“Mia Hart,” Martha said, like she’d been expecting her.

“Ma’am.” It was the most deferential that Izzy had ever heard Mia. “This is Detective Santiago. We’d like to ask you a few questions if we can.”

Martha’s gaze swung to Izzy, and she instinctively straightened under the attention.

“Come in.”

There were no pleasantries, no offers of tea or coffee. Martha directed them to sit on an overstuffed two-seater couch as she took the hard, wooden chair that was kitty-corner to it.

“You’re finally investigating Asher’s murder.”

Mia’s small inhale was hardly a gasp, but it was noticeable nonetheless. “Murder?”

Martha’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t waste my time, child.”

Izzy saw an opening to play dumb. “I thought it was ruled suicide, ma’am.”

“My grandson did not kill himself.” Each word was enunciated as if it were its own sentence, and Martha stared them both down, her chin tipped up, her lips pinched.

It wasn’t uncommon for family members to refuse to accept the suicide of a loved one. These kinds of assertions were useless to them, as coldhearted as that might be to admit. But it also happened to follow the same path they were tentatively considering. “Did you tell the police that? Back then?”

“They ignored me.” The words were loaded with contempt.

“Okay, tell us, then,” Mia interjected. “What happened?”

“Asher saw something.” The lines on Martha’s face deepened as she scowled, everything about her an unmovable fortress. Whether she was right, she had certainly convinced herself that she was. “Something he shouldn’t have seen. They were trying to shut him up. They did shut him up.”

Izzy tried to follow her. “Who are ‘they’? What did he see?”

“Don’t know,” Martha said, fast and clipped.

“Why do you think someone was trying to shut him up, then?”

She rubbed a thumb over her knuckle, her eyes on her hands. “Haven’t seen Bix Bell since before that night.”

Bix. As in Charles and Bix, as in Monroe’s mother. Again, Izzy was able to plead ignorance.

“I was under the impression they’d left the island in the days following the deaths.”

“That’s what everyone thinks,” Martha said. “But they used a private boat. No one actually saw them leave together.”

“Wait, did you say ‘before’?” Mia asked, latching onto the part Izzy had missed. “You mean ‘after,’ right? Bix was there, at the lighthouse.”

“Says who?” Martha lifted her thick, silver brows.

That shut Mia up, and Izzy was no help there, either.

Martha leaned forward and swiveled her jaw once, and then again. “Everyone assumes they saw her. But no one actually did. Because she wasn’t there. The cops only talked to Charles Bell.”

“My mother didn’t go to the lighthouse, either,” Mia said, almost to herself, her focus turned inward.