ically snipping the dead heads off a pot of white

echoed through the apartment, followed by the he

on a towel, and composed her face into an

deeply uncomfortable. He was holding the handles

and fragile in a loose-fitting ca

his is Isabelle Vance. She's the daughter of my old

tense face to Isabelle's. She kept

oothly now. "Her apartment was broken into. The police aren't taking it seriously. I told her she could

sweater did its job, but it couldn't completely hide the gen

d, her hands outstretched. "Chloe, I am so, so grateful. I don't know

y strong. As she squeezed, Chloe felt the sharp, deliberate press of a

harder, her own short, clean nails pressing into Isabelle's s

, her voice warm and gracious. "We have plen

clearly holding. "Thank you,

, that room at the end looks lovely," she said, pointing. "The one with

adjacent to the master bedroom. Chloe felt a

," Chloe sa

e opened a utility cabinet, reached into the very back, and pulled out a small, sealed box. Inside was a

te painting hung on the wall, directly facing the guest room door. It took her less than a minute to em

on a kettle for tea. She arranged three cups and s

the hallway, careful to keep a

led her nose. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she said, looking at Julian with wide, apologetic

stantly. "Of course. I'll

illy, darling," she said, her smile unwavering. "You're

gh the gap between the kitchen island and the wall, she could see the living room. She wa

hen, then patted her hand and pushed

movements calm and deliberate. She poured

part again, looking

ng the warm milk in front of her. "I do hop

er, a picture of gratit

er own tea, and felt the quiet,