Her mother would ask about the baby. They’d have to explain. She brought a hand to her empty belly. She didn’t want to talk about it. She couldn’t.

Falling apart was a luxury she couldn’t afford right now.

They made her mother’s upscale Georgetown neighborhood in less than 20 minutes. Easing to a stop in front of the two-story colonial, they climbed out of the car and hurried up the walk.

Her mother’s Mercedes sedan was parked in the drive. The porch was dark, though light glowed in several of the windows.

Charley rang the bell. From inside came the frenzied yapping of Bella, her mother’s Pomeranian.

“Mother!” she called, ringing again. “It’s me!”

Maybe she’d gone out with a friend who had picked her up. Or she was on a date.

No. This wasn’t right. She felt it in her gut.

Beside her, Perez dialed his mother-in-law’s number. It rang twice, four times, six times.

Heart thundering, she dug in her purse for her key ring. She kept one of her mother’s spares in case of emergency. She found it, fitted the key in the lock and eased the door open.

“Mom!” she called. Bella came running from the kitchen, across her mother’s bright white carpeting. Leaving a trail of perfect little paw prints.

Red prints.

A cry slipped past her lips. With an order for her to “stay put,” Perez started for the kitchen. She followed.

They stopped at the kitchen entry. Her mother lay on the tile floor. Face up, eyes open. Vacant. Seeping blood had formed wing shapes on either side of her torso. Bella had run around and around her mistress, through the blood, creating a bizarre, almost floral pattern on the white tile.

Her mother had been dressed for bed. She wore a teal-colored silk robe. The robe’s flap had fallen open, exposing her legs and an edge of lacy lingerie. One hand rested on her chest, as if she had grabbed at her heart, the other at her side.

“Oh Mother.” Whimpering, she took a step forward, then stopped, lightheaded, and grasped the counter for support.

Her husband inched toward his mother-in-law’s body, careful to avoid the blood. He squatted and checked her pulse.

Struggling to come to grips with what had happened, she shifted her gaze. It landed on an item peeking out from under the cabinet. She blinked, focusing. A candy-bar wrapper. With the toe of her shoe, she nudged it out. Milka, a European brand, one difficult to acquire in the states. She tilted her head. This one was from Poland.

She stared at it, blood thundering in her head. Her father’s favorite chocolate. His secret passion. One that they shared.

“She’s dead, Charley.”

“We’ve got to get out of here. Now.” She snatched up the candy wrapper and stuffed it into her pocket.