Behind him, Evelyn practically skipped into the room, tying the silk belt of her expensive emerald robe.
“Oh, Julian, it smells absolutely amazing! I told you she’d come arou—” Evelyn stopped dead, nearly colliding with Julian’s rigid back. She peered over his shoulder. “Who are they? What is this?”
Judge Sterling finally looked up, setting her silver butter knife down with a soft, deliberate clink. Her gaze pinned Julian to the floorboards like a butterfly on a mounting board. “I believe I am the woman who buys two loaves of crusty rye from your mother every single Tuesday, Julian. I am also the honorable judge who sits on the county circuit court. A court you are very likely to become intimately familiar with in the near future.”
Evelyn blinked, her smugness faltering, replaced by a sudden, jagged nervousness. “I don’t understand. What is this?”
“This,” I said, my voice cutting cleanly through the heavy, suffocating air of the dining room, “is breakfast. Have a seat, Evelyn.”
Julian didn’t move an inch. His eyes darted wildly toward the front door in the hallway, the instinct of a trapped animal realizing the walls were closing in. But the true, paralyzing terror hadn’t even begun to set in yet. Because in their panic, they hadn’t noticed the third shadow standing quietly just inside the kitchen doorway, blocking their only other exit.
“We absolutely do not have time for this theatrical nonsense,” Evelyn snapped, her voice trembling slightly as she tried desperately to recover her bravado. “Julian, tell them to leave immediately. This is a private family matter regarding estate planning. They are trespassing.”
“Actually, Mrs. Hayes,” a new, deep, and utterly commanding voice echoed from the kitchen shadows.
Detective Sarah Jenkins stepped fully into the morning light. She was in plainclothes, a dark blazer over a sensible blouse, but the gold police badge clipped prominently to her belt caught the glare of the chandelier. She was holding a steaming mug of black coffee, watching Julian the way a starved hawk watches a wounded field mouse. “It ceased being a private family matter at exactly 9:14 PM last night.”
Julian swallowed so hard I could hear the click in his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed erratically. “Mom… Mom, what are you doing?”
“I am protecting my kitchen, Julian,” I replied evenly, my tone devoid of maternal affection. “And I am protecting your father’s legacy.”
Harrison Cole methodically clicked open the golden clasps of his thick, leather-bound briefcase. The sound was like a gunshot in the quiet room. “Mrs. Hayes asked us here this morning to witness the execution of several sweeping legal maneuvers regarding The Hearthside Bakehouse, the entirety of her personal estate, and to formally file a comprehensive criminal complaint.”
“Criminal?” Evelyn’s voice pitched an octave higher, bordering on hysterical. “Against who? This is absurd! She’s the one losing her mind! Julian, tell them! She’s been clinically confused for months. She forgets wholesale orders, she hoards the recipes, she talks to that disgusting jar of dough in the kitchen like it’s a person!”