“Well, you didn’t work for me back then, did you? You were just the lady next door whose sheep kept trespassing on my property.” Lacey chuckled at the fond memory of her first morning waking up in Crag Cottage to find a herd of sheep munching her grass.

Gina didn’t return the smile. She seemed to be in a stubborn mood.

“Still,” she said, folding her arms, “you’ll need to get it registered with the police, won’t you? Have it logged on the firearms database.”

At the mention of the police, an image of Superintendent Karl Turner’s stern, emotionless face appeared in Lacey’s mind’s eye, followed quickly by the face of his stoic partner, Detective Inspector Beth Lewis. She’d had enough encounters with the two of them to last a lifetime.

“Actually, I don’t,” she told Gina. “It’s an antique and not in working order. That means it’s classified as an ornament. I told you, I already did my homework!”

But Gina wasn’t budging. She seemed determined to find fault in the matter.

“Not in working order?” she repeated. “How do you know that for sure? I thought you said the paperwork was delayed.”

Lacey hesitated. Gina had her there. She hadn’t seen the paperwork yet, so she couldn’t be one hundred percent certain the rifle wasn’t in working order. But there was no ammunition included in the case, for one thing, and Lacey was quite confident Xavier wouldn’t send her a loaded gun through the postal system!

“Gina,” she said in a firm but final voice, “I promise you I’ve got it all under control.”

The affirmation rolled easily off Lacey’s tongue. She did not know it at the time, but they were words she would soon come to regret ever having uttered.

Gina seemed to relent, though she didn’t look too happy about it. “Fine. If you say you’ve got it covered, then you’ve got it covered. But why would Xavier send you a bloody gun of all things?”

“Now that is a good question,” Lacey said, suddenly wondering the same thing herself.

She reached inside the parcel and found a folded piece of paper at the bottom. She took it out. Gina’s insinuation earlier that Xavier had more than just friendship on his mind made her instantly awkward. She cleared her throat as she unfolded the letter and read it aloud.

“Dear Lacey,

“As you know, I was in Oxford recently…”

She paused, feeling Gina’s gaze on her sharpen, as if her friend was silently judging her. Feeling her cheeks grow warm, Lacey maneuvered the letter so as to block Gina from view.

“As you know, I was in Oxford recently searching for my great-grandfather’s lost antiques. I saw this rifle, and it jogged my memory. Your father had a similar rifle for sale in his New York store. We talked about it. He told me he had recently been on a hunting trip in England. It was a funny story. He said he had not known, but it was the off-season during his trip, and so he could only legally hunt rabbits. I researched hunting seasons in England, and the off-season is during the summer. I do not recall him saying Wilfordshire by name, but remember you said that was where he holidayed in the summers? Perhaps there is a local hunting group? Perhaps they may have known him?

“Yours, Xavier.”

Lacey avoided Gina’s scrutinizing glare as she folded up the letter. The older woman didn’t even need to speak for Lacey to know what she was thinking—that Xavier could’ve told her about the memory in a text message, rather than going so overblown as to send her a rifle! But Lacey didn’t really care. She was more interested in the contents of the letter than any possible romantic notions underpinning Xavier’s actions.

So her father enjoyed hunting during his summers in England, did he? That was news to her! Beyond the fact she had no memories of him even owning a rifle, she couldn’t imagine her mother being okay with it. She was extremely squeamish. Easily offended. Was that why he’d traveled to a different country to do it? It could’ve been a secret he’d kept from her mother entirely, a guilty pleasure he only indulged in once a year. Or maybe he’d come over to England to shoot because of the company he kept over here…

Lacey recalled the beautiful woman in the antiques store, the one who’d helped Naomi after she broke the ornament, the one they’d met again in the streets, when a sunburst behind her head had obscured her features. The woman with the gentle English accent and the fragrant smell. Could she have been the one who’d introduced her father to the hobby? Was it a pastime they shared?

She grabbed her cell to message her younger sister, but only got as far as writing, “Did Dad own guns…” when she was interrupted by Chester yip-yip-yipping to get her attention. The bell over the front door must have tinkled.

She returned the rifle to its case, clipping shut the latches, and went to head back to the shop floor.

“You can’t leave that lying around!” Gina cried, switching from suspicion back to panic mode in an instant.

“Put it in the safe then, if it concerns you that much,” Lacey said over her shoulder.

“Me?” she heard Gina shrilly exclaim.

Though she was already halfway along the corridor, Lacey paused. She sighed.

“I’ll be with you in a minute!” she called out in the direction she’d been heading.

Then she turned, went back into the storeroom, and picked up the case.

As she carried it past Gina, the woman kept her cautious gaze locked on it and stepped back as if it might explode at any second. Lacey managed to wait until she’d fully passed before rolling her eyes at Gina’s overly dramatic reaction.

Lacey took the rifle to the large steel safe where her most precious and expensive items were safely locked away, and secured it inside. Then she headed back into the corridor, where a meek-looking Gina followed her to the shop floor. At least now that the gun was out of sight, she’d finally stopped squawking.

Back on the main shop floor, Lacey was expecting to see a customer perusing one of the store’s crammed shelves. Instead, she was greeted by the very unwelcome sight of Taryn, her nemesis from the boutique next door.

Taryn swirled on her spindly heels at the sound of Lacey’s footsteps. Her dark brown pixie cut was slicked with so much gel not even a single hair moved out of place. Despite the bright June sunshine, she was dressed in her signature LBD, and it showed off every sharp angle of her bony fashionista figure.

“Do you usually leave your customers unsupervised and without assistance for that long?” Taryn asked, haughtily.

From beside Lacey came the sound of a low grumble from Chester. The English Shepherd didn’t care for the snooty shopkeeper at all. Neither did Gina, who emitted her own grumble before busying herself with some paperwork.

“Good morning, Taryn,” Lacey said, forcing herself into a cordial disposition. “How can I help you on this beautiful day?”

Taryn flashed her narrowed eyes at Chester, then folded her arms and pinned her hawk-like gaze on Lacey.

“I already told you,” she snapped. “I’m a customer.”

“You?” Lacey retorted too quickly to hide her disbelief.

“Yes, actually,” Taryn replied dryly. “I need one of those Edison lamp thingies. You know the ones. Ugly things with big bulbs on bronze stands? You always have them displayed in your window.”

She started peering around her. With her thin nose held up to the air, she reminded Lacey of a bird.

Lacey couldn’t help but be suspicious. Taryn’s store was sleek and simplistic, with overhead spotlights that beamed clinically white light over everything. What did she want a rustic lamp for?

“Are you re-styling the boutique?” Lacey asked gingerly, coming out from behind the desk and gesturing for Taryn to follow her.

“I just want to inject a bit of character into the place,” the woman said as her heels clicked behind Lacey. “And as far as I can tell, those lamps are very in at the moment. I’m seeing them everywhere. At the hairdresser’s. In the coffeeshop. There were about a million of the things in Brooke’s tearoom…”

Lacey froze. Her heart began thumping.

Just the mention of her old friend’s name filled her with panic. It had barely been a month since her Australian friend had chased after her wielding a knife, trying to silence Lacey after she’d worked out she’d killed an American tourist. Lacey’s bruises had healed, but the mental scars were still fresh.

So that’s why Taryn was asking for an Edison lamp? Not because she wanted one, but so she had an excuse to bring up Brooke’s name and upset Lacey! She really was a nasty piece of work.

Losing all enthusiasm to help Taryn, even if she was a supposed customer, Lacey pointed limply over to “Steampunk Corner,” the section of the store where her collection of bronze lamps lived.

“Over there,” she muttered.

She watched Taryn’s expression turn sour as she scanned the array of aviator goggles and walking canes, and the full-sized aquanaut’s suit. To be fair to her, Lacey wasn’t that keen on the aesthetic either. But there was a whole bunch of individuals in Wilfordshire—the type with long black hair and velvet capes—who visited her store regularly, so she sourced the items specifically for them. The only problem was, the new section blocked her previously unspoiled view across the street to Tom’s patisserie, which meant Lacey could no longer dreamily gaze out at him whenever the mood struck her.

With Taryn occupied, Lacey took the opportunity now to glance across the street.

Tom’s store was as busy as ever. Busier, even, with the increased amount of tourists. Lacey could make out his six-foot-three figure darting around, working at hyperspeed to fulfill everyone’s orders. The light streaming in from the June sunshine made his skin look even more golden.

Just then, Lacey caught sight of Tom’s new assistant, Lucia. He’d employed the young woman just a few weeks ago so that he would have more free time to spend with Lacey. But ever since the girl had started working there, the patisserie had been busier than ever!

Lacey watched on as Lucia and Tom almost bumped into one another, then both took a step right, another left, attempting to avoid a collision but ending up in comical synchronization. The slapstick routine ended with Tom theatrically bowing, so Lucia could pass on his left. He flashed her one of his bright-kilowatt smiles as she did.

Lacey’s stomach clenched at the sight of them. She couldn’t help it. Jealousy. Suspicion. These were all new emotions for Lacey, ones she seemed to have only acquired since her divorce, as if her ex-husband had slipped them within the pages of their divorce documents in order to make sure her future relationships were as fraught as possible. They were ugly feelings, but she couldn’t control them. Lucia got to spend significantly more time with Tom than she did. And the time she spent with him was when he was at his best—energized, creative, and productive, rather than snoozily watching television on her couch. Everything felt unbalanced, as if they were sharing Tom and the ratios were massively skewed in the young woman’s favor.

“Pretty, isn’t she?” came Taryn’s voice in Lacey’s ear, like the devil on her shoulder.

Lacey bristled. Taryn was just stirring the pot as usual.

“Verrrrry pretty,” Taryn added. “It must drive you mad to know Tom’s over there all day with her.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Lacey snapped.

But Taryn’s appraisal was, to use a Gina idiom, “bang on.” That is to say, she was totally right. And that just made Lacey more frustrated.

Taryn smiled thinly. A malevolent sparkle appeared behind her eyes. “I keep meaning to ask. How is your Spanish man? Xavier, wasn’t it?”

Lacey bristled even more. “He’s not my Spanish man!”

But before they could enter into a spat, the doorbell tinkled noisily, and Chester began to yip.

Saved by the bell, Lacey thought, hurrying away from Taryn and her snakelike suggestions.

But when she saw who was waiting, she wondered if it was a case of out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Carol, from the B&B, was standing in the middle of the shop floor with a look of abject horror on her face. She seemed panicked, and was panting as if she’d run all the way here.

Lacey felt her stomach lurch. A horrible sense of déjà vu overcame her. Something had happened. Something bad.

“Carol?” Gina said. “What’s the matter, ducky? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Carol’s bottom lip began to tremble. She opened her mouth as if attempting to speak, but then closed it again.

From behind, Lacey heard the clip-clip sound of Taryn’s heels as she hurried over, presumably wanting a ringside view of the unfolding drama.

The anticipation was killing Lacey. She couldn’t bear it. Dread seemed to be flooding through every fiber of her body.

“What is it, Carol?” Lacey demanded. “What’s happened?”

Carol shook her head vigorously. She took a deep breath. “I’m afraid I have some terrible news…”

Lacey braced herself.