

What with the nice paintings and furniture.

Even some of Mrs. Dixon’s fine jewelry.” Miss Steen nodded.

“Some jealous or even clever neighbor or person within the social circles they frequented could have, I suppose, entered the house with that in mind.”

The glint in Miss Steen’s eyes as she mentioned Lillias’ jewelry caught Grace’s attention. Perhaps, Miss Steen wasn’t as innocent as she appeared either. Or at least, Grace could focus on an option other than her sister.

“That information brings us to this morning.” Frederick continued, looking all the more delightful with his tie just a little crooked. “Could you tell us your schedule before you arrived to find Mr. Dixon deceased?”

Miss Steen stiffened. “I ain’t done nothing wrong.”

“And I’m not implying you did,” Frederick soothed. “We’re simply trying to establish a timeline.”

Miss Steen exhaled and nodded. “I got up early, had breakfast, then met Mrs. Dixon in her sitting room to collect the baby.”

“And Mrs. Dixon seemed … well?” Grace pressed.

“As well as she ever was,” Miss Steen replied, frowning. “She wasn’t exactly cheerful. Always sad or angry about something—likely all the reasons I’ve already said.”

“What happened next?” Frederick asked.

“I dressed the baby and took him for a walk in Carrollton Park.”

“You returned directly after?” Frederick’s tone remained neutral, though Grace detected the curiosity beneath it.

“Well …” Miss Steen hesitated, her face reddening. “I usually stop by the butcher’s on the way back. Just to check sales for Cook.”

Good heavens! Could the woman’s face get any redder?

“Miss Steen.” Frederick took his time, studying the woman, who looked away. “I feel as though there is more to your visit to the butcher’s than you’re confessing.”

She swallowed audibly and looked away, pinching her lips closed. What on earth?

And then Grace understood. “Is there someone at the butcher’s who you fancy, Miss Steen?”

The woman’s face flushed a brilliant tomato hue. “Now that ain’t none of your business. And I never let my visits interfere with my work.”

Grace sent Frederick a look. Miss Steen’s defensiveness confirmed it, though Grace decided to pivot gracefully, rescuing her from further embarrassment. “And Mrs. Dixon? What was she doing while you were out?”

“How should I know?” Miss Steen shrugged. “She didn’t tell me her business.”

A splash of cold unease slid over Grace’s thoughts.

For someone who fancied herself an amateur sleuth—her inspiration drawn liberally from the pages of Mary Roberts Rinehart—this wasn’t her most brilliant moment.

Her sister’s life might depend on her wit, yet here she was, muddling through as if she were a dim-witted side character.

Frederick, far less prone to narrative despair, took the reins. “You mean to say she didn’t accompany you?”

Then why would Lillias lie? Unless …

“Accompany me?” Miss Steen snorted. “The lady”—she laced the word with a sarcasm thick enough to spread on toast—”she wouldn’t be caught dead walking with me.

High-and-mighty types don’t mingle with the help.

Like I said, she put on airs. Once a grand dame, always a grand dame—until the bottom falls out. No wonder Mr. Dixon took to gambling.”

Grace’s mind raced. “Do you have any idea where Mrs. Dixon may have gone?” she asked, fighting the knot tightening in her throat. “Had she stayed at home?”

“Not a clue,” Miss Steen said with another shrug. “She wasn’t exactly confiding in me, now was she?”

Thankfully, Frederick intervened, because Grace was beginning to wonder if she knew her family at all. “One last question, Miss Steen. When was the last time you saw Mrs. Dixon before you left for your walk this morning?”

“Last I saw her was when I left the house with the baby.” Miss Steen looked between the two of them. “She was dressed in her best and drove right past me in one of those cars, headed toward town.”

But she was certainly back when Frederick and Grace had arrived.

Back and standing over Tony’s dead body with a knife in her hand.

Grace pressed her eyes closed for a moment, attempting to process everything. Not to mention that her sister had lied about being on a walk with Miss Steen.

“Thank you for your time, Miss Steen.” Frederick stood, offering his arm to Grace. “Please remain nearby in case you are needed. There is a good chance some officers may stop in tomorrow to engage in further investigation.”

Miss Steen didn’t answer, but walked with them to the door.

Frederick increased his pace to the car once the door closed behind them, leading Grace to the passenger side, before taking his own seat behind the wheel. No wonder he wanted to drive back. She was shaking like a leaf.

“I can’t believe it,” she whispered, looking back at the house.

“We’ve stumbled into something with claws, Grace.” Frederick’s tone was steady, but his grip on the steering wheel betrayed him. “And with this being your family, we’ll need to stay especially sharp.”

She nodded, drawing a deep breath, but it barely settled her nerves.

Grace prided herself on her composure; now she felt like a trembling heroine in a Gothic novel.

It wasn’t her style. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, but as she rested her hands on her lap, the prick of something in her pocket drew her attention.

The letter. From Lillias to Miss Steen.

Grace pulled the note from her pocket as Frederick drove the car away from Miss Steen’s house.

“I think we’ve earned the right to read this now,” she said, unfolding it. “If nothing else, it might help us understand her state of mind.”

Frederick glanced at her. “Or protect her from herself.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not fully certain.” He kept his attention on the road. “But I feel as if she’s hiding something.”

Which was a thought Grace had had during Detective Johnson’s questioning.

Her sister’s reticence at times hinted to something more than just grief and shock over her husband’s death.

Something else wasn’t quite right. Was it that Lillias didn’t want to confess the difficulties in her marriage? Admit the financial fall?

Or was there something else she hid?

Grace opened the short letter, hoping to find Lillias begging Miss Steen to return to her duties, but she instead discovered Lillias’ begging for something completely different.

I need you to tell the police I was with you on your walk this morning. I’ll pay you a handsome sum if you do. You owe me for even giving you this job when you had no references. I’m counting on your cooperation, Louisa. Telling them otherwise would not bode well for either of us.

“She was bribing her for an alibi,” she murmured, looking over at Frederick before reading the note aloud to him, her stomach knotting tighter with every word.

“Nothing is certain, Grace,” he said, his voice softening. His gaze flicked to her, the tenderness there threatening to undo her entirely.

But Grace knew her fiction—and her facts. And in every genre she could think of, the clues pointed to the same devastating conclusion.

“No,” she said, the words trembling on her lips. “But there’s a very real possibility my sister murdered her husband.”