A Mother Would Know (37)

“Pretty good,” I say, and I’m about to tell her about my upcoming doctor’s appointment, but she stands abruptly.

“Oh, I wanted to tell you about something.” She moves across the kitchen and flips open the laptop on the kitchen table. “Remember when I told you about the research I’d been doing on the correlation between gut health and the brain?” I follow her. As her computer roars to life, I see all of the tabs across the top of the screen. They’re all open to articles about Alzheimer’s. My heart pinches. She’s so dead set on helping me. I don’t have the heart to tell her about my appointment. She’ll no doubt insist on coming. And it’ll get her hopes up. What if there’s nothing Dr. Steiner can do? What if there’s nothing any of us can do?

I remember how devastating it was for me when my mom was going through it. How helpless I felt.

I can’t do that to Kendra.

She points to the screen. “This article is all about diet and how it can affect your brain. I’m gonna email it to you, okay? I can even help you put together a grocery list and menu for the week if you want. I’m sure with Hudson there, you’re not eating the best.”

She’s not wrong. I’ve eaten out more lately than I have in a while, but I shake my head. “I’ve been eating fine.”

Kendra is quiet a minute as she goes into her email. “Okay, I just sent it. Read it and let me know what you think.”

I place a hand on her shoulder, ignoring how her muscles tighten beneath my touch. “Thanks, Kendra. I appreciate it.”

“Sure.” Mason whimpers from his high chair. “Sorry. Mommy’s coming.” She closes her laptop and stands.

Hudson will be home soon, and I want to talk to him before he goes out with friends or holes up in his room for the night.

“If you don’t need anything else, I’m gonna take off,” I say as she resumes her seat in front of Mason’s high chair.

“Okay, thanks, Mom.” She smiles at me while bringing the tiny spoon filled with orange mush up to Mason’s lips. His mouth opens wide, then closes around the spoon.

“Anytime.”

After kissing my grandson’s cheek and offering Kendra a swift hug, I head outside into the cool night air, unable to shake the funny feeling that Kendra isn’t telling me everything.





12





Over a simple dinner of grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, I tell Hudson about my day. Well, minus the part about stalking his Facebook page or breaking into Molly’s house, that is. I do, however, share about my upcoming doctor’s appointment, which he’s very excited about, and then the part about watching Mason while Theo was questioned in relation to Molly’s murder.

With my empty spoon suspended over my bowl, I watch for his reaction.

He’s just taken a bite from his sandwich, a string of cheese tethering him to it momentarily. When he sets the sandwich back down on his plate, the cheese lingers, hanging like a snagged thread that needs cutting. Wiping it off with a napkin, he says, “Yeah, it makes sense that they’d question everyone she worked with.”

“Everyone? How much could Theo know about her? Do you remember if Theo mentioned their being in the same department or sharing a project or something? You don’t think it’s weird?” I’m rambling, I know, but I haven’t been able to shake that funny feeling.

“I wouldn’t worry about it. I mean, have you seen Theo’s scrawny arms? There’s no way he could strangle someone to death with those.” He lets out a noise that’s a cross between a laugh and a grunt as if to emphasize how preposterous it sounds.

My spoon pauses mid-scrape inside the bowl. “How do you know Molly was strangled?”

He slurps up a spoonful of soup, then licks his lips. “Um... I don’t know. I must’ve read it somewhere or heard it on the news.”

I’d been searching for the information for hours. There’s no way I missed it. But I must have. How else would Hudson know? And how could he talk about it so nonchalantly?

He shoves the remainder of his sandwich into his mouth, crumbs decorating his beard.

“Why didn’t you tell me about seeing Molly Saturday night?” I ask, staring down and swirling the spoon nervously in my bowl.

There’s a long pause, and then he shrugs. “Wasn’t important.”

I look up. “You saw a woman on the night she was murdered. How is that not important?”

“I saw her for like two seconds.”

“That’s not the way Jared made it sound.”

Hudson shakes his head. “Jared doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

I’m shocked at how unaffected Hudson seems by this whole thing. Picking at the skin on my finger, I take a deep breath and then ask the question that’s been burning inside me for days. “You didn’t go to Molly’s house, did you?”

His eyes flash. “Of course not. Why would you ask that?”

I almost tell him about what Molly’s neighbor said but decide against it. He’d feel betrayed. And probably angry. Guys with beards are a dime a dozen these days. Why would I automatically make the leap to Hudson?

There is one more question that’s hot on my tongue, though. It burns to be asked, and I can’t keep it inside anymore. “Who’s Blondie?”