Rania had changed her hair when I saw her the next evening. A high ponytail instead of a plait, and I wasn't sure which style I liked best. Truthfully, neither of them. I wanted to see those dark tresses tumbling loose around her shoulders, or better still, spread out over my naked chest.

At least, that was what my cock thought. My head told me that lusting over Rania was a very bad idea indeed.

"You're early," she said, glancing at her watch.

"By ten minutes. Traffic was lighter than I thought."

I neglected to mention the hour I'd spent hanging around at home, just waiting until I could leave.

"Do you have far to come?"

"The trip takes about forty-five minutes."

"Oh."

She bit her lip, and I wished she were biting mine. For fuck's sake, Lawson. She's not your type.

But what was my type? I'd had two failed relationships, one with the kind of girl my mother wanted me to date and the other with a cop groupie, although I hadn't quite realised the extent of her tastes at the time. Since then? More one-night stands than I cared to think about and some quality time with my fist.

"There are still other people in the building," Rania said. "You'll have to wait until they leave."

"How about I give you a hand?"

Her eyes widened in surprise. "What? No, you couldn't... It's not your job."

"And helping me isn't your job either, but you're still going to, and seeing as I'm planning to drive you home again tonight, it's in both of our interests to clean this place quickly."

"I can take the bus."

"You can, but you're not going to."

Now she put her hands on her hips. "Are you always this bossy?"

"You're welcome. Where's the hoover?"

A couple of the salesmen gave me odd looks as I shoved the vacuum cleaner around the reception area. What? Hadn't they ever seen a man cleaning before? Probably they left all that to the little woman at home. Or a cleaning service, like RJ did. Someone came in three times a week, and I made a mental note to be less messy. We should buy the lady a Christmas present too. Chocolates or something. I didn't even know her name.

Rania walked past with a tray of cups, flicked her eyes upwards, and mouthed, "Two left."

Hurry up, assholes.

Another half hour passed before they sauntered by, ignoring me like I didn't exist. Was that how they treated Rania too? As though she were invisible? No wonder she sounded so bitter about life in England.

I turned off the vacuum cleaner and watched from the window until two sets of flickering headlights moving down the drive showed our last two friends had departed for the evening, then I went to find her. She was on the top floor, stacking paper towels into a cupboard.

"Ready?" I asked, and she jumped.

"Don't sneak up on me!"

"Sorry. Next time, I'll phone first."

"You don't have my number."

"Want to bet?"

Her mouth set into a thin line. "What? Bothering me here wasn't enough, so you had to go full-on stalker?"

I shrugged, and she clenched her teeth.

"Old habits die hard."

And so would I if she didn't quit with the righteous indignation. Something about the way her eyes flashed got parts of my anatomy inconveniently fired up.

I turned, making a mental note to wear tighter underwear tomorrow. At least I wasn't wearing sweatpants, or everything would have been on show. I felt her following, soft footsteps mixed with the delicate swirl of perfume. A floral scent. Jasmine?

"Who do you want to speak to first?" she asked.

"Helene."

I knew more about her than Arthur, so if Rania was playing a twisted game, I'd find it easier to tell.

Rania stopped, and I did too, gesturing along the corridor.

"Is she here?"

"You just put your hand through her chest."

I drew my arm back like I'd been burnt, and Rania laughed.

"Don't worry. She can't feel you, and you can't hurt her."

Well, this was awkward. I gave the empty space a little wave. "Hi."

"She says hello. But remember, she can't see either of us." Rania touched a finger to the corner of her eye.

"I'm Will Lawson. Mr. Weston—your father—hired me to look into your death."

I waited as Rania listened and nodded.

"She says you haven't done a great job of it so far if you're here asking her for pointers."

"Really? She said that?"

"I told you she was a brat." Helene must have said something else because Rania narrowed her eyes. "You are. And until you wanted me to help, you barely acknowledged my existence."

I touched Rania on the arm. "Let's not argue, okay? It won't get us anywhere." Then to Helene, "Can you think of a reason why anybody would have wanted to kill you?"

"No," Rania said.

"That's it? No?"

Rania shrugged, a "see what I'm up against" gesture. "Helene, it seems unlikely that someone randomly broke in on the off-chance they'd find somebody here, and seeing as they brought a syringe of something—"

"Fentanyl," I said.

Rania raised an eyebrow, and I nodded.

"—fentanyl with them, they probably planned the attack. Which means there must have been a reason for it. Have you upset anyone recently? I mean, more than usual?"

Rania winced, and I imagined her getting an earful.

"Helene had a small disagreement with her hairdresser in the week before she died. She asked for a shoulder-length bob and got... Well, I'd say that was still shoulder-length." A pause. "Apparently, it should have been left an inch longer."

"Any disagreements with Derek?" I asked.

"No, nothing. Derek was very easy to get along with. They agreed on everything."

Having met Derek, I suspected Helene voiced her opinion and the man went along with it for an easy time. He'd only come to life when I asked him about Weston Corp, and it was clear that work was his priority. Marrying Helene would have secured his place in the business. Would he have risked everything and killed her before that? I couldn't see it. Even during our interview, he kept stopping to answer emails before excusing himself to attend the company yoga session at five thirty. "Now, more than ever, it's important for employees to let go of their stress," he'd said.

"Who benefits financially now that you're gone?" I asked Helene. "Did you have life insurance?"

"Of course she did," Rania said. "It all went to her mother and father."

"Nothing for Derek?"

"Not that she's aware of. Her father planned to transfer some of his shares as a wedding present, but that never happened."

"Who'll get the shares now?"

"Probably Anthony. Or maybe her father will give a percentage to Derek anyway. They get on well."

"I have to ask this—do you think Derek was faithful?"

"The idea of him sleeping with someone else... No, she can't see it happening. He got more turned on by the stock market than sex." Rania held up a hand. "No, I should tell Will. He won't mention it to anyone else. You can trust him."

"What?"

Rania struggled to keep a straight face. I could see from the way her lips quirked up at the corners, and her eyes danced as they cut back to the empty air opposite us.

"She says Derek needed pharmaceutical help in that department. The little blue pills. And he hated taking those because they gave him a rash on his..." Rania's cheeks went delightfully pink. "You know."

"Okay. So we can probably rule Derek out. How about Anthony?"

"Anthony was a good salesman when he was sober, but that hasn't been often recently. Her father promised things would get sorted out."

"Helene, did the two of you get on okay?"

"As well as any siblings. The odd argument, and she wasn't happy he drank so much, but nothing irreparable."

"What about clients? Competitors? This company does some big deals."

"Helene only looked after sales and marketing. She didn't sign any contracts. The men dealt with that side of things."

"What if somebody wanted to cause a distraction? Make your father and Derek take their eye off the ball?"

"It's possible. Maybe. But Helene still doesn't have any idea who would do that."

I leaned back against the wall, turning the new information over in my mind. Either Helene wore rose-tinted glasses when it came to others' perceptions of her, or we'd missed something big. I needed to talk to her father again, and also Anthony. Drink did funny things to people's minds, and I had to consider the possibility he'd graduated to something harder. Back when I was a PC, I saw an addict throw his six-year-old daughter out of a window because he thought she'd turned into a lizard. LSD. And with new designer drugs hitting the streets every month, the problems were only getting worse.

"I need to look into things." And talk to Arthur.

Rania took the hint. "Let's head downstairs. You can check through your notes while I unload the dishwasher."

I took a couple of steps towards the stairwell as Rania paused and closed her eyes, her lips tightening again. "Look, I can't stay here all day, every day, just because you're bored, Helene. I'll see you tomorrow."

In the waiting area, I sank onto one of the sofas while Rania remained standing. Hmm. They weren't as comfortable as they appeared.

"Where's Arthur?"

Rania pointed at the bottom of the stairs.

"Can he see me?"

She nodded.

I couldn't exactly shake the man's hand, so I settled for a nod in his general direction. "I'm Will Lawson. Lloyd Weston hired me to investigate his daughter's death, and I understand you might be a witness?"

My knee began to bounce, and I rested my hands on my leg to keep it still. This case was going to steal my sanity.

Rania tilted her head to one side then smiled. "He says you look damned uncomfortable talking to thin air. Like you're starting to question your own mind."

"He's got that right." I cleared my throat, which had been getting drier throughout the evening. What I wouldn't have given for a coffee. Or better still, a shot of vodka. "Rania said you wanted to cut a deal."

"He does."

"But all we've got is your word that you saw the murderer. How can we be sure that you really did? I'm not busting a gut hunting for two culprits only to find you were mistaken."

Another pause.

"He says that as a gesture of good faith, he'll tell us that the killer was wearing a blue jumper, and he knows it was the killer because the front was covered in blood when they left. He reckons the forensics people will have found blue fibres on the body. Did they?"

"The police are still waiting for half of the reports to come back."

"Really? But on CSI—"

I shook my head. "Forget what you see on TV. It takes weeks for the lab to send anything, even if you put a rush on it."

And we didn't have time to wait, not with Lloyd Weston's Christmas deadline looming. What would Arthur have to gain by lying about the fibres? He'd know that we'd quit right away if the forensics report came through with different results.

Rania must have read my mind. "Arthur, if I find you haven't told the truth, I'm never speaking to you again. You can spend eternity alone." She turned to me. "He swears he's being honest."

"I'll start some preliminary work, but I'm not committing to anything until the lab results come back. And Arthur has to promise us his full cooperation. He can start by explaining why he stole money from Weston Corp."

Rania listened, and when she shrank back, I stood up and went to her side.

"What is it?"

"He says he doesn't know what you're talking about, and he never took a penny from the company." She winced again, obviously getting an earbashing. "Ever. He prided himself on his honesty."

"So, why does Lloyd Weston think he did?"

"Isn't it obvious? Somebody else took the money, framed Arthur, and then killed him."