On the breakfast nook table, a slim laptop glowed blue. Zara sat in one of the linen chairs, knees drawn up under her familiar fluorescent yellow hoodie, her braids tucked over one shoulder. Earbuds dangled around her neck.
She looked up in surprise. "Hey."
"Go to bed, Zara," Camille said.
Zara didn't move. "What's going on?"
"Nothing you need to worry about."
"The police arrested Mia," I said. "She's at the precinct."
Zara's face tightened. She looked at me, then at her mother. "We literally have to do something."
Camille shot me a warning glance, then faced her daughter. She put her hands on her hips. "This is not your concern."
"It's totally my concern," Zara said. "Leah loved Mia, you know she did. She'd hate all of this. There's no way Mia would've intentionally killed her. That's insane. If there's something we can do to prove it was an accident, we should help."
"You don't decide my cases," Camille cut in, her tone clipped. "It's late. Go to your room."
Jerome wandered in from the hallway. He'd changed out of his suit and wore faded Snoopy pajama pants with a white T-Shirt. "Hey, who's hungry? And why does this house always smell like somebody's cooking even when nobody's cooking?"
He stopped when he saw us sitting at the island. The tension in our bodies, our faces. "What's all this about?"
Camille crossed to him. She put her hands on his forearms, leaned in, and kissed him firmly on the mouth. She pulled back. "I'm sorry, honey, but this is a privileged conversation."
Jerome met my gaze across the table. It was steady, intensely curious, but without judgment or reproach. That was something.
"Well, Zion and I will enjoy our Tigers game in the den with some popcorn and pizza, then. Don't be jealous." Jerome ruffled Zara's braids.
Zara ducked her head. "Dad!"
"Jerome," Camille said.
He winked at me. "I can see when I'm not wanted."
As soon as he was gone, Zara gave me an imploring look. "Is there anything? Any proof that might help Mia?"
I pulled the Nikon D780 from my purse by the yellow strap and set it on the table like an offering. "Mia's camera."
Zara let out a gasp. "Wait, you actually found it!"
A spark of interest lit in Camille's gaze. She moved closer to the table, as if drawn to the camera against her will.
"Peyton buried it at the base of the bluff. Some files are corrupted from water damage, I think. But there may be something on here. If we can pull even a frame with a time stamp, audio, anything, it could help. Peyton stole it for a reason."
Zara reached for the camera. "Can I see it?"
"Of course. Mia says you're the tech genius. Can you recover the damaged files?"
She hesitated, glancing at her mother for permission, and when Camille didn't stop her, she plugged a cable into the port with quick, sure movements. "Let me try."
"Zara," Camille warned, but she didn't make a move to thwart her daughter.
Zara rolled her eyes. "I know what I'm doing, Mom."
"That's not what I'm concerned about."
"You taught me to do what's right, not what's easy."
