My mother hadn’t threatened my marriage.
She had threatened Nolan’s secret.
Then I heard a key turning in the front door.
I froze.
The police had Mom’s keys.
Only one other person had a copy.
Nolan.
The door opened.
He walked inside wearing jeans and a dark hoodie.
He didn’t call my mother’s name.
Didn’t check the kitchen.
Didn’t inspect the broken furniture.
He walked directly into the living room and stared at the place where the fireplace poker had been.
He was looking for it.
“Looking for something, Nolan?”
He spun around.
“Blair!”
For half a second, pure panic crossed his face.
Then the smile returned.
“I just came to secure the house.”
“The police already secured it.”
He glanced toward the empty section of rug.
I stepped closer.
“Did you know there’s no fireplace in this house?”
His eyes returned to mine.
“What?”
“The fireplace poker.”
I watched him carefully.
“You told police a seventy-one-year-old woman attacked you with it.”
He said nothing.
“But Mom has lived here for thirty years, Nolan.”
I pointed around the room.
“No fireplace.”
His jaw tightened.
“And whoever bought that poker forgot to remove the barcode.”
His expression changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
“She’s confused,” he said. “People with dementia buy strange things.”
“She doesn’t have dementia.”
I let the silence settle.
“But you do have gambling debts, don’t you?”
