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“It was Tyler’s.”

The slight frown creasing my father’s brow gave away that the name meant nothing to him. Knowing he had no recollection of my boyfriend should have hurt since Tyler and I had been together for two years. Given everything that had happened, though, it brought a twisted sense of satisfaction.

“My ex-boyfriend,” I clarified. “He wasn’t my ex at the time, but things change.”

I turned to look at the building. Familiarity had made it seem far less creepy than it had upon my arrival. My gaze drifted automatically toward the window of my former room.

Was that a shadow standing behind the glass?

I blinked, and it was gone.

Could it have been Caligo? I’d stayed awake late the previous night, hoping he’d appear so I could at least say goodbye, but he’d been as absent as he had for the preceding four days. It left me with mixed feelings about everything that had gone on in there. I would have really liked one last conversation with him to reconcile my chaotic thoughts. Leaving should have felt like an escape, but it didn’t, which was confusing. I kept my gaze fixed on the window as my father started the engine and pulled away. Only when the building was no longer visible did I sink back into my seat.

“I didn’t think you’d come in person,” I admitted once we reached the main road. “I thought you’d send someone.”

When he didn’t answer immediately, I risked a glance at him. His spine was as ramrod straight as ever, as though someone had shoved a steel rod up his arse and left him with no ability to bend.

He flicked a glance my way. “Thought or hoped?” Thankfully, he didn’t give me time to respond. “I didn’t expect you to come to me. I’m not usually your first port of call when you need help.”

Or my second or third.

“No, I’d normally call…” I left the sentence unfinished and turned to stare out of the window.

“Your mother.”

He just had to finish it, didn’t he?

“Yeah,” I agreed, my throat suddenly tight.

It was true. I’d always gone to her whenever I needed something, whether that was advice, a hug, or someone to talk to. That was what made the fact that our last conversation had been an argument so difficult to bear. If I could have changed one thing, I would have gone back and handled that conversation differently.

As the scenery sped past, I considered all the ways I could have reacted differently. I could have remained calmer when she suggested Tyler was only with me for my money. I could have pointed out that, yes, he lived with me in a London house most people could never afford, and I didn’t make him pay anything, but he contributed in other ways. Sometimes. And surely two years was too long for anyone to invest in playing such an elaborate long game. Failing that, we could have agreed to disagree instead of my flouncing off like a drama queen.

“Did you hear they arrested someone?”

The words sliced through my thoughts. I twisted in my seat to face my father, stunned by the casual way he’d delivered such a bombshell.

“When? Who? What happened?”

Keeping his eyes on the road, he held up a hand. “They brought him in for questioning a few days ago. Don’t get too excited. They released him without charge.”

“Who?”

“A man named Donald Wentworth.”

The name meant nothing to me.

“Tell me everything you know about him. I assume he had some sort of connection to Mum. Why did they suspect him? Why didn’t they charge him?”

More questions hovered on my tongue, but I forced myself to stop long enough for him to answer.

“He’s an art dealer in his fifties.”

That fit. After the divorce, my mother had found a new lease of life as an interior designer, which often required her to source particular pieces for clients.

“They apparently dated for a while,” my father added.

I immediately shook my head. “No, that’s not right. I would have known.”