A flicker of panic shed in Isabel''s eyes. She clenched her jaw and snapped at the receptionist, "What are you talking about? I have no idea what you mean!"


    The receptionist froze, staring at Isabel in shock.


    "But... didn''t you just say "


    Isabel cut her off in a fluster, "Enough! If you want to get yourself in trouble, fine. But don''t drag me down with you."


    With that, Isabel turned, ready to make a hasty escape.


    Effie seized Isabel''s wrist, her voice cold and sharp. "Not so fast. You haven''t exined why you answered Lyman''s call."


    Isabel''s gaze darted away. Why had she answered Lyman''s phone? The answer was simple: she wanted to annoy Effie.


    But of course, Isabel wouldn''t admit that out loud.


    She put on an innocent look, ncing at Effie and then down at the hand gripping her arm. "You''re hurting me."


    "Let go of her! Keep your hands off Mrs. Etheridge!" The receptionist, red with anger, rushed forward. But before she could reach them, Luther stepped in and calmly lifted her away by the cor, as if she weighed nothing.


    "Luther, you''re helping the wrong person. You''ll regret this!" the receptionist protested.


    Luther just looked at her, exasperated. This idiot—she''d regret her words soon enough, once she realized who was really in the wrong.


    "Mrs. Etheridge? Isabel, start exining. Now." Effie''s eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint shing in them.


    Luther could hardly believe his eyes. He''d always thought Effie was harmless, like a gentlemb-turns out she had quite a bite.


    Isabel knew she couldn''t wriggle out of this. Backed into a corner, she braced herself and said, "She misunderstood. She thought I was Lyman''s fiancée-l never said I was."


    The receptionist''s jaw dropped. Was Isabel even listening to herself?


    True, Isabel hadn''t actually said anything directly; but she''d certainly led her on. Otherwise, why would the receptionist have mistaken Isabel for Mrs. Etheridge?


    "That''s not true! You-"


    "You what? I never imed anything of the sort. Don''t you dare put words in my mouth."


    Finally, the receptionist realized it—she''d been yed by Isabel from the start.


    Fuming, she lunged at Isabel and the two women devolved into a shouting, shoving match.


    Luther just shook his head at the spectacle. He had no ns to intervene— instead, he led Effie away toward Lyman''s office.


    As soon as they opened the door, a fresh, clean scent-like expensive shower gel -greeted them.


    Lyman, who''d been anxiously watching the door since he heard Effie mighte up, immediately stood and strode toward her, beaming. "Honey-"


    He reached out, wanting to pull Effie into his arms, but suddenly paused. His eyes narrowed coldly at Luther. "What are you standing around for? Go make us some coffee."


    Luther caught the hint and bolted. "Right away! I''ll get the coffee."


    Once the office door closed, Lyman reached again for Effie''s hand.


    But Effie deftly sidestepped, slipping out of reach.


    Left hanging, Lyman stood there awkwardly, looking for all the world like a puppy who''d just had his treat snatched away. "Honey..."


    Effie almost melted at his pitiful tone.


    But she steeled herself, repeating silently: Don''t give in, Effie. Not yet. Not until you get to the bottom of this.


    She drew a deep breath and said coolly, "Out of nowhere, why did you take a shower?"