Her porcelain face held no expression as those cold eyes lasered in. I stood there, waiting for a sense of caring to assert itself. She was a mother. Certainly, somewhere, there was some spark of anguish, some flicker of wreckage for the child she’d brought into the world. So I stood there and waited for it, towering over the frozen woman who couldn’t bring herself to break. She was used to making deals, money for service, money for patronage, money for love, but her money wouldn’t work this time. Here, she was going to have to be human and it didn’t look like she was cut out for it. There were no tears. Her ramrod posture didn’t falter. Elizabeth Ayers had gone her entire life like this, I thought. It left little room for affection, for compassion, for Tim. I moved back to the couch and eased into it so that we could begin again.

“Nicholas Spada brokered a deal by which Tim sold his insurance policy for cash—cash he needed after Stephen cut him off. It was to be a short-term deal, seeing as Tim was ill and wouldn’t get better. Only Tim kept going. He kept going well beyond all expectations. I think that’s where the trouble started. Spada claims he’s an old family friend. What can you tell me about his connection to your family?”

“Who hired you to do this?”

I sighed. I hadn’t gotten through at all. “Someone who cared about Tim.”

Her thin lips curled into a snarl. “One of his unsuitable lovers?”

“Does it matter?”

She didn’t move—not a muscle, not an eyelid, not even air it seemed. “Nicholas Spada?” I was holding up well under her withering stare. “You’re going to need more than Felton.”

Her chin rose. “He was an acquaintance of my late husband’s, who filled the occasional foursome. We did not socialize.”

“He led me to believe you traveled in the same circles. He said that’s why Tim likely came to him.”

I hadn’t thought it possible, but the hardness in her gaze got even harder. “He wouldn’t be the first to claim such a thing. We’re an old, established family. Nicholas Spada owned gas stations or storage facilities—nothing professional, nothing of consequence.” She twisted her lips distastefully, signifying Spada’s humble beginnings were an affront to her refined sensibilities. “Although he’s apparently managed to elevate himself well above his station.”

My eyes wandered around the well-appointed room. “So money alone doesn’t buy entry into all this?”

“There’s breeding, lineage. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly. Spada lacks pedigree. He’s good enough to fill out a foursome, not good enough to hang with the cool kids.” Ayers gave me no reaction at all. I’d gotten used to it.