Chapter 1 - The Teapot

The first thing Evelyn Mercer did when she discovered her son's fiancée had stolen from a dead girl was grab her by the arm in front of forty witnesses.

“Tell them whose necklace you're wearing,” Evelyn said.

Sloane Whitmore smiled as if the whole thing were an amusing misunderstanding. At twenty-seven, she had perfect blonde hair, a turquoise gown, and the kind of confidence money usually bought. “Evelyn, darling, this is embarrassing.”

“That's the idea.”

The yacht rocked gently off Newport. Golden light poured across the white tablecloths. A waiter froze with a tray of champagne. Evelyn's oldest friend, Helen Price, stood beside the tea service, her gray head turning from one woman to the other.

Sloane lowered her voice. “You don't want to do this in front of your son.”

“Then stop lying to him.”

Evelyn caught Sloane's upper arm as the younger woman turned away. Sloane stumbled against the dining table, crushing a pastry beneath her palm. Porcelain rattled. Evelyn took the white teapot and tipped the cold amber tea across Sloane's glossy hair.

A dozen guests gasped. Sloane jerked upright, dripping onto the silver trays. “You crazy old witch!”

“Better that than a fool.” Evelyn set down the pot. “That necklace belonged to my granddaughter, Nora. It disappeared the night she died.”

The deck fell silent. Nora Mercer had drowned eight months earlier, according to every newspaper and every official report. She had been nine years old.

Sloane reached instinctively for the small gold star beneath her collarbone. “Daniel gave me this.”

Evelyn's son Daniel pushed through the guests. “Mom! What have you done?”

“Asked a question nobody else would answer.”

Daniel wrapped his jacket around Sloane's trembling shoulders. Beyond them, a tall guest in a navy suit—Marcus Reed, an insurance investigator invited by Helen—was watching something much more interesting than the ruined party: Sloane's left hand.

Sloane had slipped a tiny silver memory card out of her clutch and dropped it through a crack beside the railing.

Marcus met Evelyn's eyes and gave one almost invisible shake of his head. He had seen the card fall, but he hadn't heard it hit the water.

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Then Evelyn's phone vibrated. The message came from Nora's old number, disconnected since the funeral.

GRANDMA, PLEASE DON'T TRUST DAD.