“But . . . but why?”

“That’s what we need to figure out,” I tell her, and then a new thought occurs to me. “Do you make and sell hair tonic?”

“What?”

“Do you have a knack for herbs and gardening? Do you make a hair tonic from what you grow?”

“Yes, I garden, and yes, I sell my herbs at my inn. But I do not make a hair tonic. Why are you asking me this?”

“You own an inn?”

“Just west of San Mateo in San Rafaela. It was my father’s. Why?”

“Did Martin stay at your inn? Is that how you met him?”

“Yes. He came through town the first time in April of last year, and we were married in July. Why are you asking me all these questions?”

“Because he married you after marrying me for a reason. I don’t know what it is, but I do know a person wouldn’t do such a thing without a reason.” Martin could have simply wed just Belinda if all he wanted was to appear to be a blessed family man. He wouldn’t have needed to hunt for someone like me. There has to be a reason he married us both, and it can’t be anything good. I pause and take a deep breath. “None of this will make sense until we know what that reason is. Come. We’ll have our tea and you can tell me everything: how you met him, what he told you about himself. Everything.”

We stand and make our way to the kitchen, where the water in the kettle is still steaming hot. I lead Belinda to the butler’s table and to a chair facing the window. Outside, the sun has slipped below the horizon. Soon the sky will turn calming shades of scarlet and pink and then violet. Night will descend. This day began so very differently from how it is going to end.

Belinda stares out the window as I pull cups out of the cupboard. A moment later she begins to speak.

“Elliot warned me about James,” she says in a dazed voice. “He knew there was something not quite right about him.”

I am about to ask who Elliot is, but Belinda continues as if I am not even in the room.

“I told myself that Elliot was jealous. That’s why he didn’t like James. Because he was jealous. He’d been smitten with me since we were children. He is a good friend—my best friend. But I didn’t think I was in love with him. Elliot had never made my heart pound or my gut ache with desire. But James? He made me feel hungry from the moment I met him. Elliot just made me feel safe. I liked feeling hungry after my father died. Hunger made me feel alive.”

I turn from my tea making to look at her. I know the ache she speaks of.

“When did your father pass?” I ask, as gently as I can.