Page 61 of A Killing Cold

“Are those from Idlewood?” I ask, unable to bear the silence any longer.

“In a sense. Mr. Vance raises them,” she says. “Magnus always prefers to know the source of his food. Sometimes I think he would be happier running a homestead than a Fortune 500 company—but then, he does have expensive tastes. Harder to keep up with on a farmer’s income.”

“Was your family wealthy as well?” I ask, unsure if this is too forward a question.

“Yes, at the time when we married. Shortly after, my father made a series of abysmal investment decisions and lost everything. He came to us hat in hand and begged to be bailed out. Offered to let Magnus buy the company for pennies, anything that would save his legacy.”

“What did Magnus do?” I ask.

She flips the rabbit carcass over. Its spindly ribs are threaded through the meat. “He said no. He was right to. No sense throwing good money after bad. My father never spoke to either of us again. But Magnus was correct to do what he did, and I never blamed him for it. You must look after your own family first, no matter the cost.”

My mouth is dry. I carefully excise an eye from the potato, trim off a black spot. The discards are piling up. They smell of damp earth.

I straighten my shoulders. Take a breath. “I realize that I’m probably not who you imagined your grandson ending up with. I’m poor as dirt, I’m adopted, I have no idea what my heritage is. I didn’t go to the best private schools or get lessons in—in etiquette and comportment—”

“I’m not concerned about etiquette and comportment,” Louise says. “I am much more concerned with who you are and what you are capable of.”

She is done with the second rabbit. She lines it up before the first and moves over to the sink set into the kitchen island to wash her hands. When she’s done, she dries her hands with a slate gray towel.

“And who am I, exactly?” I ask her.

“A girl who seduced the son of her pastor and then stole his savings. Who attacked her father with a hunting knife. Or are you going to claim that didn’t happen?”

“No. I did attack Joseph,” I say. I wonder if she thinks I might hurt her. I wonder if she’s starting to realize that she’s an old woman, alone, confronting a girl who knows less savory uses for the knives stored only eighteen inches from where I sit. The cold of fear is gone, chased by the quick tongues of anger that make my skin feel tight and hot. “Who told you that story?” I ask. “Because it wasn’t Joseph Scott. Or Peter Frey. They don’t want anyone to know about what happened.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, which might mean she doesn’t know. She’s operating on secondhand information—from Trevor, presumably. “What matters is that I know what you did.”

“You don’t know anything,” I say. “You don’t know what happened.”

“I see. Is there something that excuses attempted homicide, then?” she asks.

“I wasn’t trying to kill him,” I say. “And beyond that, I don’t owe you a damn thing.”

Her mouth purses. She reaches into the pocket of her cardigan, a black drapey thing that obscures her shape. She slaps down a piece of paper—a check. I stare at it. “Go on,” she says.

I reach out tentatively, like it might be hiding a thorn—or a needle laced with cyanide, maybe. A check made out to Theodora Scott, in the amount of seventy-five thousand dollars. I look from the check to her, my mouth in a thin, unamused line. “What is this, a test? To see if I care more about Connor than a quick buck?”

“It is not a test,” Louise says, her voice hard as granite. “I promise you that I have entirely made up my mind about you. You are never going to win me over. You are never going to be part of this family. And you will not get to keep Connor. Either way, you will be leaving here, and you will not be returning. This, Miss Scott, is your last chance not to walk away empty-handed. Call it a gesture of goodwill. Or a consolation prize. Believe me, it is for your own good.”

I look again at those numbers, neatly printed in black ink. Seventy-five thousand dollars. To her, it’s nothing. To me, it’s money that could change my life. Three days ago I wouldn’t even have considered it for an instant, but now?

Is he really worth it?

Is it safe to stay?

For a moment I consider tearing up the check and throwing it at her. Instead I only stand. “I’m afraid I’ve entirely made up my mind as well,” I say sweetly, and march out of the room before she can reply.

I manage not to start shaking until I reach the hallway.

I could have guessed she would do something like this. But those last words keep echoing.For your own good.Maybe she’s right. Maybe I would be better off far from here with more money in my account than I’ve ever made in a year, but no—I can’t go. Not without Connor.

Not without answers.

I almost scream when Magnus steps out into the hall just ahead of me. I manage to turn it into a high-pitched yip of surprise instead, reeling back a step. He stands there, hands in his pockets.

“Theo,” he says. His gaze tracks past me. I half turn and see Louise in the kitchen doorway, her arms crossed. He frowns. “Everything all right?” he asks.

“Just fine,” I say tightly.

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