“She said—” Eden’s voice caught, and she pressed her fingertips against her lips for a moment before continuing. “She said I deserved better. That she’d make sure I got better, whether I wanted it or not.”
The implication hung in the air between them. Iris had been planning something. Something that would have forced the issue, that would have dragged every secret into the open regardless of the cost.
“What do you think Iris was planning to do?”
“I don’t know. I never got the chance to find out.” Eden wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, a surprisingly vulnerable gesture from a woman who had spent the entire conversation maintaining iron control. “Days later, she was dead.”
Iris had made a declaration to her mother, a promise or a threat depending on how one viewed it, and then was found lying at the bottom of a staircase. The proximity of the timeline was too close to be coincidental. Whatever Iris had been planning, someone had known. Someone had decided that the exposure Iris was threatening was more dangerous than the act of silencing her.
“You told me the recorders were thrown away,” Kinsley said after giving Eden a moment to compose herself. “Are you confident that Richard disposed of them?”
“I’m sure, Detective Aspen. Because Richard didn’t throw them away. I did.” Something shifted in Eden’s posture, a straightening of the spine that came with confession. “While Richard was at work one day, I gathered every recorder I could find and threw them in the trash. Took the bags out to the curb myself so he couldn’t retrieve them.”
“How did Richard react when he found out?”
“I understand what you’re insinuating, but you’re wrong.” Eden’s expression shifted, something hard entering her eyesthat hadn’t been there before. “My husband did not murder my daughter. Did we argue over the fact that I threw the tapes out? Yes. I told him that if he was so concerned about Iris discovering his affairs, maybe he should have thought about that before he slept with half his office staff.”
She paused, and when she continued, her voice was flat with exhaustion from a fight that had been fought too many times.
“We haven’t spoken about Iris or her death since that argument. Not once, in all these years. At least, not until you showed up on our doorstep.”
Kinsley noted the tension in Eden’s shoulders, the way one hand gripped the other in her lap with a pressure that turned her knuckles white. There was something else here, something Eden was holding back. The conversation had the shape of a confession that kept stopping short of the actual admission, circling the center without ever landing on it.
“You still maintain that you and Richard were at the block party the entire evening?”
“Yes.”
“Neither of you left? Never went back to the house for anything?”
“No.” Eden’s answer was firm, but her eyes narrowed. “Why are you asking me this again?”
“Because Shannon Utgoff was parked down the street that night,” Kinsley revealed, watching Eden’s face for the slightest fracture. “She claims she was waiting for Richard to come out and meet her. According to Shannon, he never left the party.”
“If Shannon claims she was waiting for my husband, that’s between them. I was at the party. I saw Richard there all evening, so she’s telling you the truth.” Eden’s voice was steady, but the steadiness itself came across as a performance. “Richard was very much present.”
“Eden, if there’s anything you’re not telling me, now is the time. If you’re protecting someone?—”
“I’m not protecting anyone.” Eden’s voice rose slightly, the composure cracking at its edges. “My daughter is dead. Grant Tatlock killed her. He was found at the scene, for God’s sake. Why are you trying to complicate this?”
“Because ten thousand dollars in cash was found hidden in Iris’s room. Because she was blackmailing half the neighborhood. Because your son was in the vicinity that night and lied about it for thirty years.” Kinsley softened her voice, pulling back from the pressure just enough to keep Eden from shutting down entirely. “And because I think you know more than you’re saying.”
Eden was silent for a long moment.
“My daughter thought she was invincible. Thought she could manipulate anyone, control any situation. She pushed someone too far, and they pushed back. That’s what happened.” Eden met Kinsley’s eyes, and what Kinsley saw there was not defiance but something closer to resignation. “Whether it was Grant or someone else, the result is the same. Iris is dead, and nothing you uncover will change that.”
Whether it was Grant or someone else.The phrasing was a crack in the wall, so small it could have been accidental. But Kinsley didn’t believe in accidental word choices from a woman as careful as Eden Bell.
“But it might give you the truth.”
“The truth.” Eden laughed bitterly, and the sound was hollow enough to echo. “The truth is that my daughter was brilliant and reckless and exhausting. The truth is that I loved her and wished she’d been different, all at the same time. The truth is that Grant Tatlock was convicted, and he’s dead now, too. It’s over. Everything is finally over, and I can finally move on.”
Kinsley studied Eden’s face. The careful mask was back in place, but it didn’t fit as well as it had at the beginning of their conversation. The seams were showing, and beneath them was something Eden had been protecting with a ferocity that went beyond a mother’s grief or a wife’s loyalty.
Pushing harder now would only drive her further into retreat. The wall would go back up, the composure would solidify, and the next time Kinsley tried to have this conversation, there would be a lawyer in the room.
“Okay.” Kinsley stood, tugging the edges of her blazer so the material sat evenly on both sides. “If you remember anything else, please reach out to me. You have my number.”
“Thank you for your time, Detective.”
