Chapter 5

The doorbell rang.

It wasn't a dramatic sound — no deep gong, no echoing chime. It was just the old mechanical bell that had been in the house since the 1920s, a burred metallic ring that buzzed through the wood-paneled hall and faded into the sound of rain on the windows. But the four people in the library all turned toward the sound like it was a gunshot.

"Expecting someone else, Constance?" Hedda asked quietly.

Constance's mouth worked. "The walkthrough. I told the appraiser—"

"You told an appraiser to come to my mother's house? Without mentioning it to me?"

"It's a Lamm family house," Constance said automatically, but the force was gone from her voice. The words came out thin and mechanical, like a woman reading from a script she no longer believed.

Ms. Dowd cleared her throat. "I should go. This is—" She paused, looking for the word. "Complicated."

"You should stay," Hedda said. "You're the witness. You saw everything."

Ms. Dowd's hand tightened on her tablet folio. For a second, Hedda saw something flicker across her face — concern, calculation, maybe both — and then the professional mask settled back into place.

"The appraiser," Constance said. "The appraisal is separate from the listing. It's an independent process. The house needs to be valued for the estate."

"The house is vested in Hedda," Ms. Dowd said quietly. "She doesn't need an appraisal. There's nothing to value."

The doorbell rang again. Longer this time.

"I'll get it," Roger said. He sounded grateful for an excuse to leave the room. He was already moving toward the door, his flashlight beam dancing across the floorboards, when Hedda's voice stopped him.

"Roger."