“You’re late!” Mum said, one hand on her hip, her usually plump lips drawn into a thin line. “We’ve all been waiting.”

By “all” she meant her, my dad, and my younger brother Kain, who had just turned twenty-one and still lived at home. My older brothers, Leon and Matt, were married with children and had long since moved out.

“Sorry, sorry, today was my first day on my own, and it took me a little longer to finish up than usual,” I said, raising my hands in the air. I loved my mum to pieces, but she had a fiery temper and got mad easily. Lateness was one of her many pet peeves, especially when she’d gone to the trouble of cooking.

I almost laughed as I took off my coat and saw she was holding a spatula. She pointed it at me like it could’ve been used as a lethal weapon. “The next time I will make fish fingers! Then you’ll learn to be on time.”

Now I did laugh. Mum had only moved to the U.K. when she was twenty-three, so she still had an accent, and “fish fingers” just sounded hilarious when coming from her. I stepped forward and gave her a hug, which seemed to placate her mood.

“I’m sorry, mamá, it won’t happen again.”

She sniffed. “Yes, well, see that it doesn’t. Now come on, you look starved.”

I followed her inside the kitchen, saying hello to Dad and Kain as I took a seat at the table. I filled them all in on the details of my new job, and I didn’t fail to notice the look of pride in my dad’s eyes when I spoke. I knew the fact that I’d gone back to school meant a lot to him. He’d always told me I had brains to burn, and that I was wasting my time working in a bar. I wasn’t quite sure that I’d ever go much further in my career than working at Johnson Pearse, but at least it was something.

We were just done with dinner when my phone began to vibrate. Since texting at the table was another of my mum’s pet peeves, I excused myself to the living room to check my message.

Oliver King: Are you busy?

Alexis: Just finished dinner. What do you need?

Oliver King: I’m at a meeting that’s running late. I was due at my mother’s an hour ago, but it looks like I’m not going to make it. Can you pick up some flowers and deliver them to her?

I frowned at his message. I didn’t want to blow off my family, since I usually stayed and watched TV with them after dinner, but I was really curious to meet the elusive Elaine King. Okay, so I was morbidly curious. She hadn’t been seen in the public eye for more than a decade, and there had to be a reason for it. Plus, she’d been the one to teach King how to play the piano so beautifully, and I was a little in awe of her for that. Finally, I replied.

Alexis: Of course. Send me the details.

Needless to say, Mum was none too pleased when I skipped out on her early. I left with a promise to visit again at the weekend, and that kept her happy. When I arrived at the florist, there was a huge bouquet of red and yellow lilies waiting to be collected. I picked them up, careful not to damage the petals, and went outside to thumb a cab.

Elaine King lived in a four-story period house in Bloomsbury, a very exclusive and expensive area of London. I stood outside for a moment, gathering my nerve. I’d never stepped foot in a house like this in my life, and it was slightly intimidating. Finally going for it, I pressed the doorbell, and a moment later a female voice came through the speaker.

“Hello, is that you, Oliver?”

“Mrs King, my name is Alexis. I’m your son’s assistant. He had a meeting run late and asked me to deliver some flowers. I hope that’s okay?”

“Flowers? Oh, yes, flowers. Okay, I’ll be right there.” There was something manic and airy about her voice that sounded kinda off. I was standing there for a good five minutes before I finally heard the door being unlocked. She opened it slowly, and I was met with an older pair of ice-blue eyes that were almost identical to King’s.

She studied me for a moment, then craned her neck around the doorframe to ensure I was alone.

“Do you…do you have any identification?” she asked, a tremor in her voice. Jesus, was she okay? Resting the bouquet on my hip, I rummaged in my bag for my work I.D. before pulling it out and showing her. She took her time scanning the details, and then before I knew it, she’d reached out and grabbed my wrist, pulling me inside. Her hand was cold. It all happened so quickly that I barely had time to react. I was standing in the foyer, still holding the flowers and my I.D. when she began flicking locks and pushing over deadbolts.

Whoa. That door had a lot of locks on it.

When she finally turned to face me, I had a proper chance to take in her appearance. Her light blonde hair was long and raggedy, and she wore a cream silky robe over a pair of peach-coloured pyjamas, slippers on her feet. Her complexion was pale, and there was a nervousness in her expression that made me want to put her at ease. She was like a twenty-first-century Miss Havisham, locked away in her big old house. I could already see that the furnishings were dusty and uncared for, which meant she probably didn’t have any household staff.

“Hi,” I said, clearing my throat. “I’m sorry for intruding, but like I said, Mr King wanted you to have these.”

She stared at me, seeming to flounder for a moment, and I got the feeling she didn’t speak to new people very often. Then her eyes went to the flowers, and her face lit up in a smile.

“Oh, my, they’re beautiful,” she said, coming and taking them from me. Without another word, she carried them into the living room and placed them on the window ledge. I noticed that she needed to squeeze them in, because there were a bunch of other vases there already. Some of the flowers were fresh, and others looked like they’d died a long time ago. I felt a little shiver run down my spine. There was definitely something not right about this woman.