What did you do? I yelled, and I was halfway to standing before I realized I’d been dreaming him.

Marshall snored lightly. Gabrielle didn’t stir.

The clock ticked, the long hours passed, I waited. I could almost feel the mother, somewhere far from me. I thought she might be awake, too, still holding my son. Deciding.

When Gabrielle woke up around five, I got a couple of new toothbrushes from my pantry stash. I sent her to the master bedroom to shower and then borrow any of my clothes she wanted. Marshall was up before she got back, and I sent him to the guest bathroom.

When they returned, their eyes were full of questions that they didn’t ask. It was almost sunrise. Gabrielle went back to staring at her phone, and Marshall took over pacing. Outside, the sky stayed dark, and I heard a growl of distant thunder. A storm was coming.

Dawn changed the blackness around the blinds to soft gray light. As the rain broke, patting and tapping at the roof, Gabrielle came over to sit down by me on the sofa. She’d borrowed some sweatpants and a T-shirt. She was both shorter and curvier than me, so my clothes simultaneously made her look very young and very sexy.

She took my hand. “Leticia said you could be liable, but she thinks you could claim necessity or duress. The threat of those defenses would help her get you a good deal, if they even want to prosecute. To be blunt, you’re white and you’re wealthy. We don’t think you’re risking prison time. We should talk to the police.”

I hadn’t considered prison. I should have. I’d killed a man. Not just any man. My husband’s childhood friend, his partner, his second cousin who had spent endless hours with my family. I knew how Spence had liked his gin and tonics, knew he ate his steak rare and his bacon burned near to ash. I’d once borrowed a swimsuit from his soon-to-be-ex-wife—no, his widow—after a client dinner at his house. Charlotte and I had changed in their master bedroom, and I’d found myself peeking at her naked body with a faint, nostalgic envy. She was built like me, tall and slim, but her breasts had never been baby-chewed. She’d had no stretch marks creeping silver up her toned abs.

I wondered if she knew yet that Spence was dead. She hated him, or so he’d cried to Trey. Would she be sad or relieved? I doubted that Spence had thought to change his will. The police might suspect her of the poisoning, actually, but she ought to be safe. She hadn’t been at the party.

I doubted I’d be a suspect either, if we stayed silent. I’d had no reason to want Spence dead. I still didn’t want him dead. I only wanted Robert.