The Kincaids: New Money. Jennifer Lewis

always proudly bragged about.

      “No contact.” He’d forgotten the no touching rule, and the gruff voice behind him reminded him. With great reluctance he pulled back his arms.

      “I won’t do it again.” He turned to the guard. “Can we be alone for a few minutes?”

      “I’ll be standing right here, watching.” The tall, older man gestured to a square of window in the door, then slipped outside.

      His mom’s face was pale and drawn, with tiny blue shadows under her expressive eyes. Her trademark auburn hair was slicked back in a way that only made her look more gaunt and slender.

      “I’m trying everything to get you out of here.”

      “I know.” The barest hint of a smile lit her eyes. “My lawyer says you won’t even let him sleep.”

      “He can sleep later, once you’re free. I’m going to see the D.A. again this afternoon, before I go away for the weekend.”

      “Are you going to the lodge?” Her eyes brightened. He nodded. “I wondered how long it would take before you went there again. I know how much you love it up in the mountains. Who’s going with you?”

      “Brooke.” Why not tell the truth? Anticipation rose in his veins like sap in the spring. He couldn’t wait to be alone with Brooke on that peaceful mountainside. He could already picture sunbeams picking out gold in her hair, and those soft green eyes gazing at the majestic views. She’d love it there. He knew she would.

      “Your assistant?” His mom’s shocked response drew him from his reverie. Her pale eyebrows lacked their usual flourish of pencil, but he still saw them rise.

      “Yes. She and I … She’s been a great help to me lately.” His brain filled almost to bursting with a desire to tell his mom all about his newfound relationship with Brooke. Brooke was sweet and kind as well as beautiful and he was sure his mom would love her. Still, he could tell his mom was shocked by the idea of him dating his own assistant and somehow it seemed premature, so he held his tongue.

      She nodded. “She seems a bright girl, and very pretty. I hope you have a lovely time. You certainly deserve a break and some fresh air. I know how hard you’ve been working.”

      “Thanks, Mom.” His chest tightened. How sweet she was to wish him a good weekend when she’d be stuck in here. Anger and frustration raged inside him again. “Why are they holding you? No one will explain. I can’t understand why they won’t let you out on bail. I had a hell of a time even coming to see you in person.”

      His mom glanced around the room. “Sit down, will you.” She gestured politely as if inviting him to take up residence in one of her beautifully upholstered Liberty print chairs at home, not a scarred metal folding chair.

      RJ sat.

      She leaned toward him. “They know I was in the office on the night … the night your dad was shot.” Her voice faded on the last word and he saw pain flash in her eyes.

      “You were there?” He kept his voice as hushed as possible.

      “I was.” Her lips closed tightly for a second, draining of blood. “I brought him a plate of food as he’d said he’d be home late.”

      RJ frowned. “They didn’t say any food had been found.”

      She shook her head. “He didn’t want it so I took it home with me.” She let out a sigh, which rippled through her body as a visible shiver. “I know it seems odd, me bringing him dinner. I only did it that night as I was worried your dad had been so distant, like he was troubled by something. I’d been short with him the night before and I wanted to show him I cared.”

      “Dad knew you cared about him.” RJ’s heart filled with red-hot rage that his dad had caused her so much pain by carrying on with another woman. “If anything, he didn’t deserve you.”

      Her eyes filled with tears, but she managed to blink them back. “I do miss your father, even after all that’s happened.”

      “Of course you do.” He took her hands in his. They were cold and bony, and he chafed them lightly, trying to warm them. “But you bringing dinner doesn’t make you a murderer.”

      “It makes me a murder suspect.”

      RJ frowned. Something was seriously off here. “But how did the police know you were there?” The front desk didn’t bother logging family members or employees, who were allowed to come and go as they pleased.

      “Someone saw me.”

      “Who?” What kind of person would finger his mom at the crime scene?

      She hesitated. Looked away. “Does it really matter? I don’t even remember if anyone saw me. As I said, I was there.”

      “The accusations still don’t make sense. You have no motivation to kill Dad. For one thing, you were as much in the dark as the rest of us about Angela and her sons.” The words soured in his mouth. “I wish to God none of us had ever found out.”

      She pulled her hands back and placed them in her lap. “I have a confession to make, RJ.”

      RJ’s eyes widened. “What?” Was she going to admit to killing his dad? His stomach roiled.

      “I did know about Angela.” Her eyes were dry, her expression composed. “I’d known for some years. Ever since I found an earlier version of Reginald’s will in his desk while looking for a calculator.”

      RJ swallowed. So his suspicion was correct. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

      “Your father and I had words, but he convinced me to stay with him for the sake of the family. The reputation, the company, you know how important all that was to him.” She smoothed back her hair. “And to me.”

      He blinked, unable to process this. “So you were sitting there with us at family dinners, week after week, and you never breathed a word to anyone?”

      Her head hung slightly, and lines of pain formed around her eyes. “Your father and I were married for a very long time. There was a lot of history there. Maybe too much to throw away for an affair that began so long ago.”

      “But that was still continuing, unless I understand wrong.”

      He watched his mom’s throat move as she swallowed. “You’re not wrong. Reginald loved Angela.” It took visible effort for her gaze to meet his, and he fought the urge to take her in his arms again. Her rigid posture told him to keep his distance. “He loved me, too.” A wry smile tugged at her lips. “He was a man with a lot of love to give.”

      “That’s one way of looking at it, though I’d like the opportunity to give him a piece of my mind.” He realized his hands were clenched into fists, and he released them. “I know you didn’t kill him.” He had to say it, because he had thought it for that split second after she announced a confession, and he needed to clear the air.

      “Of course I didn’t, but the police and the courts don’t know that, and I don’t have an alibi for the time of the murder.”

      “We need to find out who really did it. Do you have any suspicions?”

      She shook her head. “Trust me, if I had even the slightest inkling, I’d tell everyone I know.”

      RJ glanced around the grim room. “This place is a nightmare.” He remembered the bag he’d brought with him. “I brought you some books. Flannery O’Connor, William Faulkner. Lily said you’d want something more cheery, but I wasn’t so sure. They put them through the metal detector downstairs. Apparently razor-sharp wit doesn’t show up on the screen.”

      She smiled, and peered into the offered paper bag. “RJ, you’re so thoughtful. And you’re right, I feel like reading about experiences darker than my own.” She sighed. “Hopefully I won’t have time to read them all.”

      “Not if