“He got over the shock of your parentage and tried to make amends, and you wouldn’t let him. You had your reasons, but to outsiders, it does not reflect well on our family.”

Gabriel pushed his chair back, a hard look in his eyes. Eavesdropping and making no secret of it.

“I understand you wanted to tough it out,” Mum went on. “My concern is . . . You’re twenty-four, Olivia. In a few months you’ll be old enough for your trust fund, reaching the age where your father and I agreed you’d be mature enough to handle the responsibility. But in recent weeks you broke off an engagement to a wonderful man, and began investigating your birth parents’ crimes with a man that our family lawyer has nothing good to say about. Now James is dead—murdered—and you’re dating a member of a motorcycle gang. All I can hope is that last is some misguided publicity stunt to divert attention from your birth situation.”

“No, I—”

“He’s a biker, Olivia. And according to the papers, he’s two years younger than you.” She said it as if that was as bad as dating a criminal.

“Whatever’s happening to me has nothing to do with attending James’s funeral. We need to pay our respects—”

“We?” Her voice rose. “I certainly hope you don’t intend to go.”

“I was engaged to him, Mum. I’d never march up and stand at his graveside, but that doesn’t mean I can’t go, discreetly, and pay my respects.”

“After you . . . ?” She trailed off.

“After I what?” I said, my voice thick with warning. “What exactly did I do that strips me of the right to mourn James?”

You killed him. Maybe you didn’t wrap your hands around his neck and squeeze the life from him, but you caused this. You know you did.

I didn’t catch what my mother said; I only heard the accusation in my head. I lowered the phone. Gabriel reached over to take it, but I lifted it again to discover my mother had hung up.

—

“I know it’s important to you to go to the funeral,” Ricky said as he peeled off his muffin wrapper. The four of us were at the kitchen table. “You could do it exactly as you suggested. Go to the graveside service, where you can hang back—”

“There’s no reason for her to hang back,” Gabriel said. “She’s done nothing wrong.”

“It’s about propriety and respect,” I said. “I’d hardly honor his memory by turning his funeral into a prime-time news event.”

“Obviously, I’d like to go with you,” Ricky said. “But that would extend a big middle finger to his family. I’ll be nearby, in case you need me. Someone, though, should escort—”

“I will,” Gabriel said.