Page 46 of Bad Mother

“Please tell me you two are still performing,” Sienna said to Argus and Mirabelle.

“No more,” Argus said. “Mira retired five years ago and me last year. I hired another assistant after her, but, eh”—he shrugged, his expression less than impressed—“she did not have the personality nor the grace of my Mira. And she was no good with the cards.”

“He hired her for her other assets,” Mirabelle said, cupping her palms over her apron-covered breasts.

“Pshaw. I have no need ofassetsother than yours,” he said, winking at her.

“Oh, please,” Mirabelle said as she stirred something that looked like gravy on the stovetop, rolling her eyes but pairing it with an obviously pleased smile. “And I’m not good with cards.”

“Ah, but you are. Stop denying it.”

Sienna smiled, sipping her wine. Something had always given Sienna the impression that Mirabelle didn’t like cards. Or rather, she didn’t like the idea of gambling with them. Sienna wondered if it was because she’d known someone who had a gambling problem—maybe that abusive husband she’d mentioned... maybe a parent. She’d always get a thin-lipped, disapproving look on her face when Gavin and Argus played for matchsticks or pennies, Gavin showing off by shuffling effortlessly and dramatically and winning every hand. It was why, Sienna supposed, they’d kept their little online racket a secret.

And no wonder—Mirabelle had gone ballistic when Gavin had told her he wanted to play cards for a living... or attempt to. She figured it was another reason he’d been so stressed right before their wedding-that-wasn’t.

“Argus, help me turn this roast, will you?” Mirabelle said, breaking her from her memories.

Sienna set her wine on the counter. “I can help, Mirabelle.”

“No, no, you relax. It’s been too many ages since I’ve cooked for more than these two knuckleheads, who’d eat a pile of dirt if I presented it to them.”

“That’s because you’d make dirt taste good,” Argus said, kissing her on the cheek.

“I can show Sienna the backyard,” Gavin offered.

“Yes, yes,” Mirabelle said, opening the oven door. A waft of savory deliciousness hit Sienna’s nose, making her mouth water. “I think you’ll like it, Si. And you’ll have to bring a swimsuit next time you come over. For now, talk; drink a glass of wine. This still needs twenty minutes. Argus will help me finish setting the table, and then you will sit across from me and answer all of my million and one questions.”

“Stop threatening her, Mom,” Gavin said.

“Oh, quiet.” Mirabelle shooed him with a wave of her hand.

Sienna smiled. “I’m looking forward to it,” she said. And sure, there were a few topics she hoped not to discuss on her first visit to Mirabelle’s house, but in all reality, she couldn’t wait to tell Mirabelle about her life. About college, about her first job, about the pride she felt when she put her talents to use and helped someone in a way she knew had an impact and was perhaps even life changing. She was a long way from the little girl with tangled hair and worn-out shoes that Mirabelle had taken under her wing, giving her the first taste ofhomethat she’d ever known. She wanted to share her new self with the woman she’d considered a mother figure, and she also found that she was willing to ponder the ways in which she was still the same, which was an interestingrealization, considering she’d thought she’d spent the last decade completely shedding the person she used to be. But less than half an hour with the people who’d been her surrogate family, and she felt that girl surfacing. Strangely, it didn’t feel like a negative but rather like a sort of merging, perhaps long overdue. She’d left and returned years later with an open wound. Somehow, that wound was healing, one gentle step through her history at a time.And to move forward, I need to heal completely. Maybe that’s why I never fully have.

Gavin held the sliding glass door open for her, and she stepped through, out into Mirabelle’s oasis. She stood there for a few moments, taking a sip of wine as her gaze moved from one beautiful detail to the next.

Forget miles away... this place felt like a differentplanetthan the trailer park she’d sat in front of only weeks before. And she was happy for Mirabelle that she got to enjoy this luxury. But Mirabelle was still the same woman she’d been when her backyard had consisted of nothing more than cracked dirt and tumbleweeds. A place didn’t define you, not if you didn’t let it. Seeing Mirabelle here was a reminder of that, and a wonderful one.

“I bought this house for her right after I won my first big tournament,” Gavin said from beside her, breaking her from her admiring reverie. She looked over at him, watching as he squinted into the dying sunset.

“That must have felt good.”

“Yeah,” he said, still looking at the sky. “It did. It felt great.” There was a sad note in his voice that she didn’t entirely understand, but she wanted to ask him about a different house.

“Gavin.”

He turned, his eyes moving over her face, expression unchanging. He looked at her the same way he’d just gazed at the glowing sky. “What is it?”

“The guy who’s committing these crimes put together a set of clues that led us to the house we rented. The one we were going to live in after we were married.”

His expression faltered. “Bluebell Way?”

Sienna nodded. He’d remembered. “We found a body there and... some other things.”

His face expressed utter confusion, his eyes wide with concern. “Wait. I don’t understand. How did this guy know about Bluebell Way?”

She’d thought about calling him with the news about the house as it pertained to the case, but she’d wanted to look in his eyes when she brought it up. She’d planned to ask if he had any guesses about why and how she might have been led to that particular address, but that was unnecessary now. She could clearly see that he was as taken aback as she’d been. “We don’t know. One guess is that he learned my name as one of the detectives on the case, which wouldn’t be overly hard.” He could have done it in any number of ways, and it wasn’t as if it was classified information. “And then he did some sort of background check on me.”

“Background check... how—”

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