"Any copies of that spare?" King asked her.
"No. Just this one. Brooke had it before I did. Though the girls have used it before to walk Apollo when Dahlia and Mia are out of town. It's been through… well, let's just say a lot of people." She laughed again, glancing back at her daughter. "I can't vouch for what anyone did with it before it got back to me, of course. But I didn't make copies. Peyton?"
Peyton's eyes flicked to her mother, then to King, then back to the painting as King dusted for prints and then slipped the canvas into an evidence bag. She shook her head, her face a careful mask. "Not me."
King turned back to me. "Anything like this happen before? Threats? Messages? Vandalism?"
Whitney's eyes were on me. Peyton's, too.
I recalled the notebook stolen from my desk. Items rearranged. That feeling of violation, of invasion, that had haunted me for days. "Well, yes, actually?—"
"Oh, Dahlia, don't you remember?" Whitney said. "Didn't you say that someone broke in? On Tuesday?"
The detective's gaze lifted to mine, questioning. His eyes narrowed. "Someone entered your house before?"
I rubbed my face, rattled. And more than a little irritated. Whitney had somehow made me look deceptive, even though I was about to tell the detective myself. Had it been intentional, or was I reading into things? "On Tuesday, after Mia's interview. I'd locked the door. I came home, and it was open."
"Anything taken?"
"A notebook I use for my freelance articles. Things were moved around."
He raised his brows as he jotted something down, probably that he thought I was crazy. Who only steals a worthless notebook? I bit my tongue.
Whitney flashed him a winning smile. "I hope you find the hooligans who did this quickly. This is a safe neighborhood. Or at least, it used to be."
"We'll see what we can do," King said.
Whitney lingered in the doorway. "Call me if you need anything, Dahlia. I can stay. Or take Mia for the night, if you want. She could come to dinner with us. It'll give you a break."
The offer sounded generous. Reasonable. Like something a good neighbor, a good friend, would say. Peyton's smile matched her mother's.
Beside me, Mia stiffened. I thought of Zara's voice:Peyton's done stuff like this before. Hurt other girls.
Right or wrong, the thought of Mia in anyone's house but mine made my skin crawl.
"Thank you. We'll be okay."
Hurt flickered across her face. She suppressed it quickly. "All right. I'm just down the street if you need me."
"I know," I said.
She strode from my house with Peyton right behind her, silent as a shadow. She glanced back once, her gaze catching mine. There was something there I couldn't read. Then her eyes shifted, and it was gone.
The door clicked shut behind them. A moment later, their Mercedes pulled away from the curb.
"Please find who did this," I said. "Before they do something worse. I'm getting the locks changed tomorrow morning, but that won't stop someone who truly wants to get inside."
"Ms. Kincaid, I promise we will investigate." He looked past me to the dishes in the sink, the knife left on the cutting board, pausing on the family photo on the fridge. All of us, grinning and happy. "We'll need Mia to come to the station tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. There are some inconsistencies we need to address."
Ice water trickled down my spine. My throat closed. "I'll text Mia's lawyer."
At the door, he looked back at me, the painting held carefully in one hand. "Oh, and Ms. Kincaid, I suggest you also get some security cameras immediately."
The door closed behind him. I locked the deadbolt. I listened to the hum of the refrigerator. The distant rush of a car somewhere on the main road. The old ticking clock.
Mia sank onto the couch. I sat beside her and pulled her into my arms. She was stiff for a moment, then she sagged against me, boneless with exhaustion.
Apollo settled at our feet with a soft grunt.
