A cool wind sent dead leaves scurrying in the gutter, and the moon shone with spectacular clarity through a few wisps of thin clouds. If only Aunt Margaret’s intentions were as clear as the night sky. Would her aunt give her news that would unravel her life? Louisa pulled her cashmere wrap tighter around her shoulders as she crossed the pavement. A black town car waited at the curb. It seemed silly to ask for a car to drive her the half mile from the Rittenhouse to her aunt’s hotel, but she’d had too many creepy being watched sensations in the past couple of days. Walking alone at night didn’t appeal.

The driver stood by the open rear door. Louisa eased into the back. The silk of her simple black sheath dress slid across the seat, the leather chilling the backs of her thighs.

The car dropped her in front of the Ritz Carlton. Louisa climbed the granite steps and went through the glass doors. Situated on the prestigious Avenue of the Arts section of Broad Street, the hotel was located in the former historic Girard Bank building. The rotunda building was modeled after the Pantheon in Rome, complete with a soaring domed ceiling and neoclassical columns. More than a hundred feet in the air, the night sky darkened the glass oculus in the dome’s apex. Voices and utensils echoed in the cavernous space as Louisa crossed the white marble floor.

Margaret would not be lingering by the door. She would wait for Louisa to come to her.

Louisa circled the space, admiring the red-and-purple color scheme, strings of beaded glass, and art deco accents popped against a backdrop of gleaming white marble. She spiraled inward, spotting Margaret in a high-backed chair by the bar. A long-sleeved belted column of deep crimson hugged her aunt’s thin frame to just below the knee. Her platinum-blond bob was freshly colored, and a flute of pale, sparkling liquid dangled from her bony fingers. At fifty-five, Margaret fought aging with military ruthlessness, but her obsession with maintaining the slimness of her youth had left her skin crepe-papery and her limbs skeletal.

“Louisa.” She set her glass down, stood, and extended both veiny hands.

“Hello, Aunt Margaret.” Louisa briefly clasped her aunt’s fingers and turned her face for an air kiss. Margaret didn’t come from wealth, but she’d learned to appreciate—and spend—her brother’s income.

“Sit.” Margaret waved to the chair next to her, then signaled the waitress. “Would you like a glass of champagne?”

“No, thank you.” Perching on the edge of the chair, Louisa held her clutch on her lap and ordered a sparkling water.

Her aunt frowned but recovered quickly. “How are you, dear?”

“I’m well. Thank you.”

“Your new job?” Margaret asked, but what did she really want?