“I read an article the other day about DNA and genealogy identifying Jack the Ripper.”

“I think I probably read that same article. But I’m not sure if Aaron Kosminski was the Ripper, even if he does look like a viable suspect, given his history and that he was brought in for questioning during the murders.”

“Why do you think he might not be the guy if they have his DNA?”

“The article of clothing they got the DNA from is over a hundred years old. It was passed around numerous times over the years without anyone knowing what they do today about preserving evidence. And the DNA wasn’t his; it was just linked to him through his family.”

“Is that what you do when you’re working a case? Try to prove that the suspect isn’t guilty of the crimes he’s being charged with?”

“Kind of. Going into a case, I already know there’s going to be someone on the opposite side of the courthouse attempting to get their client off, so I have to figure out all the angles they will use to do that before I bring them to court.” I lean back when a Caesar salad is placed in front of me, with two pieces of the fish they use for the dressing laid across the top. I look over at Franny when she makes a noise and quickly slides her salad bowl away from her.

“Sorry.” She covers her mouth.

“Just breathe through your mouth,” I tell her quietly, trying not to draw attention to ourselves.

It takes a minute, but the color starts to come back to her face, which had gone pale.

“I’m okay,” she whispers.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Thanks.” She picks up her water and takes a sip. “I’ll be happy when this part is over.”

“What part?” Barrett asks, and Franny’s expression turns panicked.

“She was just saying that she can’t wait until the bidding starts,” I cover quickly, and her shoulders, which had tensed, relax.

“Oh, are you going to bid on something today?” Barrett asks, picking up the card on the table with the list of things that are going to be up for auction.

“I was thinking about going for one of the spa days. Maybe I’ll take Mom.”

“That would be nice, but I figured you’d try to win the wine package.” He smiles.

“I would, but I’m currently doing that no-alcohol trend that’s popular on social media right now.”

He raises a brow. “You should have your brother do that with you.”

She snorts. “Jacob wouldn’t last a week without drinking.”

“Unfortunately, you’re not wrong,” Barrett says, cutting into his salad, and the color once again drains from Franny’s face.