The housekeeper, Marta, opened the side door, her face filling with surprise. “Sophia? Your father said you were in Malibu.”

“I was. I needed to pick up something.” My voice must have given me away, because her smile faded. “Has Daniel been here recently?”

“Yesterday morning. He came with a woman. They were in the study almost an hour.”

“What woman?”

“Tall. Dark hair. Very elegant.” Rebecca. “He said your father asked him to collect insurance files. He took a blue document box.” My father kept financial records in blue archival boxes.

I climbed to the study. It looked almost unchanged from my childhood — tall bookshelves, framed ships and harbors, my grandfather’s brass compass on the desk.