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The Dixon house carried a strange sort of silence, as if the walls themselves mourned and shuddered at the events they had witnessed.

Grace had recovered a sliver of composure on the ride back from Miss Steen’s house, thanks to Frederick’s steady reassurances and a good dose of silent prayer.

But the very idea that her sister might hang for murder left her insides in an ongoing tremor.

“I don’t envy the prospect of confronting Lillias about all this, Frederick,” she admitted, pausing just inside the front entrance of the townhouse.

Frederick stopped beside her, his hand brushing her arm as his dark eyes searched hers. “Do you feel unsafe with her?”

Did she? Unsettled, perhaps. But unsafe? She shook her head slowly. “I can’t believe she’s capable of something so horrific. But the way the knife …” Her voice faltered.

He gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “If you’d rather wait—”

“She needs to be prepared for the detective’s questioning tomorrow, especially now that we have evidence she tried to buy an alibi from Miss Steen.”

“Let’s have a think first on our own. Then we’ll speak to her. It will give you time to check on Zahra, and I can send a message to Mr. Barclay at the Clarion. Unless, of course, you’d rather draft it yourself?”

“Do you mind? I think it would be good to get some answers, don’t you?”

“And perhaps a needed distraction?” he replied, a hint of a grin tugging at his lips.

“You know me too well.” Her smile spread despite herself.

“Don’t forget, darling.” He straightened, adopting a mockingly serious expression and sending her a wink. “I am a detective, after all.”

Grace nearly swooned. Words directly to her heart. Without another word, she rocked onto her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips. For all his cleverness, it was his calm strength that was the distraction she felt most at the moment.

He lengthened the embrace for a moment longer and then drew back. “Do you know where the kitchen might be?” He looked about the room with one brow playfully raised, continuing the needed levity of the moment. “I need to track down Lillias’ errand boy, and I fear I’m terribly lost in this house.”

“I think your detective skills will come in handy for that too.”

His grin split wide before he turned and walked down the nearest hallway. Grace stood in the middle of the room, the presence of the police officer outside the front door only adding to the strangeness of the situation.

But was it strange? Truly.

She’d spent her entire marriage embarking on unexpected mysteries, and if something devastating could happen in Frederick’s family, why not her own? It was a grim, equal-opportunity disaster.

Her shoulders tensed at the thought, but she drew in a deep breath and lifted her chin. If she’d learned anything through their adventures, it was that while she might have a knack for fictional mysteries, she wasn’t too bad at solving the real ones, either.

And this mystery involved people she loved the most.

Clearly, God knew what He was doing by placing her right in the thick of it all.

She pushed aside her tangled emotions and set her mind on the mystery at hand. God had put her in this moment at such a time as this. She stood a little taller, like veritable Queen Esther.

The room appeared unchanged since her earlier visit.

Even the bloodstain on the carpet between the two settees remained, a dark accusation in the otherwise genteel space.

Most likely, with Lillias’ reduced staff, no one had taken the stain in hand yet.

Grace scanned the area with careful eyes.

A crystal vase stood by the front door, untouched—an easy target for a thief, yet left behind.

A beautiful watercolor painting, formerly of Rutledge House, hung prominently on a wall near the settees.

Her father had once boasted about purchasing it for her mother at great expense. Not stolen.

She ventured farther, her eyes catching on other familiar objects. The front rooms were still lavishly appointed, the furnishings as elegant and ornate as those from the house she and Lillias had grown up in. But the illusion frayed the farther she walked.

The housekeeper had shown them to their rooms earlier, and the contrast had been startling.

Frederick and Grace’s room was sparse, with only a bed, a washstand, and a solitary landscape painting—another relic from their family home.

The room meant for Miss Cox and Zahra was even barer, its walls devoid of any decoration.

For a woman who had adored extravagance her entire life, the barren spaces were completely out of character. Lillias had free rein of Rutledge House’s treasures now. Why hadn’t she taken more to decorate the other rooms?

She turned around in the main entry hall. And if a thief meant to steal something, they wouldn’t have bypassed these easily accessible rooms or the treasures therein.

Some scuffs on the floor nearby drew her attention.

Small scratches could have been from anyone’s shoes, but they were fresh, with a small trail of dirt.

Could Tony have been killed somewhere else and then dragged into this room?

And could Lillias have done that? Tony hadn’t been a particularly large man, but it would have certainly taken a lot of work for Lillias to move him.

Grace’s breath caught.

Unless, Lillias had an accomplice. Fake Officer Clark flashed to mind.

Grace gave her head a shake. It was quite probable that Lillias Ferguson Dixon did not kill her husband. Quite probable. Grace pushed through a hard swallow and took a few steps down the darkened hallway, following the dirt and minute scrapes on the floor.

The corridor wasn’t long. A small study branched off on one side; a closet opened on the other.

It ended at a door that led to the back garden.

Unlike other townhouses in Harrington, this one backed onto a small, wooded park instead of another set of houses.

The growing dusk blurred her view of the trees, and the scarcity of streetlamps in this quieter part of town cast long shadows over the ground.

It was the perfect spot for a clandestine meeting.

Or a murder.

But why would a murderer drag a body from outside into the house?

Her eyes widened as a sudden thought struck. Unless they wanted to frame Lillias. And if the murderer knew how to enter the house, they either had the time to work out an entrance, lived here already, or were intimately familiar with the property.

Which meant, he or she knew how to get inside again.

Or were already there.

A creak of the floor broke the silence behind her, and Grace was completely without her parasol.

Usually, from what she’d read and even in Detective Miracle’s book, a criminal returns to the scene of a crime because he’d left evidence behind and wished to retrieve it or because he hadn’t finished the job.

Grace scanned the space near her, but nothing proved a useable weapon, especially the rug, so she balled her hands into fists and spun around to find … empty space.

Until she looked a little lower than the possible culprit’s height and stared into the face of Zahra. Air whooshed from Grace’s body in a nervous laugh.

“Zahra.” She bent to be closer to the little girl’s level. “I love that you are excellent at being quiet, but maybe next time you could let me know you are close.” Grace pressed a palm to her chest. “You surprised me.”

“At the orphanage, we were all told to be quiet.”

“Well, you’re not in the orphanage anymore. You’re with us,” Grace said gently, taking the girl’s hand. “And we want to hear from you.”

Zahra tilted her head, studying Grace with an intensity that felt far too wise for a girl of ten—or however old she might be. No one seemed to know for certain.

“Miss Cox does not know about babies, Sayyidda.” Zahra shook her head, her frown deepening, evidently taking Grace’s words to heart and speaking her mind. “She is not smart with Thomas, but I have been teaching her while you were away.”

“I’m so glad you are able, Zahra, however Miss Cox was hired to help you and me, not tend to babies.” Grace squeezed the girl’s hand and smiled.

Zahra looked unconvinced.

“But,” Grace continued with a warm smile, “it’s good you know about tending babies. I suspect I’ll need your help one day when I have one of my own.”

Zahra’s gaze dropped to Grace’s middle and her eyebrows rose. “Do you have a baby growing inside you, Sayyida?”

Grace blinked at the directness of the question and then at the twinge of uncertainty swiveling up through her middle. Did she? From the talk she’d had with Frederick’s Aunt Lavenia, she didn’t feel any of the symptoms usually prescribed to a pregnancy. “I don’t know.”

“I will help you tend to the baby when it comes.” Zahra nodded, her face as sober as usual. “Then you will want me to stay.”

Grace sank to her knees, her heart tightening painfully. She clasped the little girl’s hands in her own. “Zahra, we are your family now. That means we want you to stay whether you help or not. We’ve adopted you.”

“Adopted?” Zahra echoed, frowning. “You say this word, but I do not know it.”

Grace’s heart ached. What a woeful mother she was turning out to be!

She hadn’t even considered that Zahra might not understand the depth of what family meant.

To Zahra, “living” with Frederick and Grace likely felt no different than the transient stops she’d endured before: a mother’s fleeting care, the streets, the orphanage.

Merely existing under their roof, without any promise of belonging.