“It’s okay, Mrs. Kim, don’t feel any shame over letting it out.” She pushed a cup of sweet chamomile tea at me in between squeezing the stuffing out of me. “You cry if you need to cry. I’m right here. I won’t leave you for a second.”
That was a really nice thing for her to say. Despite knowing me for only a couple weeks, she was being so supportive—making space for me and my trauma, even though I was no more than another client.
Christie was good people, but she didn’t have to go through the trouble.
No tears were coming.
I touched my cheeks, staring uncomprehendingly at my dry fingertips.I cried when Sue died accidentally, and I hated that bitch with every fiber of my soul. Why could I cry for her, but I can’t cry for my own mother after she’s brutally murdered?
No answer was forthcoming.
“Where are Micah, Rhodes, and Alex?” I asked the countertop.
“Your husbands have been invited to retire to their rooms for the night. We didn’t want you four to— What I mean is, there’s nothing for you or them to do at this stage except to let us do our jobs while we wait for the detectives to arrive,” she said. “You too should get some rest, Mrs. Kim.”
I heard the real end of her sentence loud and clear.We didn’t want you four to compare your matricide notes and get your stories straight.
“What about my guests?” I heard myself say. “Courtney? My in-laws? I have to make sure they’re okay and—”
“Wewill take care of everything, Mrs. Kim. No one is so heartless that they’d ask anything of you right now. Just get some sleep.” She held out her hand. “Let me take you up.”
I didn’t know what else to do, so I gave in—allowing her to take me to the bedroom currently being stripped of its laptop, computer, and even its television. Seeing as smart TVs got the capability to connect to the internet years ago, I understood the precaution. Apparently they couldn’t chance me contacting whoever I was “working with.”
“Your phone too, ma’am.”
Saying nothing, I crossed to the nightstand, stuck my hand inside, and pulled out Sue’s phone without hesitation. It disappeared into an evidence bag and was almost out the door when I said—
“Of course, I’m certain you won’t attempt to access my phone, laptop, or even my television without a warrant.” My tone was flat. Dead. “Because, just so this is clear, you do not have my permission to do otherwise.”
Two of the officers paused at the threshold—one of them the woman who’d been assigned to me by Davis.
“I see,” she said.
“And,” I went on, “ofcourse you must secure the crime scene and make sure the suspect doesn’t slip away, but you do not have my permission to conduct a search of any room in this manor that isn’t my mother’s.”
“How unfortunate, Mrs. Kim.” Her tone matched mine. “We assumed you’d want to do everything to help us find your mother’s killer. Were we mistaken?”
“You were if you thought emotional manipulation would work on me.” I tugged on my hair, undoing the stupid bun, and taking out the clips and earrings. “I won’t let you treat me or my family like suspects. Davis suspects the same person who—who k-killed”—my voice broke—“my mother, also killed Mrs. Prado. And he ruled me and my husbands out as suspects in that crime weeks ago, so the last thing I’m going to let you do is waste time going after us while the real killer slips out the front door—if he hasn’t already.
“Because your captain is right. Right now, the manor is full of wealthy, entitled townies and cityfolk who’ve seen enough crime shows to know that theydon’thave to speak to you, and theydon’thave to stay here longer than they want to.
“So every fucking second you spend fiddling with the phone of the woman who was downstairs with a cop shadow all night, is an unforgivable insult to my mother—who deserves competent officers who don’t need it explained that a person can’t be in two places at once.”
She stiffened, eyes flashing.
“You better spend every fucking second of every fucking minute from now until the detectives arrive comparing notes with each other and identifying who came upstairs and into the east wing when they had no reason to be there, and then you turn the heat up on those fuckers until they fry!” I burst out, finally unleashing an emotion—but it wasn’t sorrow. “And if you don’t have that list ready and in my hands by sunup, I promise you— I swear on my life! That I will sue you and your whole department for negligence!”
“Mrs. Kim—”
“How dare you!” I screamed, throat shredding. “How dare you question my desire to see that filthy fucking psychopath in the electric chair!”
“Mrs. Kim,I—”
“You don’t need my help to find him. You don’t want it!” I roared. “Because if I go searching for that bastard, I won’t stop until I stab him so many times in the fucking face HIS EYEBALLS BURST!”
She gaped at me—truly stunned like she didn’t know if the five-foot-one, hundred-and-ten-pound woman was about to attack.
Chest heaving, I felt that tight, writhing, festering, flaming pit that appeared after finding my mother, harden into something heavier, sharper—deadlier.
