Chương 5
Elizabeth felt Alex’s fingers tighten around the rabbit.
Lucinda glanced toward him and then back at Andrew.
“I was in shock.”
“You were very specific.”
“So were you, apparently.”
Andrew’s eyes narrowed.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means grief turns memory into something people mistake for fact.”
Elizabeth watched him absorb that.
Lucinda had found the right weapon again.
Not innocence.
Uncertainty.
Andrew had lived with enough uncertainty since Caroline died to know how much damage it could do.
He looked down at the sealed memory card.
“Where is the laptop from Caroline’s office?”
Elizabeth answered before Lucinda could.
“In the locked cabinet downstairs.”
Andrew looked at her.
“You know where the key is?”
“Yes.”
Lucinda gave a small, incredulous laugh.
“Of course she does.”
Elizabeth ignored her.
Andrew held out his hand.
“Bring it.”
Lucinda stepped between Elizabeth and the hall.
“No.”
Andrew’s gaze went cold.
“Move.”
“You are about to dig through your dead wife’s private files because a traumatized child said something he cannot possibly understand.”
“He understood enough for you to lie about where he was.”
Lucinda’s mouth opened.
Nothing came.
Alex pressed the rabbit’s face beneath his chin.
Elizabeth saw his breathing speed up again.
She crouched beside him.
“Come with me.”
His eyes widened.
“We’re only going downstairs.”
He shook his head.
Elizabeth looked at Andrew.
“Can he stay with you?”
Andrew’s expression softened immediately.
“Yes.”
Alex did not move.
Elizabeth waited.
After several seconds, he stepped away from her and toward his father.
The distance was less than six feet.
It seemed to take him much longer.
Andrew lowered himself so they were level but did not touch him.
Alex stopped beside his shoulder.
That was all.
Andrew accepted it.
Elizabeth walked toward the service corridor.
Lucinda made no further attempt to block her.
Instead, she turned to Andrew.
“You should call Dr. Morrow.”
Andrew almost smiled.
It was not amusement.
“My son speaks for the first time in months and accuses you of murder, and your first instinct is to call his psychiatrist.”
“His therapist.”
“You know what I meant.”
“And you know what I mean.”
Lucinda looked down at Alex.
“His perception is not reliable.”
Alex’s face disappeared behind the rabbit.
Andrew shifted until his body interrupted her line of sight.
“Stop talking about him like he isn’t here.”
Lucinda’s nostrils flared.
“You used to have better judgment.”
“And you used to be better at hiding what you thought of mine.”
The words struck harder than he intended.
He knew it when he saw her eyes.
For the first time that evening, Lucinda looked less like a threat than an aging mother whose son had said something cruel.
The impression lasted only a moment.
Then she straightened the pearls at her throat.
“Your judgment chose Caroline.”
Andrew’s face went still.
Lucinda continued.
“And Caroline was preparing to leave you.”
Alex made a frightened noise.
Andrew looked at him.
The boy had heard the sentence.
Of course he had.
Andrew’s anger shifted direction immediately.
“Enough.”
“I am trying to save you from making another mistake because of her.”
“She’s dead.”
“Yes.”
Lucinda’s voice cracked on the word.
She recovered quickly, but not quickly enough.
Andrew saw it.
So did Alex.
Something strange happened in the boy’s face.
Not forgiveness.
Confusion.
Lucinda looked away.
The hall seemed larger when nobody spoke.
Andrew could hear Elizabeth moving somewhere beyond the kitchen, a cabinet door opening, then shutting.
Alex touched his father’s sleeve.
Andrew turned.
“Blue car,” Alex whispered.
Andrew nodded carefully.
“Yes.”
“Grandma yelled.”
Lucinda’s head snapped around.
Andrew did not look at her.
“What did she yell?”
Alex’s mouth trembled.
He pressed the rabbit tighter.
Andrew waited.
The boy shook his head.
“That’s okay.”
Alex swallowed.
“Mommy said no.”
Lucinda stepped forward.
“Andrew, stop this.”
He raised one hand.
She stopped.
Alex’s gaze moved toward her.
“She said give it back.”
Andrew looked at the memory card in his palm.
Lucinda’s face lost color again.
This time there was no mistaking it.
Andrew saw the answer before he had evidence for it.
Not the whole answer.
Only enough to make his stomach turn.
“What did Caroline ask you to give back?”
Lucinda’s eyes hardened.
“Nothing.”
Andrew glanced at Alex.
The boy was staring at her now.
Lucinda noticed.
Her breathing changed.
Andrew took one slow step toward her.
“You took something from Caroline.”
“No.”
“She confronted you about it.”
“No.”
“You argued in her car.”
Lucinda laughed sharply.
“You have converted three sentences from a frightened five-year-old into a prosecution.”
“I haven’t called anyone.”
“Yet.”
Andrew looked at her.
“Should I?”
That silenced her.
Elizabeth returned carrying a slim silver laptop and a small ring of keys.
Her hair had loosened slightly near one temple.
“I found the charger too.”
Andrew took the laptop.
“Thank you.”
Lucinda looked at Elizabeth with naked contempt.
“You seem very prepared.”
“It was in the cabinet where Mrs. Whitmore left it.”
“Caroline did not leave anything there.”
Elizabeth frowned.
“What?”
Lucinda realized too late.
Andrew turned toward her.
“How do you know?”
Lucinda folded her arms.
“I mean after she died.”
“That isn’t what you said.”
“This is becoming childish.”
Andrew looked at Elizabeth.
“Who put the laptop in the cabinet?”
Elizabeth hesitated.
“I did.”
“When?”
“The morning after the police released the office.”
Andrew’s forehead tightened.
“You were here?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you were with Alex at your sister’s.”
“After lunch.”
He stared at her.
The confusion was genuine.
Elizabeth felt suddenly defensive.
“Your mother told me to clear Mrs. Whitmore’s desk before the family came back.”
Andrew slowly looked at Lucinda.
Lucinda said nothing.
Elizabeth continued.
“She said you didn’t want personal things left out.”
“I never said that.”
“I know that now.”
“You never asked me?”
Elizabeth’s expression sharpened.
“You were barely speaking to anyone.”
Andrew flinched.
May you like
It was true.
For the first ten days after Caroline’s death, he had moved through the house like a visitor who had forgotten why he came.
