I stared at my reflection in the dark glass.

The name of the caller did not show on the screen.

I dialed my private investigator, Frank, immediately.

“Frank,” I said when he answered. “I need you to trace a call that just came through to my personal number.”

“I can do that,” Frank said. “What did they say?”

“They know about Gloria,” I said. “They know about the money she took from my father’s estate.”

“I will look into it right away, Jocelyn,” Frank said. “Get home safe.”

I hung up and leaned against the leather seat.

The humidity outside was thick, pressing against the windows of the SUV.

Carlos turned the vehicle onto our street in Highland Park.

The mature oak trees cast long, dark shadows across the manicured lawns.

We stopped in front of the stone gates of the Ralston estate.

The gates opened slowly, creaking in the warm night air.

I walked up the front steps, my heels clicking loudly on the flagstone.

The front door was unlocked.

I stepped into the grand foyer, where the crystal chandelier cast a cold, sharp light.