“New Orleeuhns,” Judge Reed said, correcting, “is where our mother’s family comes from. Some Tremé and other Uptown folk will be here tomorrow.”

“My father always loved that city,” I said.

“Sure he did,” Judge Reed said. “He was a crook, and crooks love New Orleans.”

A grandfather clock ticked baritones in the hall. The Judge sat on her counter stool in duchess satin, spinning her glass between her palms, looking at me, studious, expectant. A test, I thought.

“Very true,” I said, because of course she was right. Aunt Jane handed me the glass.

“Cheers,” Judge Reed said. We clinked, and with the first taste of the Pimm’s, sweet and bitter, herbs and citrus, I remembered that I’d liked it. “Tell me, Daisy, is Robert good at his job?”

“Yes,” I said. “So good he’s been doing mine, too.” I wasn’t usually in the habit of admitting such things to virtual strangers, but dimly lit, late-night kitchens contain their own type of magic, don’t they? Aunt Jane passed the baguette slices my way; I chose one, and a slice of cheese that turned out to be Brie with truffles. Heaven.

“You’re not working?” Judge Reed narrowed her eyes.

“I’ve been—relieved of my duties. Temporarily, I hope. I’ve been in the wrong places at the wrong times.” My thoughts flickered to the graveyard, the shadows of cherry trees and mausoleums, the lens of the camera that caught me. “It is what it is.” It wasn’t, but how could I really call it unfair when I was Gregory Richardson’s daughter? I was supposed to be well versed in the partisan playbook.

“Politics is an obnoxious business,” said Judge Reed. She cut us chunks from a block of cheddar with a cheese knife, the mother-of-pearl handle steady in her grip. “When Robert was little, I thought maybe he’d be a preacher. He had that presence. A litigator, maybe. But he had no interest in school.” She closed her eyes and slipped into a memory. “He had potential in the military, but then he chose politics. Still can’t fathom it.”

“I’m beginning to forget, too,” I said, “why I chose this profession.” Constant concern for optics, appearance, could be extraordinarily exhausting and tedious. Even far away from DC, despite the pleasantness of the evening, I’d been unable to fully break myself of this habit of monitoring Wallis.

“I like your guy,” said Aunt Jane. “Miles, I mean. He seems like one of the good ones.”

“Always seemed a little cocky to me,” said Judge Reed. “Like he thinks the sun rises just to hear him crow.”

This cracked us up, and when we surfaced, I wiped tears from my eyes. We were quiet for a moment, until Aunt Jane had another question for me. “Speaking of cocky,” she said. “Is it true that your sister is in a relationship with Charleston’s own Blake Darley?”