Chapter 4: Three A.M.

Mr. Roake's office smelled of lemon polish and money.

I couldn't see the desk, but I walked into it with my hip.

"Sit, Miss Garrick," he said.

He was a navy blur with a silver top, and his voice was smooth enough to skate on.

I sat in a chair that felt like leather and felt expensive.

"There was water in the dining room," he said.

"There was. It's cleaned up."

"You had the Lady Marigold mop it."

"She offered."

"She did not," he said. "Staff clean the floors, Miss Garrick, and the heirs are never asked to lift a finger."

"She seemed to like it."

"What she likes is not your concern."

His chair creaked as he leaned back.

"Tonight's flood is logged as incident one," he said. "The Trust keeps a ledger."

"A ledger of what? Wet floors?"

"Of the household's behavior."

He said it mildly.

I thought of the deputy's word, retire, and felt it go cold in my stomach.

"I'll need a new pair of glasses," I said, to change the subject. "These are broken."

"Of course." He sounded almost kind. "The Trust has an optician on retainer. I'll arrange a fitting."

"When?"

"In due course."

"I'm blind in here, sir. That's a safety issue."

"You're not blind. You walked here."

"I walked into your desk."

"I do apologize for the desk," he said, and he laughed, a short, dry sound I did not like.

He gave me a key, a phone with no apps, and a printed list of rules.

I couldn't read the list.

He told me the highlights.

I was never to be alone with an heir after ten at night.

I was never to touch them.

I was never to ask them about their past.

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