“I didn’t know that was in there,” Sloane said, her voice high and tight.

“You didn’t know a locked strongbox with the Hayes estate seal was behind your silver cabinet?” Lydia asked.

“Evan brought some boxes over for storage,” Sloane said, looking at the wall instead of us. “He said his mother’s attic was damp.”

“We’re going to need to look in the wine cellar next, Ms. Pierce,” Malcolm said, standing up and dusting off his knees.

Sloane swallowed hard, her throat muscles twitching.

“There’s nothing down there but my own collection,” she said.

Lydia smiled, a cold, sharp movement of her lips.

“We have the inventory list from the Hayes cellar, Sloane,” Lydia said. “Every bottle has a registered serial number.”

We followed Malcolm down the narrow, carpeted stairs into Sloane’s basement.

The air grew instantly cooler, smelling of damp concrete and expensive oak.

Two more deputies were already down there, standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling wrought-iron wine rack.

One of them held a clipboard, comparing the labels on the dusty bottles to a printed spreadsheet.