She didn’t sound angry that I had disobeyed, more like she was actively hoping I had seen.

“I couldn’t get away in time.” That wasn’t what she was after, though. I knew the words she wanted, and I had all of them in me. I let a few loose for her. “I was up on a little path, but yes, I saw. I saw him die.”

She released a shuddering breath. Almost pleasure. “I wish I’d seen. But my daughter watched, at least. She was owed that.”

She’d already heard details from her child, and still she was greedy for more. “It wasn’t easy, if that’s what you’re asking. I wouldn’t want to go out that way. It was hard to watch.”

“Hmm.” She made her little noise again. “Well, I told you to go home.” Now her tone was matter-of-fact.

Marshall’s eyes on mine stayed so steady, shoring me up.

I said, “I didn’t call the police. Even after Spence died. I still haven’t told Trey. I believed that you would call again. I hoped you would.”

She snorted, almost angry, then asked, “That story you told, about your mama going to Goodwill two towns over. Was that true?”

“Yes,” I said. Gabrielle’s face was a question. I looked away, down at the phone. The caller ID said Robert. I couldn’t look there either. I turned my gaze back to Marshall, so calm and serious. He was the safest place in the room. His pencil scratched softly against the notebook. I had her talking, like he wanted. I wondered what he could possibly be gleaning from the flat, small things she was saying, but I trusted that it was something. “Yes. It’s true. Why do you ask?”

“Because I believed you,” she said. The flash of anger was gone. Now she sounded tired. “That’s not a thing a girl who grew up with money would ever think of. Not a thing a rich girl would guess. You and your mama, you said. Where was your daddy?”

Her interest in me felt so real. “Prison. I never knew him. He was a dangerous person. Angry. He’d lose control and hurt my mom. He hurt her a lot. He killed his next wife.”

“Well now, that’s hard,” she said. “My husband, he was a more thoughtful type. He liked things his way, like most men, but I will say he never once lifted an angry hand.”

We were falling back into that intimate rhythm we’d had earlier, almost whispering to each other. “Did he ever lift a hand when he was calm?”

She chuckled, and I felt our connection spark and strengthen. I’d understood her.