Page 50 of Keeping Knight

“Sylvia,” her attorney says sharply. “Stop talking.”

She doesn’t even look at him. “No. I didn’t do anything wrong. There’s no proof that I did. So what if I wanted to contest the will? That doesn’t mean I tried to kill Ruby. The very idea of that is ridiculous.”

Bad Cop flattens his hands on the worn wooden table as he leans forward again. “What about the statements you made to your friends? In light of those, the idea that you tried to have your stepdaughter killed doesn’t sound ridiculous to me.”

“What statements?” Sylvia asks. Something dark and worried flickers in her eyes.

“That you blame Ruby for your husband’s death.”

Time seems to stop.

“What?” My hand comes to my mouth. “What?”

“You said it was a heart attack,” Bad Cop says. “How could that be Ruby’s fault?”

“Mrs. Ashe,” her attorney interrupts. He starts to stand. “We’re done here. Let’s go.”

“He was sixty-eight,” Sylvia replies. “Sixty-eight. And she pushed him to go on that hiking trip. She knew he was too old for it. But Ruby didn’t care. She dragged him up into the mountains, pushed him into hiking all day, and when he had a heart attack, he was too far from a hospital to save him.”

Shock slams into me.

My body goes numb.

“Mrs. Ashe,” her attorney barks. “Enough.”

“No!” She slams her hands on the table. Her face is bright red. “No! It’s Ruby’s fault. I told David not to go on that trip. I said he was too old. But he insisted. Ruby will be disappointed if we don’t go, he said. I can’t let her down. So he went. Because of her. And he died! If he’d been home, he’d still be here right now.”

“So you blame Ruby for your husband’s death,” Bad Cop states. “And you think she manipulated him into leaving her everything in his will.”

Sylvia stares at him. Her chin lifts defiantly. “Yes, I blame her. Yes, I think she pushed him into leaving her everything. But that doesn’t mean I tried to have her killed. There’s no proof. And you won’t find any.”

“Maybe,” Nice Cop replies. “Now. Let’s talk about the hiking trip your husband and stepdaughter went on.”

That’s the last thing I hear before the buzzing in my ears drowns out everything.

And with it, her accusations repeat.

She thinks I tricked my dad. She thinks I killed him.

My dad. The person I loved more than anyone in the world.

The memories of that horrible day come crashing into me with breath-stealing force.

Walking on the trail with him, talking about what we planned to grill for dinner that evening, joking about how he’d have a real hot dog instead of the turkey ones Sylvia insisted on buying. He looked so happy. And then⁠—

A sob threatens to escape, and I clap my hand over my mouth to stifle it.

Tears spill down my cheeks.

She blames me. She thinks I killed him.

“Ruby,” Micah starts.

“I’m sorry.” I jump up from my seat. “I can’t⁠—”

My vision blurs as I burst from the room. My chest feels like my heart’s been ripped out of it. My head throbs.

She thinks I killed him.