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No wonder Officer Clark looked so suspicious.

He was suspicious.

In truth, Grace ought to have pieced it together herself. She was easily the most well-read on matters of detective work among everyone present—though Frederick had made remarkable strides in that genre since their marriage.

“Mr. Todd, could we have Officer Davis return to the station and gather men to remove the body, please?” Detective Johnson’s voice cut through the room as he nodded toward Lillias. “I feel certain it would provide some small comfort to Mrs. Dixon.”

Lillias released another whimper, and Grace moved back to her side, putting an arm around her shoulders.

It was an odd thing as the younger daughter, to feel a sudden sense of protection over one’s elder sibling, but this moment, not to mention the way things had changed between them since her wedding, shifted something inside Grace.

She hadn’t much considered her role in the Ferguson family since marrying Frederick.

Between their whirlwind romance, the adventures that followed, and the many attempts to keep themselves alive, personal reflection had hardly been a priority.

And she hadn’t even seen her sister in seven months to remind her of making any comparisons.

Yet sitting here now, beside Lillias, Grace felt a curious blend of familiarity and estrangement settle over her.

They were the same sisters as they’d always been.

Yet they weren’t.

Officer Todd relayed Johnson’s orders, and Officer Davis darted from the room.

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Mrs. Dixon,” Detective Johnson continued, addressing Lillias with a measured tone. “But as you were the last to see your husband, we will need to ask you a few questions regarding his death.”

Lillias nodded and sniffled, and Frederick, in perfect style, offered her his handkerchief.

“However, first things first,” Detective Johnson declared, pacing the room with an assessing gaze.

“If a person posing as an officer responded so quickly to your cries and then conveniently knew exactly where to find me and my colleagues, we must consider the possibility that he was involved in Mr. Dixon’s demise. ”

Grace admired Detective Johnson’s logical approach.

From the wideness of his forehead, the sharpness in his pale eyes, his quick assertations, and his use of the word demise, Grace was already rather impressed by the man.

Of course, experience had taught her that first impressions could be misleading, but Johnson certainly carried himself with an air of credibility.

That was a very good start.

“What—what do you mean?” Lillias eked out the question. “Someone had planned to kill Tony?”

The detective tipped his head and studied her.

“Coincidences should always be suspect when crimes are involved, Mrs. Dixon. Our goal is to sort out why and who. This was no mere happenstance of a crime.” He turned to the officer at his side.

“Todd, would you make a sweep of the periphery and see if you note anything unusual?”

The older man, broad face pressed into a frown as if it didn’t know another expression, gave the room an assessing look before he nodded and left out the front door.

“Now”—Detective Johnson approached the group, his attention back on Lillias—”did your husband have any enemies?”

Grace nearly smiled. An excellent question—and one she would have asked had the detective not claimed it first.

“Enemies?” Lillias echoed, aghast. “Tony? Enemies?”

Her sharp tone roused Miss Cox, who shifted on the fainting couch, sitting up slowly. Her dark eyes darted between the speakers before landing on Grace, who offered an encouraging smile.

The poor girl’s frown only deepened.

“And who is this?” Detective Johnson nodded toward Miss Cox.

“Our maid,” Frederick answered smoothly. “She accompanied us from Italy after our honeymoon.”

Detective Johnson’s brows rose, shifting his attention from Frederick to Grace. “So you’ve only just arrived?”

“Our ship arrived yesterday,” Frederick explained. “We stayed overnight at an inn on our journey from the harbor. My wife hasn’t seen her family since our marriage, and I thought this visit would be a fitting surprise before we returned to Havensbrooke.”

“Quite the surprise,” Detective Johnson responded dryly.

The man didn’t seem to hold the same lightheartedness as their dear friend Detective Jack Miracle did. Johnson certainly carried himself with more gravity.

“But why would you suppose Tony had enemies?” Lillias asked.

“If he didn’t have any enemies, Lillias”—Grace turned to her sister, the possibilities dancing through her mind—”Then someone planned to kill him for another reason. As Detective Johnson suggested, this was not a random act. Is there anything missing? Stolen?”

Lillias’ eyes grew wide, and her face paled all over again. “I—I don’t know. I’ve not had opportunity …”

Detective Johnson nodded thoughtfully and stepped closer to the body, lowering himself near the knife lying on the floor where Lillias had dropped it. “Is that the weapon?” His sharp gaze shifted to Lillias, who seemed to shrink under his scrutiny.

“Yes.” Her voice trembled so much that Grace gave her shoulders another reassuring squeeze. “It—it was in his—his chest.”

The detective studied her face. “I’ll ask a few more immediate questions, Mrs. Dixon, then allow you time to process the situation before my return.”

Well, at least if he was going to be more serious, he had a kind streak. That proved a very good characteristic for anyone, especially a detective, Grace thought.

The door opened, and Officer Todd reentered, looking a bit too red in the face for a casual walk about the premises, but he wasn’t the smallest of men.

“Anything?” This from Detective Johnson.

Officer Todd gave his head a shake. “Nothing, sir, but the rain’s put me off for a bit. I can send a man back to give a more thorough look later.”

“A very good notion, Todd.” Detective Johnson paused, as if in thought for a moment, and then lifted Frederick’s jacket to peer at Tony’s body beneath. “I’m concerned for Mrs. Dixon’s safety, Todd. What do you think?”

“My safety?” Lillias nearly shrieked, standing so quickly she swayed.

Detective Johnson jumped to his feet to steady her, gently guiding her back to the couch.

His frown deepened as he withdrew his hands, looking slightly perplexed by her distress.

“Now, Mrs. Dixon, consider this: If the killer planned everything so meticulously to frame you for murder, it suggests you or this house may have been targeted. I’d feel better leaving an officer here to guard the premises.

I strongly encourage you to remain at home for the next few days. ”

“Remain at the house?” Lillias’ voice rose to a near panic. “Under guard?”

“Only until we gather more answers,” the detective assured her. He exchanged a brief look with Frederick, who gave a slight nod.

Grace raised a brow. Did the detective already recognize Frederick’s knack for solving mysteries? Surely a man trained to notice details would appreciate Frederick’s skills.

“We don’t know how long Mr. Dixon has been dead,” Detective Johnson continued, glancing toward the body.

“It couldn’t have been long,” Grace offered. “His face was pale but not completely ashen, and his lips showed no signs of discoloration when we arrived.”

Lillias gasped at her side, and Grace sent her a look. Her sister stared at her with wide eyes.

“And his skin was neither cold nor clammy—dulled, perhaps, but not lifeless,” Frederick added, his brow furrowed in thought.

“I wouldn’t guess more than half an hour at the time of our arrival, if that.”

All eyes turned to Miss Cox, who blinked up to them as if she hadn’t meant to speak aloud. She sat up straighter and cleared her throat, her cheeks flaming rouge.

Grace almost smiled. Good heavens, they’d hired the perfect maid!

Detective Johnson rounded the settee and lowered himself into the chair across from her. “How do you know this, Miss Cox?”

After a slight hesitation, the young woman raised those dark eyes. “My father was a coroner in Cornwall, sir. And just from the first look, well, I—I was raised around”—she shrugged a shoulder and grimaced—”dead people.”

Detective Johnson’s brows shot up. Frederick’s followed suit, and Grace couldn’t help but lean forward. “What a fascinating advantage you bring, Miss Cox. Far more useful than selecting hair clasps to match gowns, wouldn’t you agree, Frederick?”

Her darling husband’s brows creased, and he turned his attention back to Miss Cox.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the young woman continued hurriedly. “I didn’t mean to mislead you in Rome. Everything I told you—losing my mother on holiday and being robbed—was true. But I have more experience with”—she gestured toward Tony’s body—”the dead and dying than with styling hair or hemming dresses.”

Frederick exchanged a look with Grace before addressing Miss Cox. “We’ll discuss this later.”

Grace’s chest warmed. From the look on his face, he’d already forgiven the girl. Dear man.

“Well, this situation grows more interesting by the minute.” Detective Johnson braided his fingers together in front of him and turned back to Lillias. “Tell me everything you can remember from the time you entered the house, Mrs. Dixon.”

Lillias’ posture wilted further. Her voice faltered and tears overran her eyes as she described entering the house after a walk and finding her husband lifeless, in the middle of the room.

Grace’s heart gave a pang. No, of course her sister had nothing to do with Tony’s death, even if—as the maid had said—they’d been fighting.

While the interrogation continued, Frederick and Officer Todd inspected the house at the detective’s suggestion, returning to report that the cook and errand boy were out running errands, presumably leaving the home empty that morning except for Tony.