Page 80 of Over Her Dead Body

You will be pleased to know someone was paying attention.

You will be less pleased to know it was not you.

But if you’re looking for clues, and with this much effort, I suppose you are, I figure it will be helpful to know:

Someone knew the glass had reached the wrong woman.

They sent Emma Calloway two words.

Wrong glass.

I keep reading. I resent needing the next paragraph quite this badly.

The message arrived on Emma’s phone this morning. She deleted it as spam.

Emma Calloway has built a career distinguishing genuine things from convincing imitations. Anonymous truths appear to fall outside her specialty.

One person chose the glass. Another sent the warning.

Unless, of course, the first person experienced a sudden attack of conscience.

Either way, Emma appears to have acquired an enemy and a guardian.

Whoever they are, they have not introduced themselves.

Manners are deteriorating everywhere.

The report ends without a signature.

What seemed charming in the first report now feels pointed.

I set the report carefully on the desk. It is excellent work. I would like to find its author and explain, in person, how fucking inconvenient that is.

Of course Emma has deleted the message. She has spent the week following a random across international borders, inventing a Portuguese estate, and making decisions no competent person would defend in daylight.

Apparently, Wrong glass is where skepticism finally returns.

Emma Calloway has been reliable for ten years. She works hard. She wants partnership. She chooses men who can be removed from her life without disturbing the furniture. Even her grief has learned to behave in public.

Then she went to Lisbon, and reliability became negotiable.

I spent a considerable amount of time turning her lie into a legitimate assignment. It was elegant work. Emma invented a private collection; now she has one.

The least she can do is remain alive long enough to appreciate it.

I call Daniel.

“The girl upstairs did not overdose.”

“The preliminary⁠—”

“There is no preliminary anything. She drank champagne meant for Emma.”

Daniel is silent long enough to become irritating.

“According to whom?” he finally asks.

“Someone currently doing your job with considerably better syntax.”