Phoebe Matrix had watched Sophia Russo climb into her little gray car and wheel out of the parking lot. The only problem was that Phoebe had no idea how long her tenant would be gone. Didn’t matter, she told herself. She’d be quick. She slipped on her rubber boots and heavy jacket, then, telling Larry to guard the place, hurried out the front door, closing it before her little dog could escape.

With more dexterity than most people would believe, she hurried along the overhang of the L-shaped building and made her way to the Russo girl’s unit, then, using her key, let herself in.

The place was fairly tidy, more so than Phoebe had expected, the living room free of a lot of clutter, just a jacket and a sweater left over the back of a small sofa. In the kitchen area, the countertops were clear, only a few glasses in the sink. Phoebe was surprised, as the unit was small, a studio with a loft. So often tenants with little space had clutter, but not so with Sophia Russo.

She didn’t know what she expected to find, maybe nothing; it was just that Sophia was a bit of a mystery.

And then there was Sophia’s involvement with James Cahill. That was the root of it. With that other girl—Megan—missing and Sophia taking up with James before Megan had so conveniently disappeared, it all seemed more than a little suspicious.

Phoebe peered into the bathroom, which was slightly messier. So much makeup, which was ridiculous. The girl was a knockout, a blond bombshell, as Phoebe’s father—God rest his soul—would have said back in the day, but the shelves and counter were littered with liquid makeup, concealers and blush, lipsticks in a variety of colors, and eye shadows and liners and pencils, and oh . . . it seemed ridiculous for a girl with so much natural beauty. But then, hadn’t Phoebe seen as much in her lifetime? The pretty ones were the most vain, the most concerned with appearances, spent the most time in front of the mirror trying to cover flaws.

Still, there was nothing out of the ordinary . . . now, wait just a second. What was that? The door to the tall cabinet in the bathroom was ajar, as if it couldn’t close, as if the little cabinet was overstuffed. Phoebe opened the door and, at first, saw only stacked towels, but wait!

What the devil?