“Of course it is.” Gabby hated this woman. Yes, she had a job to do, and a difficult one, but she seemed to relish it. She enjoyed launching into lectures and delivering killing verbal blows.

“A second review of the autopsy—which you, Mrs. Fielding, requested and fought for—showed a needle mark at the back of Baines’s neck.” The detective raised her hand, showing off the needle in the bag.

Liam sat down hard on the armrest of the couch. “Wait . . .”

“A mark in your brother’s neck.”

“Yeah, I’m aware of who Baines is.” Liam spaced out the words. Talked slowly and firmly even though he looked ready to drop.

“You mean was. And toxicology confirmed the presence of a sedative.” The detective still held the bag in the air. “Which is why this is important.”

“You’re saying . . . What are you saying?” Gabby stood there unable to move. She listened as the detective jumped to impossible conclusions. She might be overplaying her hand, but it sounded like . . . God, Gabby couldn’t put the horror into words.

“Nothing yet.” The detective didn’t break eye contact with Liam. “But sedating your brother would make it easier to kill him.”

“No.” Gabby didn’t know she’d said the word until she heard it. “You are looking in the wrong direction.”

The detective faced Gabby. “And easier to subdue you, Mrs. Fielding, when you just happened to walk in on the scene.”

Chapter Fifty-Two
Jessa

Chinese food night. Faith had declared cooking a bore and ordered takeout. The noodles smelled good, and if Jessa could crush the whirling sense of dread that something terrible lurked in the darkness, waiting to lunge, they’d probably taste good.

“For a person who’s in the middle of the best week of her life, you sure seem distracted,” Faith said before scooping up another bite out of the white container in her hand.

Right. Time to act fine. Jessa had been doing that on and off for most of her life. “I’m a big-time partner now. You need to talk to me with respect.”

Faith rolled her eyes. “You’re not my partner.”

“I’ve seen your previous girlfriends. I don’t think I’m your type.” Faith liked the put-together, buttoned-up-but-naughty-underneath type. The kind who knew what they wanted and didn’t flail around, waiting for disaster to strike.

“Wrong type of partner, but you’re not that either. What’s up?”

Faith sat sideways on the couch, with her shoulder pressed into the cushions and her focus on Jessa at the other end. That made it tough for Jessa to duck or hide her expression or even sigh without it being dissected.

Jessa gave up on trying to eat and set the food container on the coffee table. “Do you ever get this dragging feeling, like things are about to take a turn for the worse? Like it’s all too good and a downslide is inevitable?”