LITMIR.BIZ

      To

       Mary-Theresa Hussey

       in loving gratitude

       for all the good years

      Contents

       Cover

       Introduction

       Title Page

       About the Author

       Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

       Chapter Four

       Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Epilogue

       Extract

       Copyright

Prologue

      Cecilia Parnell reached into her pocket to take out the key her client had given her, then stopped midway and pulled her hand out again.

      The initial movement had been automatic. She had the keys to all of her clients’ homes. Ninety percent of her clients were at work when she and her cleaning crew arrived; the other 10 percent usually preferred to be out when their homes were rendered spotless from top to bottom.

      A firm believer in boundaries and privacy, Cecilia made it a policy never to use the key when she knew her client would be home. And today Yohanna Andrzejewski was home. She knew that because the young woman had specifically requested to see her.

      Cecilia assumed the request had something to do with some sort of dissatisfaction with the quality of the work her crew did. If so, this would be a first, since no one had ever registered any complaints, not in all the years that she had been in this business.

      Pressing the doorbell, Cecilia took a step back from the condo door so that Yohanna could see her when she looked through the peephole.

      But it was obvious that her client didn’t bother checking to see who was there. The door opened immediately, giving Cecilia the impression that the young woman was standing right behind the front door, waiting for her to arrive.

      “Thank you for coming, Mrs. Parnell,” Yohanna said, closing the door behind her. She sounded breathless, as if she’d been running.

      Or perhaps crying.

      “Of course, dear—” Cecilia replied kindly.

      She was about to say something else when she turned and really looked at the young woman for the first time. Yohanna, usually so bright and upbeat that she practically sparkled, not only looked solemn but almost drained of all color, as well. Cecilia stopped walking. The mother in her instantly kicked in.

      “What’s wrong, dear?” she asked, concerned.

      Yohanna took a deep breath and then let it out. It sounded almost like a mournful sigh. “I—I’m afraid that I have to let you go,” she murmured, appearing stricken and exceedingly uncomfortable.

      For the life of her Cecilia couldn’t think of a single reason why she and her crew were being dismissed. She screened every one of her people very carefully before she hired them. Her daughter was a private investigator,

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