Mariëtte Chamberlain settled against the upholstered seat and gazed at me through her eyelashes. She knew she had my attention.

“His lover?” I said.

“I don’t think Professor Chamberlain understood his own predilections until late middle age. It wasn’t until after the birth of his sons that he came to his ‘great awakening,’ as Artie used to call it. Afterward, he began an exciting new phase of his life. The professor was a loving husband and father, and he had his dalliances, which Glenna accepted as his private business since he harmed no one by them. One of the virtues of the Chamberlains is their refusal to make petty personal judgments. I suppose I should use the past tense since Bibi is the last of the name and likely to remain so.”

“Thanks, Mother,” said Bibi. “But I haven’t ruled out marriage.”

“I’m speaking of procreation, dear.”

“Have you never heard the words in vitro?”

My chair creaked as I leaned forward. “Did you tell Lieutenant Rivard about this aspect of Professor Chamberlain’s life?”

“At the time it seemed immaterial.”

“But not now?”

“I’m getting to that,” she said. “When the professor retired here, to focus on his art and his horticultural research, he was still a vital man. He had a lifelong commitment to physical fitness. It was one of the things we shared. I assumed his robust physicality extended to his sexual life, but he and I never talked about those things.”

“Grandfather spoke with me about it,” said Bibi. “He was very open.”

Mariëtte shrugged. “Yes, well.”

“As fellow queers and all.”

“Bibi, the warden doesn’t know you well enough to appreciate your sense of humor.”

“I think he’s coming to appreciate it,” said the daughter, ripping another Juul.

The spaniel arose, did a 360-degree turn that only succeeded in raising a cloud of hair and a musty dog smell, before settling into her bed.

I thought of Shadow outside in the cramped quarters of his cold kennel. I prayed to God he hadn’t fully awakened.

Mariëtte ran a hand through her cropped hair. “In any event, the professor had a full life. He had his agricultural research and his wood carving. He was a lifelong Freemason because his role model, Benjamin Franklin, had been one. He volunteered at the polls each election. He took an interest in his community. And that is how he came to be associated with the man, Jewett.”

I had resisted the urge to reach for my notepad, not wanting to signal my growing interest. I hadn’t wanted to give Mariëtte that little victory. But the time had finally come. I clicked the button on my pen.

“You’re referring to the lover you mentioned—the person you’re accusing of murder.”

“Bruce Jewett,” she said, stressing the name’s internal rhyme.