Her shoulders slumped even lower. “My camera was in the car, with all the pictures from Saturday night. I’ve been in contact with the police, but…” But nothing. It had been almost a week. Her car was gone. Her camera was gone. Eleanor’s pictures, gone. She reached into her leggings’ side pocket and extracted the envelope of money. She held it out toward Bennett, who stood near Christopher. “I can’t accept your money. I ruined your Christmas.”

Ruined. The word tumbled from her mouth without any warning. My ruin. Whoever had left her the key had known what she was, what she was capable of. She ruined things.

“Morgan, darling.” Eleanor pulled her close and rocked her. She rocked her, like Morgan was a child and not a thirty-one-year-old woman. Headlines flashed through Morgan’s mind, snippets of articles she’d read over the years. MRS. REYNOLDS, MURDERESS; HOW TO GET AWAY WITH MURDER: BE A REYNOLDS; MRS. REYNOLDS PROVES KILLING HUSBAND YIELDS BIG PAYOFF, etc. How could any of them define the nurturing creature who embraced her now?

“Bennett, would you please get Morgan a cup of coffee?”

“I’ll get it.” Don patted Eleanor’s knee and stood. “How do you take it, Morgan?”

Morgan sat up a little, wiped at her nose. “With whipped cream.”

Everyone chuckled as though she was joking. Even Don, until he paused and asked: “You’re serious?”

A little sheepish now, Morgan nodded. She drank her coffee like most people drank hot cocoa—with whipped cream and marshmallows and cookie crumbles if there were any around.

Eleanor folded Morgan’s fingers over the envelope. “Keep it. We had you running around here like a madwoman.”

Morgan fought a twitch tugging at the corner of her mouth. If only they knew how mad she was. “Thank you,” she said. Her eyes were still wet, her vision blurry as she pulled away a bit so she could look at Eleanor. “I wish there was some way I could make it up to you.”

The lights from the tree sparkled in Eleanor’s eyes. Her snowy white brows peaked just a little when she said, “I have something in mind.”

16 HUDSON

It was noon on Christmas Eve when Hudson pulled up to Garrison’s house. Icicle lights hung from the gutters and there was a large wreath on the front door. A pair of wire reindeer stood in the yard. At night this time of year, Garrison’s house usually looked spectacular, but in the daylight, Hudson saw the decorations for what they were: plastic and artificial.

Still sitting in his vehicle, Hudson took the key out of the ignition and stared at Garrison’s hunter-green Ford parked on the slab beneath the basketball hoop. A good three inches of snow had collected on the windshield. He squinted to read a message written on the driver’s side window. I ♥ you Dad cut through the frost, and he envisioned Lilah writing it with her finger.