He’d learned that one of those homes was currently unoccupied, and the other had been let several months ago to an artist, Mr. Blackwell. Was Mrs. Ralston heading for the hot springs, or for a visit with the artist? Or did she have another destination in mind? Simon didn’t know. And as much as he’d wanted to follow her, right now her cottage was empty and he needed to take advantage of the opportunity to find the alabaster box containing the proof that would clear his name.

Crouching low, he sprinted the short distance to the cottage. Slipping a thin strip of metal between the nearest French windows, he expertly finessed the tool over the lock. Good fortune was with him as clouds momentarily obscured the stars and moon, casting the area in unrelenting blackness, which suited his purposes perfectly.

He pulled in a slow, deep breath of cool air scented with the first hints of autumn, opened the window and slipped inside a well-appointed sitting room. As he searched, taking care to leave everything exactly as he found it, he noted that Mrs. Ralston had an excellent eye for furnishings and a weakness for artwork. Framed pieces adorned the cream-colored walls, everything from landscapes to sketches to framed poetry to portrait miniatures.

Based on what little he’d been able to find out about her since he’d first heard her name just two days earlier, Genevieve Ralston was not a rich woman, yet her possessions spoke of understated wealth. How could she afford such trappings? Gifts from a generous benefactor-or payment for murder?

A loud meow broke into his thoughts and he looked down. An enormous black-and-white cat stared up at him, its fluffy tail twitching.

“Are you friend or foe?” he murmured.

The cat rubbed its whiskers against his boots then twined its furry self between his feet.