The knock came just as the coffee finished brewing, low and sure against Ryder’s front door. Isobel opened it to find Celeste Hayes standing there in a linen blouse the color of cream, sunlight catching in the silver streaks of her hair. She smiled wide, but her eyes—sharp, knowing—took in everything in an instant.

“Good morning, Isobel,” she said, voice warm as a late-summer breeze.

Panic flared across Isobel’s face like a match strike. “Celeste, we didn’t— I ...