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“Same thing most women would do if they had the money.” Livia held Delilah’s gaze. “The same thing you and my mom did.”

Delilah sniffed. “Actually, it wasn’t the same. Not at all.” An ancient grievance hardened the woman’s expression. “Helene’s husband paid for extra staff to take care of his boys, and Giselle was encouraged by Henri to have a live-in nanny so she didn’t have to deal with the more tedious tasks of childrearing. I, on the other hand, was expected to make do with an occasional babysitter who might come for an hour or two to help me.” She clicked her tongue. “Not that I minded, of course. I adored Celeste.”

Livia ignored the petulant complaint. The woman obviously bore a grudge against her sisters-in-law. Then again, there was no doubt she loved her daughter. Sometimes too much.

“Where did the boys go after they left here?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“They went with their father back to Baton Rouge. A few months later, Lance was remarried.”

“Are they still there?”

“No, I heard they moved to New Orleans after college.” Delilah pursed her lips. “Over the years they’ve opened a restaurant and a couple of bars, but they never lasted more than a few months. I can’t imagine how much of their father’s inheritance they’ve wasted. A shame.”

“And they never returned to see Helene?”

“I told you they didn’t.” Delilah narrowed her gaze. “What’s your interest in them?”

Livia shrugged. “Nothing really. I just find it strange that they could have lived in this house for years, but never felt the urge to come back and visit their stepmother and family. I didn’t know if it was their decision or if my grandfather told them not to return.”

Delilah abruptly glanced away, as if trying to hide a sudden emotion. “There was an unpleasant end to the marriage. It was better for everyone to have a clean break,” she said stiffly.

“Even for Helene?”

“Especially for Helene.” As if unnerved by the trend of the conversation, Delilah lifted a diamond-ladened hand to wave it toward Livia’s car. “Go meet your friend. I have a thousand details that need my attention.”

Livia’s mild curiosity ramped up a notch. Delilah was obviously reluctant to discuss what had happened between Helene and her ex. Had Henri been the driving force behind the divorce? Was it possible he’d discovered something about his son-in-law that he feared might tarnish the Benoit name? Or maybe Helene’s husband wasn’t willing to share his enormous wealth with the fading Benoits.

Something to consider. Especially since Helene’s husband had moved out of the Willows a few months before her mother’s suicide. Was it connected? Who knew. Clearly the family was having issues.

Livia tucked away the question to ponder later as her aunt turned toward the house.

“Wait,” she called out, reaching into her back pocket to pull out the scarf.

Glancing back, Delilah sent her a glare that would make most people tremble in fear. Livia was thankfully impervious.

“Now what?” the older woman snapped.

Livia held out the scarf. “I think you dropped this in the garage yesterday.”

“I doubt that.” Delilah flicked a disinterested glance toward the folded length of satin. “Where did you get it?”

“Near the stairs that lead to the apartment.”

“What were you doing back there?”

“Passing through,” Livia hedged, giving the scarf a shake so it spilled out to its full length. “Is this yours?”

Delilah parted her lips to deny ownership, but the words seemed to stick in her throat as her eyes widened. She recognized the scarf, Livia silently acknowledged. But that wasn’t the reason the color was suddenly draining from her face and her hands clenched into tight fists. The older woman was bothered by the sight of the scarf.

“What’s wrong?” Livia demanded.

“Nothing.” With obvious reluctance, Delilah reached out to snatch the scarf from Livia’s hand. “You’re right, this is mine. Thank you.”

She was lying, but why?

Did she know who owned the scarf? And more importantly, did she know if the owner had tried to lock Livia in the upstairs apartment?

The questions hovered on Livia’s lips, but with a swirl of her sundress Delilah was heading toward the florist vans with a rigid spine that warned she was done with the conversation.