“You’re straight up mean, is what you are,” Izzy said, backing away from the machine. Then she turned to take in the mansion, whistling low and long as she did. “Moneybags.”

“You have no idea,” Mia said. Moneybags barely scratched the surface of the Bells’ wealth. “Come on.”

Ringing the bell seemed like the smarter option than the knocker—a better chance for Lacey to hear. Mia pressed it, then waited. After a few minutes, she pressed it once more, refusing to feel guilty at the early hour.

“If you dragged me out here . . .” But Izzy’s threat was cut off before it had a chance to fully land.

Lacey Bell stood in the doorway, her eyes wide, her hand still gripping the heavy wood.

The woman was dressed in an oversize lilac sweater with rolled-up sleeves and black leggings that had roses winding up over her knees and thighs. The blade-thin ridge of her collarbone hinted at a still-slim frame under the loose fabric.

Her black, glossy hair was cut into a bob with bangs that slashed across her forehead in a choppy, asymmetrical line. Where her face had once been angular, it was now soft, filled out with age, making her prettier than she had ever been before. Rows of chunky rings sat heavy on her fingers, and a waterfall of pearls cascaded from gold hooks that dragged on her earlobes. Her lips were slicked red with gloss and her lashes were sooty with mascara, despite it being maybe seven in the morning.

There was a moment before recognition hit that Lacey’s face remained neutral and pleasant, if a bit surprised at the early visitors, a polite smile plastered on.

But then her eyes met Mia’s, and any color that had been left in her porcelain-white face bled out, her arm coming up across her body as if to shield herself from a blow. “Mia Hart.”

Mia didn’t know what she’d expected. But it hadn’t been fear. Maybe Lacey really was their intruder.

“Lacey.” Mia nodded, and neither of them moved to hug or even shake hands. They’d known each other only a few months. They were nothing more than strangers with a shared tragedy.

“I heard you were back,” Lacey finally said, though she didn’t move to invite them in. Her voice was delicate, cultured, unlike the harsh accent of those who had grown up on St. Lucy’s.

“In town,” Mia corrected. Back sounded too permanent.

Lacey’s lips tipped up as if she immediately understood. Could relate despite being back on the island herself. “Of course. Apologies.”

They stood there for so long that Mia knew she was going to have to force the issue. “Can we come inside?”

“I’m sorry, yes, please.” Lacey said it like it had been an oversight and moved so they could step out of the cold. “I was having coffee in the kitchen?”