The Murder Rule(35)

“What are they like?” Hannah asked, drawn in despite herself.

Camila put her head to one side. “Pretty good. I mean, we fight, sometimes, you know, sibling stuff, but we’re close. They know if they need me I’m there, every time, and I guess I know they’re there for me too.”

“Right,” Hannah said, nodding as if she got it. She thought of the home she grew up in, one that had alternated between chaos and silence, and imagined a mother who worked two jobs and pushed you to achieve. It was a stray thought, but guilt fol owed hot on its heels. Laura struggled sometimes, but she had good reason, and she had always done her best. And sisters might be nice, but there was no way Camila’s relationship with her mother came near the bond Hannah shared with Laura.

“Has your mom been sick for long?” Camila asked.

Hannah looked down at what was left of her cake. “Her health has never been great. She’s had a tough road.”

“Is she expected to stay in remission?” Camila asked.

Hannah swal owed. “Do you mind if we talk about something else?”

“Of course,” Camila said. “Of course, sorry.”

Fifteen minutes later they made their way to the car. It was a thirty-minute drive from Yorktown to Sophia Prosper’s address. They talked on the drive about how to approach the conversation, but real y, it was difficult to know what to do or where to start until they got there and got the lay of the land. They pul ed up outside the home, and sat in silence for a long moment.

“Jesus,” Hannah said.

“She must be a very successful marketing manager,” Camila said. The house was large and built in the style of a French country home, al redbrick and shuttered windows. The landscaping was beautiful and the whole thing said money.

“I guess. Or maybe her husband makes a lot of money?” Hannah asked.

“That or it’s family money,” Camila said. “Her parents—hers and Neil’s—were very wealthy.”

There were no cars parked in the driveway, but there was a double garage off to the side, so maybe Sophia was already home.

They would need to ring the doorbel and find out. Camila put her hand on the car door handle and took a deep breath. “Okay,” she said. “Here goes.”

They stood in the doorway and rang the doorbel , but the house was quiet and there was no reply.

“What now?” said Hannah. Before Camila could respond they heard the sound of an approaching car and turned to see a silver-gray Range Rover pul into the driveway. The driver was a blond woman, slim and pretty. There was a young girl—maybe fourteen— in the passenger seat, and another a few years younger in the backseat. The girls looked at them with frank curiosity. Their mother looked with suspicion.

“Here we go,” said Camila. The girls climbed out of the car. They were wearing jodhpurs and riding boots. Their mother—presumably Sophia—went to the backseat and lifted out an infant car seat. She held it with one hand and turned to Camila and Hannah.

“You cal ed me earlier,” Sophia said, and there was nothing friendly about her tone. She was quite astonishingly pretty up close, with perfect skin and delicate features. Her clothes were casual but expensive.

“We’re sorry to just show up like this, Mrs. Prosper-Reynolds,”

Hannah said. “We understand that this might be difficult for you.”

“But it’s so important,” Camila put in, oozing sincerity. “We’re talking about a man’s life here, and a terrible injustice.”

“Mom . . . ?” said the older girl.

“Not now, Beth,” said Sophia. “Take your sister to the kitchen and make her a sandwich. Then get your homework started.” The girls didn’t move until Sophia fol owed her instructions up with a sharp, “Now, Elizabeth.” The sisters made their way toward the house, the older girl dragging her feet. The baby was fussing, and Sophia shifted the weight of the car seat from one hand to the other.

“If we could just have a minute—” Camila said.

“I haven’t heard from Neil in years. He was a drug addict and my parents cut him off. For al I know he died years ago. That’s al I have to say to you. If you come here again, I’m cal ing the police,” Sophia said. “I made it very clear to you on the phone that I had nothing to say. Now you show up at my home. This is harassment. You’re just lucky my husband isn’t here. Now get off my property.” She turned her back on them, and stil holding the baby seat in one hand, stalked away into the house.

“Bitch,” said Camila, none too quietly.

Hannah took her by the arm, pul ing her back toward the car.

“Come on, before she cal s the cops.” They got in the car.

“Damn,” Camila said. “Damn. I don’t believe a word she says.

She’s definitely hiding something. Protecting her brother. Did she seem kind of freaked out to you? I mean, underneath al that attitude?”

“Maybe,” said Hannah. “Or maybe she real y has lost touch with him and she never liked him much and she thinks Dandridge is guilty as hel and wants nothing to do with any of it. You know, Camila, it is possible to feel that way.”

“If you close your eyes and your ears and you’re absolutely determined not to learn the truth, sure.”

Hannah opened her mouth to say something, then shut it again determinedly, but Camila was too sharp.