I enter the house and climb the stairs. I hear Lois and Paolo talking in the hallway. They’re both on their knees, looking closely at something when I approach.

“Evening, Judge,” Paolo says casually. He’s been back to work for the last week.

“Evening. What are you doing here on a Sunday night?” I ask him. He usually only works during the week, and even though he lives in a cottage on the property, I try to respect his time.

“I’d come to check on the hounds, and Lois mentioned a repair, so I thought I’d get a head start.”

“Repair?” I ask Lois.

“I noticed it this morning. It’s small enough, but…” She trails off and touches a spot on the hardwood floor close enough to the runner that I’m not even sure how she found it.

I set the boxes down and crouch to examine it. There’s a divot in the hardwood, a small depression.

“How did you see it?” I ask.

“I was vacuuming, and it caught my eye. I’ve told the girls to let me know about things like this, but well, you know how that goes. They mean well, but their heads are in their phones half the time.”

I touch it. My first thought would be a woman’s heel. I’ve seen it before, especially when the rubber at the end of the heel has worn down and it acts like a nail on the wood, digging divots into it with each step. But this isn’t that. For one thing, it’s a perfect half-circle. No breaking of wood, more of a pushing in. For another, it’s too big to be a heel.

“I’m sure I can repair it, sir. Don’t you worry,” Paolo says.

I straighten. Think. I remember the comment Mercedes made about Miriam throwing a paperweight at her. It sounded so ridiculous, so outlandish. So unbelievable.

“Sir?” Lois says, holding on to the banister to stand.

“Sorry, what?”

“Dinner’s almost ready. Will you eat with Ms. De La Rosa tonight?”

Was she telling the truth? No. Why would Miriam throw a paperweight at her? It makes no sense.

“I’ve made Italian. Her favorite. And tiramisu for dessert.” She’s worried. I see it on her face, in her eyes. “Maybe she’ll eat a little more tonight. If you’re there, perhaps—”

“No.” I swallow down a lump. “Let her eat with you. I think she’d prefer that. I’ll eat later. Just take care of her.”

She sighs and nods.

“Has she eaten anything today?”

“Just a few bites of an apple and tea.”

“Thank you.”