At first glance, it seemed that Parker hadn’t left her things in any of the common rooms downstairs. His coffee mug was on the counter, an empty carton of eggs beside it.

A pile of neatly stacked mail sat on the corner of the island, most addressed to the Loman Family Charitable Foundation. Parker must’ve retrieved it earlier in the day—their local mail was always held at the post office until they returned. The envelopes had been slit open, with the receipts and thank-you notes for your continued support separated into piles. Each from local causes—the police department building fund, the Littleport downtown rehabilitation project, the nature preservation initiative. All their generosity reduced to a sterile pile of paper.

The only other disturbance to the perfection were the throw pillows on the couch, where Parker had been sitting when we were here together that first night.

I headed upstairs next, taking the wide curving staircase. At the right end of the hall was Parker’s bedroom, which I checked first. All the bedrooms upstairs faced the ocean, with sweeping floor-to-ceiling doors that led to private balconies.

Parker’s room looked as it always had—bed unmade, empty luggage in the closet, drawers half closed. There was no box in the closet. Just a couple pairs of shoes and the faintly swaying hangers, disturbed by my presence. Same for under the bed and the dresser surfaces. I opened a few of the drawers to check, but it was just the summer clothes he’d brought with him.

The next room was the master, and it appeared untouched, as expected. Still, I did a cursory sweep, looking for anything out of place. But it was immaculate, with a separate sitting area, a bright blue chair beside a stack of books that seemed to be picked more for design than reading desire, all in shades of ivory and blue.

Sadie’s room was at the other end of the hall upstairs. Her door was open, which made me think someone had been in here recently. But nothing looked out of place. I knew that the police had been through here, and I wondered what else they had taken. It was hard to know what might be missing if you didn’t know what you were looking for.

Her bedspread was smooth and untouched, the corner of the beechwood headboard where she usually hung her purse now empty.

I’d assumed her family had taken her personal items, along with her clothes, back to Connecticut. But the back of my neck prickled. There was just enough of Sadie left behind for me to feel her still. To look over my shoulder and imagine her finding me here. Sneaking up on me, light on her feet, hands over my eyes—think fast. My heart in my stomach even as she was already laughing.

I turned around, and the air seemed to move. It was the layout. The acoustics. A design that showcased the clean lines but also revealed your presence.

The first time I’d slept over here, I’d woken to the sound of a door closing somewhere down the hall. Sadie had been asleep beside me, one arm thrown over her head—completely still. But I thought I saw a flash of light through the glass doors to her balcony. I’d slipped out of bed, felt a floorboard pop beneath my feet.

I stood in front of the windows, so close, my nose almost pressed up against it, peering out. My eyes skimmed the darkness beyond my reflection, straining for something solid. It was then that I saw the pale shadow over my shoulder, in the second before I could feel her.

What are you looking at? Sadie stood behind me, mirroring my position.

I don’t know. I thought I saw something.

Not possible, she’d said, shaking her head.

I understood what she meant as I stepped away. The only thing you could see in the windows at night was yourself.

Now, when I peered out those same windows, I felt the shadow of her there, watching.

Her attached bathroom still had an assortment of products, shampoos, conditioners. A hairbrush. A container of toothpaste. An assortment of glass vials, more for decoration than practicality.

Her desk had gotten an overhaul in the last couple years, tucked into an alcove that used to be a sitting area. She had started working full-time remotely last summer, and her desk was sleeker now, wired for a laptop and a printer. It was the place I’d once left that note, along with a box of her favorite fudge, that I’d driven an hour down the coast to get. An apology and a peace offering.

At the start of last summer, Sadie had been my boss, technically. The person I reported to, at least. Before Grant decided I could handle all of the logistics of the Littleport properties on my own, and she had been reassigned.

Right now the surface of her desk was completely bare. Nothing here appeared out of place.

The last room I thought to check was Grant’s office—now Parker’s. It was the only upstairs room that faced the front of the house, other than the laundry room and a bathroom. There were blinds covering the window here, to fight the glare off the computer screen, which was now on the surface of the desk, red light glowing.

I could see Parker subtly taking over, everything just a little different than I’d remembered. A junior asshole, Sadie had called him. The desk was the same, situated on top of a red ornamental rug, but the surface layout was different. A yellow notepad to the side of the laptop, a single pen, a sloppily written list, half the items crossed out. Grant used to keep everything inside the drawers when he was out, a meticulous dedication to clearing the desk, both figuratively and literally, every time he left.

Parker’s leather satchel was tucked under the desk. I peered inside but saw only a few paper files he must’ve been working on. The laptop screen was black, but it was clear that Parker had left in a rush, maybe losing track of time. I carefully slid open the side drawers, but they were mostly empty, except for the items that must’ve been left from last summer: a stack of fresh notepads and a container of pens.

The bottom-right drawer was locked, but it seemed to be the type that held files—not a place I’d expect a box of Sadie’s things to be hidden. Still, I opened the top drawer to check for a key and found one tucked away in a pile of flash drives, all bearing the logo for Loman Properties, which they used to hand out as giveaways in lieu of key chains. Something more likely to be used and appreciated.

But this key was too large for a desk lock. Too small for a house key.

I sat in his chair, surveying the room. The closet was situated beside the window, tucked into the corner. I’d never looked closely before, never had cause to spend time in this room—but that doorknob was the only one in the house that didn’t have the same smooth antique look. There was a keyhole in the metal doorplate, just below the knob. The only place in this house afforded privacy, it seemed.

The key fit perfectly, the latch disengaging.

Opening the door now, I expected to see the box of Sadie’s things. Secrets worth keeping. Details worth hiding. But the shelves were stacked with bound-up file folders, each labeled in blocky print—a file for each of the rental properties, contracts and blueprints inside; another marked Charity Receipts, where the letters downstairs would inevitably be filed; another marked Medical. Nothing belonging to Sadie. Just the normal documents for safekeeping, kept out of sight. Nothing secret about them.

Chances were, the box of Sadie’s things was still in the trunk of Parker’s car. I’d surprised him there, and he’d left it all out of sight, safely locked behind the garage door.

I’d just stacked the files back together when I heard the sound of tires on gravel. I spun abruptly and caught the glare of sun off metal through the slats of blinds. I stepped closer. There was a dark car driving down the lane toward the garage, with a second car right behind, but it stopped before reaching the garage. Someone stepped out of the driver’s side. Brown hair falling past her shoulders, beige lightweight sweater. Red glasses. Erica.

Dammit. She raised her hand to her eyes, turning toward the house, and I jumped aside, hoping she didn’t see my shadow up here. She was supposed to text me first, so I’d have fair warning.

I locked the closet door and dropped the key into the top desk drawer, moving the flash drives around, hoping it looked natural. A quick scan of the room, making sure I’d left everything as I’d found it. Straightening the chair, making sure his bag under the desk was closed. Then I raced downstairs, holding my breath, listening for them. Parker’s voice carried from somewhere out front, one half of a conversation I couldn’t decipher.

If I sneaked out the patio door at the back of the house, I risked being caught trying to let myself out the black iron gate. I opted for the side door, located just off the kitchen, through the mudroom.