Judith's Kitchen

Judith's kitchen was bright enough to make cruelty look clean.

Nora had eaten there after the funeral, receiving soup from women who watched whether she cried enough. Now she stood on the same polished floor while Judith poured tea neither of them wanted and two uniformed officers waited near the front door because Ruiz had learned not to let private rooms stay private.

"I released my son's car from storage," Judith said. "Is there a law against a mother touching what remains?"

"There is a law against destroying evidence," Ruiz said.

"Evidence of rain?"

Nora saw the flash of confidence. Judith had already moved the car or cleaned it or made sure someone else had. She would never touch a rag herself. She would donate to men with rags.

"Where is it?" Nora asked.

Judith's gaze settled on her. "You look unwell."

"Where is Miles's car?"

"Sold for salvage."

Ruiz stepped forward. "To which yard?"

"Cal has the paperwork."

Of course he did.

Brooke, standing by the butler's pantry, noticed a vase of lilies on the counter. Fresh. White. Too many.

Sophie had said the crash smelled like Grandma's flowers.

Brooke moved closer to the vase. Judith watched her.

"Do investigators now inspect flowers?" Judith asked.

"Only when children remember them."

For one second, Judith's face went still enough to become real.

Nora saw it. Ruiz saw it. Brooke saw it and filed the moment where paper could not reach.

Then Judith recovered.

"Sophie is a grieving child."

"She is also mine," Nora said.

"For now."

Ruiz's head snapped toward Judith.

Judith smiled faintly. "I mean, while you are able."

On the porch, Nora's phone buzzed with a picture from Tessa.

Daniel's nurse had returned. This time with two men from Kind Harbor legal.

Judith watched Nora read the message and did not ask what was wrong. That was how Nora knew she already knew.