I stared at the message a long moment, the plum dress on the rack forgotten, Noah reading the screen over my shoulder with the same immediate, focused alertness I'd come to recognize as his default response to anything unexpected.
"The Voss estate," I repeated slowly. "What could she possibly have on the Voss estate? Eleanor's about as public as a stone wall."
"I don't like this," Noah said, already reaching for his own phone. "Patricia doesn't chase stories that aren't real. If she's saying she has something, she has something."
I called the number back before I could talk myself out of it, my pulse loud in my ears as it rang twice before connecting.
"Ms. Reed." Patricia's voice carried its familiar brisk confidence, though there was something more careful in it this time. "Thank you
