Hudson thought for a moment. Aside from the paperwork he’d completed through the police department, he’d never taken out a life insurance policy. He’d received money when Nan died, yes, but after myriad medical bills and funeral costs, he’d barely inherited enough for a car wash and a tank of gas. If he were to die now, everything he owned would go to his mother. How difficult could it be to essentially commit identity fraud and take out a life insurance policy as someone else? What would you need besides their name, social security number, and date of birth? All of which, as Eleanor’s husband, Clive would have had access to.

“He knew he was going to die.” The statement surprised him, stepping so surefooted from his mouth, but as soon as the words held purchase, he knew them to be true. Whether by his own hand or someone else’s, Clive Reynolds knew his days were measured.

His phone rang. The ID came up as “Unknown” but he knew it was Kole. “Hello?” he answered.

“We’ve got a fucking mess on our hands now.” Wind severed his voice. He sounded like he was on the move.

Hudson heard a door slam, the engine start. “What are you talking about?”

“Someone just blew Muntz’s goddamn brains all over the place.”

39 MORGAN

For breakfast, Morgan nibbled on dry toast and water, despite the smorgasbord of eggs, sausages, and fresh fruit.

“Wine get you, too?”

“Huh?” She looked up and saw Cora tilt her chin toward her plate.

“Oh, yeah.” Just thinking about seeing her own handiwork on Christopher’s neck was enough to make her stomach turn.

“It’s all downhill after thirty,” Blake quipped, scooping two sausage links onto his own plate.

Morgan forced a smile as, warily, she let her gaze slide over to Eleanor, who sat at the table next to Don and across from Christopher. But he wasn’t looking at Morgan. Instead, his eyes drilled into the center of the table where Don held Eleanor’s hand. Morgan watched him watching them. As though he could sense her stare, he refocused, like a camera lens, onto her. They locked eyes. Now that she’d seen it—the ruined patch of skin peeking out of his turtleneck—she couldn’t miss it.

His mouth twisted as he opened it to speak. “Say, Morgan.”

Her blood froze. Hearing his voice for the first time since knowing where she’d heard it before felt like a knife in her ear. She leaned forward just a little, inviting him to go on.

“How did your little darkroom experiment go?”

Eleanor looked from Morgan to Christopher, back to Morgan. “Darkroom experiment?”

“Yes.” Christopher chuckled. “Quite ingenious, really. She stopped by the lab to pick up some chemicals to develop a lost roll of film she’d found. It was in your collection, I think, didn’t you say, Morgan?”