Chloe located a table. She pulled out a chair and Liv sat down opposite her. She noticed a glass square embedded in the floor, giving a view of a sheer drop down to the streets below. It lured her toward it, tempting her to jump.

“It’s a private bar for residents,” Chloe said. “I’ve been here a few times.”

Liv frowned at her. “How do you get inside the building?”

“A smile gets you most places. I talk to people. The security guys love to chat about their dogs, kids, wives or whatever.” She rolled her eyes. “I told one I’d lost my fob and he gave me a new one. I’m very enterprising.”

“I’d call it deceptive.”

Chloe raised an eyebrow. “Well, you should know all about that,” she said.

Liv thought about taking over Essie’s suite in Croatia. Maybe she and the journalist were more similar than she thought.

The man in the red T-shirt carried over two bottles of Diet Coke and glasses filled with ice cubes. Chloe smiled thanks to him. “No coffee, but this is nice,” she said to Liv, pouring their drinks. “Now, where were we?”

Liv lifted her glass. “You were telling me how you sneak into the building and lie to people.”

Chloe sighed. “You’re very theatrical for a cleaner, or assistant, or whatever you do for Essie.”

Liv’s fingertips turned cold from the ice. “Tell me what you think you know,” she demanded.

The journalist drummed her fingernails on the table. “Not quite yet.” She looked at Liv like she was a cat toying with an injured bird. “Tell me more about you. What’s it like working with Essie?”

Liv felt she had no choice but to share a few details. She had to find a way to keep the journalist on side, while also throwing her off the trail. She noticed Chloe had a tiny speech mark tattoo on her right wrist. Liv had an ampersand one on her left shoulder blade that she got for her fortieth birthday.

“Three years ago, Essie was looking for a cleaner and I got the job,” she said. “I’d always loved her books and working that close to her felt special. I’d always wanted to write too...”

Chloe sipped her drink. “How old were you, when you knew that?”

“Seven or eight. I read all the time.”

“Hmm, me, too. I’ve wanted to write for as long as I can remember. I love knowing how people tick. What life experiences shape them.”

“Which ones shaped you?” Liv asked.

“Nice try, hon. I’m the journalist here.”

“I just wondered why you want to dig around other people’s lives.”