I grabbed the evening bag and headed toward the kitchen, careful not to turn my head as I passed the nursery. The animal inside me howled, but outside I was Betsy, bold and cool and street-smart, and the room through that open door was still an office. No giraffe wallpaper. No black hole like some essential organ missing from my middle.

Back in the kitchen, I picked up the capsule that had rolled away, dropping it back into the bottle.

I needed to leave, but I didn’t trust myself to drive. I got my own phone out and opened the Lyft app. I could have a Lux Black here in ten minutes. Good enough. I hit the button to confirm.

Then I went to Google and typed in “Hypnodorm.” I scanned the entry, reading about dosage and side effects. Roofies lowered inhibitions, made people suggestible, and stole their memory. I was going to feed them to the lawyer who worked with my husband on multimillion-dollar cases. Spence held the secrets of a host of rich and powerful people. People who made even Trey’s father look like small potatoes.

The bottle said the capsules were one milligram each. Google told me a standard dose was one to two milligrams and warned that roofies could be dangerous if they were taken with alcohol. This was Spence, so they absolutely would be taken with plenty of alcohol.

I put my phone away and tipped two capsules into my hand. He was a large man, though, and maybe the pills were old. He might set his drink down unfinished. I tipped out a third, stuffed the bottle back into my purse, and went to Trey’s office.

It was a masculine space with an exposed brick wall, leather chairs, and art deco prints of famous New York buildings. A French bar cart from the 1930s displayed Trey’s mostly full bottle of Pappy Van Winkle between lesser bottles of Lagavulin and WhistlePig rye. The firm would be serving top-shelf tonight, but not Pappy. Pappy was so far over top-shelf that the atmosphere around it was thin. I’d paid almost two thousand dollars for this bottle, a present for Trey’s fiftieth birthday.

In the smoked mirror, I watched as a tall, slim figure, dressed to cause trouble, poured a shot of Pappy into a rocks glass. She pulled three capsules apart, one by one, and tipped fine, white powder into the bourbon.

“You dose Shaw by ten, hear? The drugs work fast, so excuse yourself, quick as you can. Then you text me and say it’s done.”

“Yes. I’ll text you.” I couldn’t hear Robert eating anymore. He must be finished. “Remember, you have to burp him twice.”

“I will. I’ll be sweet with your boy, as long as you are doing what I need. Now, you got any questions on it?”