“What’s in them?” Pat unscrewed the lid on the jar of Body Butter. It was the same color as the facial cream, with a similar texture and fragrance. “I smell peppermint and a bit of lavender, but I’m not sure about the other ingredients.”

“My formulations are a trade secret, my dear.” Grace rose from the sofa. “I must be going. My daughter is visiting her physician and I’ll need to pick her up.”

Pat stopped in her tracks. “Wait, Monica’s at the doctor? What happened?”

“I think she’s suffering the symptoms of a broken heart.” Grace shook her head. “Poor girl. I’ve been trying my best to boost her spirits, but these things take time.”

“Having you here seems to be helping her,” Pat said, and meant it.

“I could never replace dear Lily. No one could. That remarkable woman was a force of nature.”

“Thank you again for the gift, Grace. I’m going to use this, I promise you.”

“I do hope so.” Grace’s eyes twinkled. “It would make me so very happy, my dear.”

33

It took Troy almost an hour of fumbling about, repeatedly dropping tools and cursing in frustration, but he finally picked the lock.

He swiped perspiration away from his forehead with the back of his hand, and read his watch. A few minutes past ten o’clock. Monica and Grace could return home at any minute.

He pushed open the bedroom door.

The first thing that struck him was the odor, the same smell he’d encountered the last time he had opened the guest room door. The air was heavy with the fragrance of rosemary. While not unpleasant, it was overpowering. He didn’t know how anyone could have slept in there without developing a massive headache.

The blinds were closed, and the curtains were drawn, too, immersing the room in dense shadow. He flicked the switch for the overhead light.

The queen-size bed was neatly made: the comforter arranged perfectly, decorative pillows artfully aligned. In fact, it didn’t look as if Grace had ever lain on the bed at all.

He stepped deeper into the bedroom.

On his right, a mahogany, six-drawer dresser topped with a half-moon mirror stood against the wall. The surface held only a few items: a makeup kit, a hair brush, a vial of nail polish, a leather toiletries case, and a wooden bowl of potpourri, from which that strong rosemary aroma emanated. What kind of person traveled with a potpourri kit?

All of the objects were precisely arranged, as if laid on a grid.

Grace had a strong streak of OCD, he suspected. She would notice if anything in the room had been displaced.