Kate handed Blaire a rolling pin. “Here you go. See if you can get the dough as thin as Otterbein’s.”

“You’re kidding, right? You remember my cookie-making skills, don’t you?”

Blaire picked up a wad of dough, molding it into a ball before rolling it out. Watching her, Annabelle too picked up a hunk, and Hilda pinched off a piece of it, holding it in front of the little girl’s mouth. “Here, taste. It’s delicious, isn’t it?” she said, as Annabelle took it into her mouth and chewed.

“Hilda!” Kate’s sharp voice made them all jump. “What are you doing? There are raw eggs in that.” What was wrong with the woman? She moved closer to Annabelle and cupped her chin, looking into her eyes. “You can’t eat that, sweetie. We only eat cookies after they come out of the oven.” She gave Hilda a disapproving look.

“We always ate the dough when I was a girl . . . ,” Hilda said.

“I don’t care what you used to do. It’s not safe,” Kate said. “She could get salmonella. And it’s not just the eggs. Uncooked flour can transmit E. coli.” Was this woman always this careless with her daughter’s well-being, and she was only just now noticing? Was this another instance of Kate not being a good judge of the people around her?

Hilda looked embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, Kate. I didn’t know that.”

Everyone was quiet until Blaire said brightly, “Okay, time for the magic fairy sprinkles.” She placed a baking tray of newly formed Christmas trees before Annabelle, who happily shook out the red and green sprinkles. Kate did her best to remain calm in front of Annabelle and smiled as she grabbed the tray and put it into the oven. They worked this way for the next two hours, until they’d filled four large cookie tins, Kate’s mind churning the whole time.

The man in charge of their finances, whom she’d known since childhood, had been following her and taking pictures, her nanny was letting Annabelle eat raw eggs, and her father was still being secretive about his fight with her mother the day she was killed. Simon was, at best, disregarding her feelings and judgment about Sabrina, and at worst, cheating on her, and some psycho had been in her house despite a team of professionals they’d hired to keep her safe. Who else had she so horribly misjudged? Could she trust any of these people, in light of everything going on? The one person she’d always been sure of had been taken away from her, and now nothing else seemed certain, not even the sanctity of her own home . . .

“Dr. English,” Fleur said, walking into the kitchen and pulling Kate from her thoughts. “The dining room table is set for tonight. Have you and Ms. Barrington eaten lunch?”