Delphine’s portrait of Angela seemed to indicate she had changed for the better. But what if Angela’s composed Grace Kelly imitation had, in fact, cracked?

“Are you all right, Miss Darby?”

“She didn’t . . . Angela would never hurt anyone. What about her killer, Inspector? Is this slowing the investigation into Angela’s death?”

Valentin reaches into his pocket, unwraps a candy mint, then pops it into his mouth. “We are doing everything we can. A suggestion, if I may?”

I nod.

“Finish packing your sister’s belongings this week, then go home to California. What will reveal itself will occur with or without your presence in Paris. I will update you as we verify more information. Again, I am sorry to convey this news.” He crosses to me, then places a hand on my shoulder. “Please. Paris is a large city for a young woman, regardless of your independent nature. Call me, should you have the need.”

He leaves. I stay rooted to the spot, listening, until the front entry slams shut below.

I stare across the thin carpet of papers to the open shutters overlooking the square. If I crane my head to the left, the white basilica, the Sacré Coeur, is visible on the hill in the corner.

When I landed in Paris, I knew I was at a disadvantage. Angela and I hadn’t spoken in years; I didn’t have a clue about her life here or the person she had become. I didn’t know what was waiting for me or what painful and surprising things I would find in her apartment. Valentin’s words ricochet in my head like a studded boomerang, ready to wound: Angela may be implicated. I sink to the ground and wrap my arms tight around my knees against her bed. We had our issues. We had moments that we could never bring ourselves to mention again. But what could have happened in those three years that my sister could be linked to the abduction of another person? Just forming the thought is absurd.

Another glance at the basilica and I cross to the door, nudging a box containing the stun gun Angela owned. The dead bolt slides shut with ease this time, but its eerie whine underlines my growing fear.

I step into the sunlight at the window and find a reprieve from the cold doubts of Valentin’s visit. She didn’t . . . Angela would never hurt anyone.

My own words reverberate in my mind, echoing with their lie.

Chapter 14

Chapter 14

from: Angela Darby <[email protected]>

to: “Darby, Shayna” <[email protected]>

date: Jul 12, 2015, 7:17 p.m.

subject: James and Claire’s estate

My dear sister—

Twin of my heart and blood—

Onetime roommate—

First friend, and first enemy—