I heard the sound of a siren and checked the rearview mirror. Dark car with flashing lights on the dash. Not your regular squad car. Must be an unmarked. Up ahead I saw a speed limit sign: forty-five. Wouldn’t you know? I had no reason to be speeding in the first place. It wasn’t like anyone at the house would get in their car and chase me.

As I pulled over, I realized I’d been running from the lies I’d told. It was impossible to run from yourself, of course, and now my pocketbook would take a hit. Perhaps the officer would cut me a break.

I watched in the side mirror as a woman in a navy suit—definitely not your usual police uniform—got out of the police car. She was tall and broad shouldered, with steel gray hair curled tightly to her head. I noted she wasn’t carrying the typical police “speeding ticket” pad. But I did see a gold badge glint on her lapel.

I rolled down my window and she offered me a thin smile. Her eyes said it all: You are in trouble.

But the first words out of her mouth weren’t, “Do you know how fast you were going?” as I’d expected. Instead, she said, “Jillian Hart?”

“Uh, yes, ma’am.” She was definitely a ma’am.

“I understand you were visiting the Longworth Estate. Is that correct?”

The word ye-es came out as two syllables, conveying my confusion. Was telling a small lie and sneaking up the stairs cause for an arrest in Woodcrest? But someone in that house—Evie Preston, no doubt—had wasted no time calling the police.

The woman said, “I don’t know your business in coming to town, Ms. Hart, but I suggest you stay away from Miss Longworth.” Her tone was stern, her pearl gray eyes filled with a lot more than a suggestion.

“Um, Officer—Sorry. I didn’t get your name.” Maybe I overstepped in coming here, but I hadn’t done anything to be warned away, and in a manner that made it seem as if she was reading from an old Bonanza script.