I’ll—”

But her voice died the second she passed through the revolving door. Her spine stiffened and her pulse quickened.

Standing in the middle of the lobby was Inspector Clouseau.

Hotel guests wove around him, giving him curious looks, and for good reason. He clearly wasn’t your average tourist. The overcoat despite the warm weather and the suspicious way he was scrutinizing everything screamed—Man of Law.

Diana fought back the urge to take the revolving door all the way around and leave, deciding that if he caught her, it’d make her look even more suspicious. She paused there, watching him squinting at a map of the hotel, until he turned and noticed her. He stalked over to her. “I need a straight answer from you, Mme St. James. Why were you poking around where you shouldn’t be?”

“What?” she asked, still holding the phone to her ear.

“Come with me,” he demanded. “I’d like to ask you some more questions about the murder of Claude Lachance.”

Diana glanced around. The hotel concierge was studying her, wide-eyed, as well as most of the people behind the check-in desk. A few guests in the lobby were also looking at her. She wasn’t a fan of hard-boiled crime shows but she knew that when a detective wanted to bring a person in “for questioning,” they often didn’t see the light of day for a long time afterwards, if ever. “Are you arresting me?”

“Arresting you? Murder?” Lily’s voice piped in. “Wait . . . did that guy just say murder? Who are you with?”

“No. I’m not bringing you in. I have questions.” The lieutenant looked around. “Would you prefer to go somewhere more private?”

She nodded.

“Mom!” Lily screamed. “What’s going on? Hello?”

“It’s nothing, darling. I’m just catching the end of CSI. Can I call you back later?” she asked, pulling the phone from her ear to jab at the End Call button. Before she could, she heard Lily screaming about how she knew that wasn’t the television because since when had Diana ever watched that stuff?

“Is that a code word, Mom? Are you in trouble?”

She probably should’ve answered and told her she was fine; but she was too flustered with the detective breathing down her neck; and by then, her finger was already on the red button, disconnecting the call. A second later, the phone rang again, from Lily, but Diana shoved it in her pocket. “Yes. Please.”

She followed him down the hallway to a small card room with a large round table in the center. He was polite, pulling out the chair for her and waiting for her to sit; but the second he sat down, he launched into the attack. “Why were you at the deceased’s home yesterday?”

Under the table, she dug her fingernails into her thighs. Her first impulse was to deny it, but then she lost her nerve. “I—” she stammered.

“The wife called the cops and said you were there,” he said, pulling out a pad and flipping through it. “You spoke to Veronique Lachance. What did she say?”