Lesley was definitely the black sheep of the Beise family. Even cleaned up for his court appearance, he still looked shabby, especially when next to his brother. They resembled each other, but whereas Luke Beise wore casual business dress easily, the suit and tie Lesley wore made him look even more uncomfortable. The Beise sisters were in casual wear, as well, and looked neat, clean, and attractive. Even Luther had clean clothing that was in good condition, though old, that was well-kept. No doubt his children checked in on him routinely.
Luther had been making noises about making flower planters for his daughter Kayla, who apparently liked to garden and worked for a florist part-time while working toward her nursing degree.
He was promising to be home for the weekend and having his older daughter program the reminder into his calendar app on his phone. She told him twice to check his messages at bedtime, so she could remind him of his schedule for the next day.
He had strategies to deal with the short-term-memory issues, apparently, and functioned very well in his life and as a member of his core family group.
Then the man turned to his second son and reached out. For his granddaughter. Luke passed the infant without hesitation, bottle and all. Luther held her comfortably. Easily. Like he’d held her many times before.
Luther Beise was a better father than people had thought he’d been before.
These people belonged to each other. The only one who seemed ill at ease was Lesley.
Lesley, who kept eyeing Miranda warily.
Knight shifted, crossed his arms over his chest, and stepped closer to her. He barely resisted the urge to snarl his teeth at the other man.
He smirked instead. Humans were animals. He was no different. The subconscious part of him knew there was a threat to the woman he was attracted to—the beast part of him wanted to react with aggression. To run the other animal off completely.
Lesley looked at Miranda. “Sorry about the other day. Didn’t mean to hurt you. I just panicked.”
“We won’t mention it. We’re here to discuss what happened that day fourteen years ago, instead.” Miranda’s tone hadn’t cooled at all. Strictly professional and almost welcoming in a way. In charge. “Please take a seat. We’re just trying to get a timeline of what happened that day.”
“We’ve told you what we know,” Luther said. “Where’s Pauline? Shouldn’t she be here? It’s her mother, after all.”
Knight tensed again. Miranda shot him a look out of those green eyes. Usually those eyes told him exactly what she was thinking, but her face was carefully blank now. When she turned back to the Beises, her tone hadn’t changed. “Pauline has been arrested, Luther. She admits that she struck her mother that day, wrapped her in a quilt, and asked Jim Hollace to bury her in the barn. Jim confessed to his part and corroborated everything. The two of them together killed Helen.”
Knight expected a huge outcry.
They got silence. Stark silence. Even the baby was quiet.
Everyone turned to stare at Miranda. Knight fought the urge to drop one hand to her shoulder and make it clear to all of them that she was protected.
He had to get himself back in gear. He’d come to a resolution about the woman late into the night.
Not for him. Period.
Finally, Luke straightened in his chair and stared at Miranda. “It was because of me, wasn’t it?”
“In part, the argument you had with your grandmother was probably a trigger. Your mother hasn’t said why. Not fully,” Miranda started. “We believe it was an accident. An argument that escalated. Your mother most likely thought Helen had died from the blow. She panicked and asked Jim—who she was having an affair with—to bury Helen in the barn. But Helen was unconscious, not dead. She suffocated.”
“She wasn’t dead?” a small voice asked from the other end of the table. One that had Knight’s attention jerking toward the other end of the table.
Kayla. Young, with dark brown eyes, pale skin, and a fragile air about her. She was almost ethereal in appearance. Unlike her older sister, who had the everybody’s-kid-sister vibe going on.
It was the first thing she’d said that had been loud enough for Knight to hear. He looked at her quickly. She was barely more than a kid. Twenty-two, he believed. Young and overwhelmed and had just learned her mother was a murderer.
He’d always hated this part of investigations. The collateral damage.
“No. She was still breathing when she was buried,” Knight said.