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SAMPSON HAD TO LEAVE for a dentist appointment. Bree booked herself on a flight at eight forty-five the following morning out of Reagan National. She’d be off the plane at ten fifteen, plenty of time to get to Hunting Valley and the Carruthers Brothers Funeral Home before services for Ryan Malcomb began.

And she’d be back home for all of Christmas Eve.

Nana Mama came downstairs later complaining of a head cold. Bree defrosted a bag of Nana’s chicken soup and served it to her on a tray while she watched one of the Madea movies with a blanket across her lap.

Nana laughed and blew her nose. “I’ve seen these so many times, I almost know the lines by heart, and they still make me laugh.”

“Me too,” Bree said. “You good?”

“I am, thank you.”

Bree blew a kiss at Nana Mama and went back to the kitchen table, where she set Ryan Malcomb aside for the time being and wrote several reports for work. Around four she went out for a run despite the dank cold. Ali came home as she was finishing, with Jannie and Damon coming in soon after. They were all hungry.

“Nana Mama’s under the weather,” Bree said. “We’ll get rib delivery from Dawson’s.”

That cheered everyone up, including Nana, who requested spicy rib tips, her favorite, a big order of fries, and a cherry Coke.

“That’s a lot for you, Nana,” Jannie said.

“Feed a cold,” Alex’s grandmother replied.

Bree put in the order and was upstairs picking out an outfit to wear to Ryan Malcomb’s funeral when her cell rang. It was Alex.

“Hey, you,” he said.

“Hey, you, back,” Bree said, sitting on their bed and kicking off her shoes. “I didn’t expect to hear from you for a while.”

“Just checked in at our hotel. I’m going to take a shower and then we’ll head back out.”

“I’m going to Cleveland in the morning,” she said, and explained.

Alex paused before saying, “I know you got in to see her last time by just showing up. But going to the funeral?”

“I don’t know another way to get her to talk to me.”

“I’m not telling you not to do it. Just be careful where you tread. She might have taken you barging in last time in stride. But her adopted son wasn’t dead then. And that is an awful rich woman you’re going to go poke with a stick.”

“I hear you. I do. Tell me about San Francisco.”

Alex told her about the hippie chick with the combat knife and being inside the judge’s house when Sheldon Alvarez picked the lock and raided Pak’s safe.

“And who was this guy?”

“If he’s to be believed, he was Pak’s spurned former live-in lover.”

“Wait—I thought Pak was married to a woman.”

“Alvarez claims the wife was good with it. Evidently Pak told her when they met that he was bisexual. When she found out about the affair, she invited Alvarez to move in.”

“That’s pretty West Coast.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

He said that Alvarez described the Paks’ relationship as open and working until Leigh was diagnosed with breast cancer. The judge withdrew from his relationship with Alvarez and focused exclusively on his wife.

“And then there was his gambling,” Alex said. “Evidently, Pak’s secret vice was sports betting, and Alvarez financed it.”

Bree said, “Did the judge get in over his head?”

“Multiple times, according to Alvarez. And it got worse during Leigh’s illness. He said Pak owed him close to a hundred thousand dollars after her death and kept putting off payment, even when Alvarez knew the judge had hit it big on the Super Bowl.”

“The cash in the safe,” Bree said.

“Correct. Alvarez said he’d had no idea Pak was dead and had no idea who would want to kill him.”

“He could have hired the killer.”

“Maybe. But he claimed he loved Pak even after everything the judge did, including shutting him out of his life and taking up with a new, younger woman.”

“You talk to the new, younger woman yet?”

“That’s on deck,” Alex said, and yawned.

“Do you believe Alvarez’s story?”

“Enough to check out the rest. He says he has other polyamorous friends that he and the Paks socialized with and they’ll back up his story.”

“San Francisco’s a different kind of place. Even for appellate court judges.”

“Evidently,” Alex said and chuckled. “Anyway, I’ve got to take a shower.”

“Go,” Bree said. “I’ll call you on my way out of Cleveland.”

“I hope to be on my own plane coming home for Christmas Eve.”

“You better be or you’ll never hear the end of it from Nana Mama and the kids.”