“Maybe.” I don’t offer more. I’m only a more person when I’m the one getting the extra serving of whatever I want. Instead, I say, “I’ll text you the pertinent details,” and hang up, eyeing Andrew. “I need her address and—just text me her driver’s license photo.”

He’s already on his phone, forwarding me the photo. The message dings and I pull it up to stare down at the image of Naomi Wells’ license. I scowl at my brother, the police chief, who should be the almighty investigator around these parts. “Did you look at the woman who was serving us, Andrew? I mean, she was pretty and you’re still single.”

“I was slightly distracted by other things, Lilah. Why?”

I show the photo to Kane and his gaze lifts to mine. “That’s not the woman that was just in our house.”

“Exactly,” I say, already dialing Chief Houston again.

“I’m fast,” he says when he answers, “but not that fast.”

“The woman we thought was Naomi Wells was an imposter. Do a safety check on the real Naomi. I need to know if she’s alive.” I disconnect.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“I need to talk to Chef Roswell,” I say, walking past Kane and going inside the house.

I find him in the kitchen, still busy at work. “Dinner will go on,” he declares. “I don’t know what the hell Naomi just pulled, but I do apologize.”

I find it odd that he stayed in the kitchen, rather than attending to whatever issue his employee created. Kane apparently does as well. He steps to my side and says, “Chef Roswell,” his words heavily accented which I know to be by intent. I’ve learned that when Kane means business, he lays it on thick. And he knows very well that’s when they think of him being his father’s son. “Let’s put dinner on hold and have a conversation.”

Chef Roswell looks between me and Kane, turning off a burner beneath a pot as he does. “Oh, holy hell. Did she steal something?” He grabs a towel. “And I apologize. I was trying to save your dinner.”

“How well do you know her?” Kane presses.

“As I mentioned when I arrived,” he replies, “she was a last-minute replacement of my scheduled sous chef. I’ve never worked with her before. Did she steal something?” he presses again.

“Did the service send her?” I ask.

“That’s what Naomi told me,” he says. “She called right as I arrived in the Hamptons and told me she was here to replace Michael, the scheduled chef. He wanted to be with his family today, so I’d told him if he decided not to come, just make sure I have a backup. I assumed that’s what happened. What is going on?”

“I sensed tension between the two of you,” I say. “What was that?”