Because I was standing so damn close to her, I could hear every word coming from the other end of the line.

“Elle honey, it’s Margaux. You … you need to come right away. Your mother is … she’s having a time.”

“Is it Denton? Did he—”

“You’ve already heard?” The housekeeper sounded confused.

“That he was going to leave?”

“Leave? No, child. He’s dead.”

“What?” Elle held the phone away from her ear and stared at it like it was a foreign object.

Margaux continued speaking, and Elle put the phone back to her ear.

“—found murdered. Your mama is having a complete meltdown. Calling herself the black widow because her husbands can’t survive her. I’ve been trying to keep her away from the liquor cabinet, but there’s no stopping her. She’s a mess.”

“I’m on my way. Right now.”

Elle hung up and stared at me. “Did you hear—?”

“Yeah, I heard. Let me go grab Mathieu and tell him we’re leaving.”

Elle bobbed her head, her eyes wide and blank.

Jesus fucking Christ.

We hauled ass across town, and I followed Elle in through the kitchen entrance. We both winced at the screeching coming from somewhere within the house. Elle’s ma sounded like a banshee.

Margaux met us in the hallway. “She’s really upset, Elle. I can’t calm her down.”

“Did you call Doc Monroe? He’s got to have a sedative or something to quiet her.”

Margaux raised a hand to her temple. “I should’ve thought of that. It’s just … it’s been—”

Elle wrapped her arms around the woman. “Don’t fret. You’re doing everything right. We’ll take care of her, but if you could call Doc Monroe and get him over here¸ that’d be appreciated.” She released Margaux as another shrill howl tore through the house. “She’s in the library?”

“Yes, come.”

We followed Margaux to the library, and when she pushed open the door, Elle and I both paused at the complete disaster in front of us.

“Holy shit.”

It looked like a tornado had ripped through the room. Books were everywhere—except on the shelves where they belonged. White shards littered the tile in front of the fireplace. Several pictures hung drunkenly on the wall, glass shattered.

“Mama,” Elle breathed when we saw the woman huddled in the corner rocking back and forth, arms wrapped over her head, an empty bottle beside her.

Fuck.

Elle’s face—already pale—drained of any remaining color. I could only imagine the memories this must have been stirring up. I squeezed her hand before releasing it so she could go to her.

She crossed the room, glass crunching under her shoes, and crouched before her ma.

“Mama, I’m so sorry. So sorry.”

Her ma’s head came up, eyes wild. “You hated him. You’re glad he’s dead.”

Elle shook her head and repeated, “I’m so sorry.”

I expected more hurled accusations, but the woman broke down into sobs, and Elle wrapped her arms around her, rocking with her, stroking her back and her hair.

I felt totally and completely useless standing there watching, but there was nothing that could make me move from this spot. Elle might not need me right this second, but I’d be her rock. Together we’d make this right for her ma.

Talk about fucking timing. I’d expected this breakdown to come in a few days, when Denton delivered the news that he was done because Elle hadn’t bowed to his demands. But instead, she’d be helping her mother plan yet another funeral.

How fucked up was that?

Margaux came back and stopped beside me.

“You got a broom?” I asked. “I want to clean up this glass so no one slices themselves to bits.”

She shook her head. “I’ll take care of it.”

I laid a hand on her shoulder as she turned to leave. “Let me help. I’m feeling pretty useless right now.”

“Okay.”

When she returned with the cleaning supplies, I asked her, “What about the son? Where’s he at?”

Margaux frowned. “He was here, and he left. Think he went to his mother’s house. Or maybe to a friend’s. He didn’t say much, just heard what the cop had to say and turned and walked out.”

“What did the cop say?”

Her gaze sharpened. “I wasn’t supposed to be eavesdroppin’ I’m sure, and I know I shouldn’t be gossipin’, so you didn’t hear this from me. But he said that Mr. Denton was shot in the back. They aren’t sure of the motive just yet. He said maybe a robbery that got out of hand.”

“Shot in the back?” A cold shroud settled over me.

“When did it happen?”

“Last night. Detective Hennessy said he was leaving a …” she cleared her throat and lowered her voice, “a gentlemen’s club in the French Quarter.”

Fucking A.

My mind spun. Hennessy was on the case, and Denton had been shot in the back. How the fuck could it be connected? It didn’t make any goddamn sense.

The doorbell interrupted my thoughts.

“That’ll be the doc. He’s a neighbor. Said he’d be here fast as he could.” Margaux bustled up the hallway to the huge front door and pulled it open. An older man, probably in his fifties, stepped through.

“Where is Virginia?” he asked without any greeting.

The wailing from the library had quieted, so he didn’t have the same cues to follow that Elle and I had when we’d arrived. Margaux led him toward the library. I nodded at him, but I don’t think he noticed my presence. He strode across the broken glass, black doctor’s bag in hand, and dropped to his knees beside her.

“Oh, Ginny, I’m so sorry.”

Elle pulled back, and her ma’s attention jumped to the doc. “He’s dead,” Ginny whispered. It seemed to be the only coherent thing she was capable of getting out. She felt around on the floor and grabbed the empty bottle and brought it to her lips.

“Oh, Ginny. Shit. You cut yourself.”

Even from my position by the doorway, I could see the red smear on the clear glass of the empty bottle.

“Shit,” Elle echoed. “Mama—”