Page 60 of Scarred By Sin

Dale was staring at her in awe. The frown that crossed his face carried something Brook hadn’t seen from him before. It wasn’t frustration or impatience. Instead, there was doubt. The slow, uncomfortable recognition that he might have been completely wrong about the woman standing six feet away from him.

“Gwenyth,” Brook said gently, “I wanted to ask you about the medication you mentioned. The pills on your nightstand.”

Gwenyth didn’t turn from the stove, but her head tilted slightly to indicate she was listening, similar to how Bit had described his discussion with her the other day.

“Is Owen stopping by with more soon? I hope so.” Gwenyth continued to concentrate on the melting butter. “I only have a few left.”

“Would you be willing to let me have one of them?”

Gwenyth turned from the stove. Her brow creased, and for a moment, the request seemed to trouble her. She pulled her cardigan tighter and regarded Brook with an expression that bordered on protective, as though the pills were something she couldn’t afford to part with.

“I need them.”

“I understand. And I promise I’ll replace them. I’ll buy you more myself.”

The assurance worked its way through Gwenyth’s hesitation. She considered it for a few seconds longer, her fingers working the edge of her cardigan, and then she nodded.

“Could you watch the pan for me?”

“Of course.”

Brook rose from the table and crossed to the stove. The butter had melted into a thin, golden layer across the skillet, and the heat from the burner carried the warm, savory scent into the air around her. Gwenyth left the kitchen through the hallway, her bare feet padding softly against the hardwood as she climbed the stairs. The sound faded until it was completely absorbed by the second floor, and then the kitchen was quiet again except for a low sizzle.

Dale hadn’t spoken since Gwenyth entered or left the room. He was still sitting in the same position, his hands around the mug, but the man behind the posture had shifted. The certainty that had carried him through guardianship filings and courtroom arguments and confrontations in this very house had developed a crack, and he was staring at it in confusion.

“I should be going,” Dale said quietly. He pushed back from the table and stood. “Thank you, Ms. Sloane, for the clarification on the investigation.”

Brook turned from the stove, but she remained in place. Dale stopped before entering the hallway, slipping his hands in his pockets. The morning light from the window caught his profile, and for the first time since she’d met him, he looked his age.

“Do you really think someone has been giving her drugs?”

“I think it’s possible.” Brook held his gaze. “We’ll know more after Dr. Kessler takes the pill to the lab.”

Dale averted his gaze. Whatever response he’d been assembling never made it past his lips. Instead, he simply nodded once before exiting the kitchen. His footsteps moved through the hallway and across the foyer. Shortly thereafter, the front door opened and closed with a noise that had become familiar enough that Brook could distinguish it from every other sound this house made.

She turned her attention back to the melted butter that was beginning to brown at the edges of the skillet. She lowered the flame and remained standing at the stove, her gaze drifting from the pan to the carton of eggs on the counter, to the neatly sliced green onions, to the block of cheese with its fresh grating marks. A thought began to take shape, pulling at the edges of something she hadn't considered until now, and it had the potential to reshape her profile of the person responsible for taking Nestor Ellingham's life.

27

Brooklyn Sloane

July 2026

Saturday — 10:18 am

Brook turned the dial until the flame extinguished before moving the skillet to a cold burner. Gwenyth had displayed no hesitation. No confusion. There hadn’t been a sliver of uncertainty about where anything was or what to do with it. While Porter and the others had claimed there were moments of lucidity, those flashes were very convenient.

Brook walked soundlessly out of the kitchen.

The hallway was dim despite the morning sun on the faded wallpaper. She paused at the base of the staircase to find the second floor empty. Gwenyth’s door was closed, the corridor leading to the entrance dark and silent. Whatever was happening up there, whether Gwenyth was retrieving the pill or standing at the window attempting to figure out her next move, Brook had a brief window for a chance to prove her suspicions.

She turned and entered the dining room.

Bit’s chair was pushed back from the table at an angle, his laptop open but the screen dark from inactivity. She assumed he’d stepped out to check one of the cameras. He’d mentioned that the unit near the greenhouse had been dropping its feed intermittently, and Bit wasn’t the type to let a technical problem sit.

The house was quiet in his absence.

The portable monitor at the far end of the table continued to glow. The curtains were drawn against the morning sun, and the room had the enclosed, focused quality of a working space. She zeroed in on the journals found in the hidden laboratory. They were stacked on the table where the forensics team had left them after processing. Numerous hardbound notebooks with dark covers, each one thick with pages, were arranged in a neat column beside Sylvie's workstation. Brook had read through portions of them, but she hadn't been able to read them all thoroughly.