“No,” she said. “If Bobby has decided you are under his protection, refusing it would insult him.”
Dalia almost laughed, but Mrs. Hargrove was not joking.
By noon, the staff was whispering without moving their lips. By evening, Bobby had stationed himself outside the laundry room while Dalia folded linens. When another maid tried to enter, the dog lifted his head and stared until she retreated.
At seven, a black sedan arrived.
Dalia saw it from the upstairs window while closing curtains in the west bedroom. The driver stepped out first. Then a woman emerged from the back seat, elegant in a cream coat, her dark hair pinned at the nape of her neck.
Dalia’s body went cold.
She knew that face.
She had seen it in Daniel’s phone.
Not once. Not twice.
Dozens of times.
The woman walking up the Fiero steps was Serena Marsh.
Daniel’s sister.
The woman he had said would open the door from the inside.
Dalia stepped back from the window so quickly she struck the table behind her. A porcelain figurine wobbled, tipped, and fell.
It shattered across the floor.
Downstairs, the front door opened.
Mrs. Hargrove’s voice floated upward.
“Miss Marsh. Welcome back to the Fiero estate.”
Dalia stared at the broken porcelain at her feet.
Then she heard another voice.
Smooth. Feminine. Familiar.