Claudia laughed. “I need to run,” she said, checking the time. “There are a few more presents to wrap in my bedroom, would you mind?”

“If I can be trusted.”

“I’ll do the finishing touches when I get back.”

“Where are you going?”

“To deliver gifts to my fabulous team, then I’ve got a meeting with a new client in Uley village. And when I’ve finished there, I’m hoping to see the electricians at the coach house before they clock off for the holiday.”

“So busy,” Marcy sighed, although she was thrilled to see Claudia so upbeat. And when she heard the front door bang closed a few minutes later she was glad of her decision not to say anything about the shock she’d had last night, when she’d thought it was Eugena Huxley-Browne coming into the restaurant. Just the mention of the name would have thrown Claudia back into the paranoia of a few months ago; it might even have proved difficult for Marcy to convince her that it really hadn’t been Marcus’s sister.

It hadn’t, Marcy was certain about that, and now that she was over the shock of it she realized how foolish she’d been to think Eugena would come looking herself. She’d have people to do it for her, which was so far from being a comforting thought that she pushed it straight out of her mind. Much better to focus on Henry and how much she was already looking forward to New Year’s Eve.

AS CLAUDIA RAN down the steps at the front of the villa, where she and Jasmine had strung bright star lights a week ago, she came to a sudden stop as a man she thought she recognized walked into the front area. He wore a heavy dark raincoat and a charcoal-gray scarf. Her heart gave an uneasy beat as she tried to place him.

“Mrs. Winters. Leo Johnson,” he reminded her, and though she didn’t relax exactly, she no longer felt poised to run. It was the young detective who’d come to visit with DI Phillips all those months ago. Why was he here? What had happened? So many awful scenarios flashed through her mind, all involving Marcus, that she barely heard herself say, “Are you here to see me?”

He reached inside his coat and drew out a handful of envelopes, some white, probably Christmas cards, others brown and official-looking. “These arrived for you from London,” he explained, holding them out to her.

Alarmed, Claudia backed away. “I don’t want them,” she protested. “Who sent them?”

“They came to me via DI Phillips,” he explained.

“He should have just thrown them away.”

Johnson glanced at them himself. “There could be something here that you want,” he said, apparently believing this sounded reasonable. To him it probably did.

“There isn’t,” she assured him. She didn’t want anything from her old life.