“So glad you’re going to stay here for a few days. Let me take your coat,” Kate said, grabbing a hanger from the hall closet. “Just leave your suitcase here. Fleur will take it up to your room.” She was eager to show Blaire the picture she’d found in Annabelle’s coloring book. She hung up the coat and turned back to Blaire. “Let’s go to the study for a minute.”

Kate shut the door. “Look.” She pulled her phone out and swiped until she found the picture she’d snapped of the drawing and handed it to Blaire.

“That is . . . horrible. Where was this?”

“In Annabelle’s coloring book! Anderson took it, of course, to check it for prints. I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out who could have put it there.” Kate shrugged. “But maybe it was there for a while.”

“I’m sorry, Kate. Maybe he’ll be able to pick up something from it.”

“Doubtful. This creep knows how to cover his tracks. We were hoping to have the behavioral profile, but Anderson says there’s a backlog in the FBI unit, and since this isn’t some active serial killer case, we have to wait in a queue. But those roses that were sent to Selby’s may turn out to be a break.”

“How so?”

“He used a credit card to buy them. Anderson’s already subpoenaed the records from the florist. Then I’ll be able to prove to my father and Simon that I’m not crazy. That I’m not the one who sent them.”

“That’s great. When does he think he’ll get the info?”

Kate shook her head. “Soon, I think.” She sighed. “It’s Christmas Eve—let’s try and put it out of our minds for a few hours. I need to put on a good face for Annabelle.”

“Of course. Where is she?”

“In the kitchen, making cookies with Hilda. I told her we’d come help, but I wanted to talk to you first.” It was such a relief that she didn’t have to keep secrets from Blaire.

“Aunt Blaire!” Annabelle came bounding into the room, her eyes bright. “Are you going to make cookies with us?”

“We’ll talk later,” Kate whispered as they followed Annabelle down the hall.

“Mmm. Smells like a bakery in here,” Blaire said as they entered the kitchen.

With Hilda’s help, Annabelle climbed onto a chair that had been pulled up next to the island in the middle of the kitchen, a large bowl of cookie dough in front of her. “We’re making sugar cookies, Aunt Blaire. And guess what? I get to shake the fairy sprinkles on them.”

“Ooh, can I help?” Blaire asked.

“Yes. But you have to wash your hands first,” Annabelle said solemnly.

“Ha,” Blaire said, “spoken like a true doctor’s daughter.”