He began taking off his leather work gloves, pulling them off one finger at a time.

He stuffed them slowly into his jacket pocket.

“Your husband took something that didn’t belong to him tonight.”

I gripped the edge of the kitchen counter to steady my shaking hands.

“He doesn’t have anything of yours, Marcus. He just does his job.”

“His job was to guard the inventory,” Marcus said, his voice dropping an octave.

“Instead, he cleared out the safe in the back office.”

“A package went missing, Kiera. A very small, very expensive package.”

The wind rattled the glass panes of the kitchen window behind me.

Through the thin lace curtains, the dark woods at the edge of our property looked like a solid black wall.

I thought about the key Arthur had given me, heavy and cold, resting in my other pocket.

“I don’t know anything about a package,” I whispered.

“I am just a breakfast vendor. I sell biscuits.”

Marcus took another step forward, his boots scraping loudly against the floorboards.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Kiera.”