But there was one more thing Val needed to ask. “Maybe this is what she was planning to tell you, then? Maybe waiting for the right moment?” Val addressed Mrs. Morgan specifically.

“What kind of cancer did she have?” Mrs. Morgan sat back, resigned, her gaze focussed straight ahead.

“Liver, that we can tell so far. We’re checking to see if another cancer metastasized there, that it spread,” Val said softly.

“How far along was it? Was she dying?” Mrs. Morgan ran one sentence quickly after the other. She locked her eyes on Val’s, searching for answers. Mrs. Morgan’s desperation to grab any information about her daughter was palpable.

“We’re waiting to see what the tests show. We’re also trying to track down her doctors. Anyone who would be treating her. We have the name of a primary care physician. Do you know who else she might have been seeing, though?” Val asked.

“I can tell you who her doctor was when Adam was born but that would be about it. Honestly, I don’t know that much about my daughter anymore,” Mrs. Morgan said, her eyes cast downward now. My not our, Val caught that.

The group stopped talking as Claudia brought in a tray with coffee, cups, and a dish of assorted bite-sized fruit tarts. She set out the cups and filled each, placing a small plate and napkin next to each guest for the tarts, then quietly exited the room.

How well-trained, Val thought. She watched Mrs. Morgan’s reactions to Claudia. Other than a smile of gratitude, nothing more.

“Please help yourself. They’re homemade.” Mr. Morgan picked up his cup and pointed to the tarts. “My Rachel is quite the baker, and gardener. The berries are from your own plants, aren’t they? The preserves are from last summer as I recall.” It sounded slightly knowledgeable yet derogatory, as if this high-powered man didn’t want his wife to engage in activities that were designated for the hired help.

Asshole. “They look delicious.” Val picked up a pastry, raspberry, it looked like. There was no way that she was going to let Mr. Morgan bully his wife, who seemed to care more about their dead daughter than he did, or maybe only at the level that he would allow. Val wondered what Mrs. Morgan would say if her husband wasn’t around. “Mrs. Morgan, I garden too. Tomatoes, cilantro, cucumbers and a lone watermelon plant last year. I might have to pick your brain for tips.” Val took a bite and chewed. “This is fantastic.”

“Thank you.” Mrs. Morgan smiled. “Anytime you want to know something please don’t hesitate to ask.” It all came out automatic. The lady of the house giving a polite response to a guest.