down on the slate floor and closed their eyes.
As our tea steeped, Petra said, “Tell me what happened. How did you find Emily? How did you know to look at her house?”
“Gregory was worried.”
“Gregory Darvell?”
I nodded. “He’d called her repeatedly. He’d hoped to meet her for coffee after a training session. She didn’t respond. Gregory and I hurried to her house. We found her on the floor. She’d been struck with a salt lamp.”
Petra uttered a soft moan. “I think everyone has one of those nowadays. Supposedly they can clean the air in your home and help you sleep.” She removed her tea bag and set it on the saucer. “Sonja said Emily’s house had been torn apart.”
“Not exactly torn apart, but definitely rummaged through. Whoever attacked her wanted to find something.”
“And did they?” Petra added sugar to her tea and stirred with a spoon.
“I’m not sure. When we searched for what might be missing, we discovered a workbook that Mick had been using to inspire him to write a thriller.”
“Aw, how nice. Mick told me he was going to try.” Petra set her spoon on the china saucer. “He said he was keeping a diary with his notes. I told him I thought that was cute. Men don’t usually keep diaries. Did you find that, too?”
“The workbook is a sort of diary.”
“Really?” Petra blinked rapidly, a clear sign that she’d gone to the house to look for the diary. I’d bet she’d searched for the old-fashioned kind fitted with a lock and key.
“Busted,” Fiona said sarcastically.
I said, “Mick’s notes suggested he was writing a book about a wealthy man with a secret.”
“How sad that he won’t get the chance to finish it,” Petra said.
“Did you know that an author will often change the sex of a character so the person the writer is basing the character on won’t realize it’s them?”
“Fascinating.”
I folded my hands, hoping she’d blurt out her confession. She didn’t. After a long moment, I said, “Do you have a secret, Petra?”
“Me? Heavens no.”
“Try the tactic she used earlier,” Fiona suggested.
I shook my head, not understanding.
“Frame her. Say someone saw her driving near Emily’s house.”
I cleared my throat. “By the way, a witness claims to have seen your Mercedes in Emily’s neighborhood.”
“That’s not possible. I was—” Petra hesitated. “I was at a meeting.”
“You sure do have a lot of meetings.”
“Yes, I do.”
“I repeat, do you have a secret, Petra?”
She nudged her teacup away. “What are you implying, Courtney?”
“Your business card was wedged into the workbook along with some notecards.”
“Because he and I were paramours.”
“I’m sure Mick had your phone number memorized. He didn’t need to keep a card as a reminder.”
She fanned the air. “I assure you he wasn’t writing about me. I have no secrets.”
I leaned forward and rested my elbows on the table. Zeus raised his head. Rather than upset him, I sat back. “Speaking of books, I was in the library earlier. The author Eudora Cash was doing research for her new manuscript.”
“I’m not familiar with her writing.”
“She’s a very popular historical fiction author. For her current novel, she decided to focus on events that occurred thirty years ago in Carmel-by-the-Sea.”
“Thirty years doesn’t sound very historical.”
“Anything that isn’t set in the present falls into that category. Lo and behold, Eudora Cash discovered something about you.”
“Me?” Petra propped an elbow on the table and rested her chin on her palm, the epitome of casual. “Do tell.”
“When you were a teenager, you did something criminal. Your record was sealed.”
Petra glanced at her watch. “Oh, my, I have an appointment. We’ll chat later.” She started to rise.
Fiona splashed her with more fairy dust. Petra sat down. Her mouth opened and closed. No words came out.
“A sealed record is a kind of secret,” I said. “So I did a little digging.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m curious. Isn’t that how you described me to Isabella Acosta?”
“I never said—”
“Here’s what I discovered,” I continued. “I found a story about a child dying in a hit-and-run accident. She was your neighbor. There were photographs taken at the funeral. You were in one of them.”
“I recall going to that. It was so tragic.” Petra’s eyes grew moist, but tears didn’t fall. “She was such a sweet girl.”
Wow, she was good.
“You were with two other girls in the photograph,” I said. “Isabella and Emily. I had no idea you were contemporaries, let alone best buds.”
“We were close. We aren’t close anymore.”
“You’re still close to Isabella.”
“Not true. We’re acquaintances. We’re not close.” Her words had a bite