Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Alicia
We dropped Stella at the school two hours ago—the drama instructor does the kids’ hair and makeup at the auditorium.
In past years, I volunteered to help, but this year the decision was easy—being charged with murder isn’t something you want to walk into a school volunteer situation carrying.
The risk of another parent saying something in front of Stella, or worse, in front of her friends, isn’t one I’m willing to take.
And with Gabriel shadowing me this week, raising eyebrows felt like a secondary concern I didn’t need either.
This year, I’m simply an attending parent.
My phone buzzes against the marble countertop.
Noah: Wish I could be there. Take photos.
Me: You’re where you need to be. I’ll buy the school’s video.
As I finish tapping out my message to Noah, Gabriel steps into the kitchen, dressed in tan trousers and a sport coat over a black crewneck.
He’s been staying in the guest room since I returned from New Jersey.
His presence feels different than Noah’s, more formal, less woven into the fabric of our days.
But tonight, as I prepare to leave for the play, I’m grateful not to be alone.
While Noah is highly suspicious of Richard and Jessica, I struggle to believe it.
Richard and I have had our differences, but he’d never hurt me, and by extension, Stella.
I can almost imagine him asking Jessica to run a background check, and her looping in a cousin for help, but anything beyond that feels like too much of a stretch.
It’s easier to believe in overprotectiveness than malice.
“I’ve got my car out front. I can drive,” Gabriel says.
“No, I should drive.”
I slip my phone into my handbag. Gabriel is watching me, composed as ever. He could step into any private school function and blend seamlessly.
“Wait,” I say slowly. “Are you planning on attending with me?”
“If it’s a problem, you could introduce me as your brother. Or a family friend.”
“I just don’t think it’s—”
“Necessary,” he finishes. “I know. But Noah would never forgive me if I weren’t with you tonight. Especially given the attendees.”
He means Richard and Jessica.
We still haven’t found anything concrete tying Richard to Danny, but Noah’s instincts about Jessica have only grown stronger.
Richard wouldn’t pay Jessica for her help, and he’d never put anything in writing.
My legal team wants to approach Danny, Jessica, and Richard when the timing’s right—but not yet.
They’re leaning toward Danny, believing he’ll crack first.
But not yet. Not before we meet with prosecutors.
And then there’s Elizabeth Delacroix—another theory Luca insists on keeping warm, despite my objections.
I’ve told them to leave her alone, but it hasn’t stopped talk.
Murder-for-hire. Jealousy. A woman scorned wanting a clean alibi and someone else taking the fall.
Luca is clinical, cold, terrifying in his detachment.
And Dorian still believes Pierce’s people might be involved.
Too many angles. Too many motives. And none of them clear.
So I’ve decided to focus on what I can control: my daughter, my business, and keeping my life as normal as possible while my attorneys and KOAN hunt for answers. Every night, I’ve spoken to Noah. He hoped his father would be discharged today, but it looks like tomorrow is more realistic.
I pause, studying Gabriel—Gabe, as he prefers. Even in business-casual clothing, with his military bearing and watchful eyes, he looks unmistakably like security. He does not look remotely related to me.
Will the other parents assume we’re dating? Or that I’m under some kind of surveillance?
It’s ironic. My entire career is built on sculpting public perception, and here I am ignoring my own. What would I advise a client in my situation?
Attend with your ex-husband and his girlfriend. Present unity. Signal stability. Let the crowd see you’re confident, not hiding.
I would absolutely advise against showing up with a man who looks like federal law enforcement.
And yet, here I am.
“Is something wrong?” Gabriel asks.
I inhale, shaking off the tightening in my chest, and pick up my handbag. “Nothing’s wrong. Just thinking.”
He lifts his arm toward the front door, jacket riding up enough for me to glimpse his waistband.
“You’re not carrying?” I ask, double-checking. Guns are forbidden on school grounds.
“No,” he says, amused. “But I’ll drive. I don’t anticipate needing firepower at a school function, but if I did, it’s in my glove box.”
“You’re not going to need a gun,” I say, half-laughing, half-drowning in the surrealism of my reality.
“And I don’t plan on carrying one.” He opens the front door with an almost old-world gallantry. “After you.”
I stride past him. He closes the door behind us, and I lock the deadbolt.
“Prepared for all scenarios,” he says after crossing the short stretch to the curb. “That’s what they taught us.”
“Sounds like advice I’d give my clients.”
He opens the passenger door for me, and I slide in, feeling oddly…escorted.
“When you’ve spoken to Noah, how does he sound?” I ask once he’s behind the wheel.
“Strained,” he says, adjusting the rearview. “But he’s holding steady. His father’s getting stronger.”
That’s my assessment too. But hearing it confirmed helps.
Gabriel drives without GPS. I watch him navigate the back streets toward the school with unsettling ease.
“Are you from DC?” I ask.
“I’ve spent time here.”
“Noah mentioned you’re new at KOAN.”
“That I am.”
“Why’d you leave the military?”
“It was time,” he says, glancing over with a grin. “Is that answer a cop-out?”
I smile. Because we’re not close, his answer doesn’t feel like a deflection—just privacy.
But he must feel like he should expand. “Going private gives you more flexibility.”
We approach the school as traffic thickens. I point to the church lot. “Park there. Easier walk.”
We pull in. As we exit, I ask, “Family brings you back to DC?”
“Someone I care about. Not romantic.” He falls into step beside me. “Actually, it’s a case involving some key DC players. You might have a unique perspective.”
“Oh?” A parent waves from across the lot, and I wave back. In my role, I’m familiar with many of the players in the area. I’m happy to answer questions, but not where we might be overheard. “Talk to me back at the house.”
He nods.
We merge into the stream of parents entering the school. Ahead, about ten rows from the stage, I spot Richard. He sees me and lifts his hand.
There are several empty seats between the aisle and where Jessica sits.
I start toward him, but Gabriel’s hand taps my shoulder.
“Can you step back out for a moment?”
I gesture to Richard that I’ll be there shortly. He frowns and turns away.
I follow Gabriel out into the wide school hallway—and stop breathing. Noah stands there. Tall. Exhausted. Unbearably present. My heart lifts so hard I feel it in my throat.
“You made it,” I breathe, and I’m moving before I mean to.
“Told you I would.” He catches me, and for just a moment, the world narrows to the warmth of his hands at my waist, the solid reality of him here.
“Thanks, man,” he says to Gabriel. “I was aiming to meet her at the house. Delayed flight.”
Gabriel grins. “Hand-off complete. I’ll see you both in the morning.”
It’s Thursday evening—the first of three performances.
“I can’t believe you surprised me,” I say, my hand tucked in his. “Stella’s going to be thrilled.”
Richard glances over his shoulder when we enter.
The moment he sees Noah, his jaw tightens, and he turns back to face forward so rigidly I can feel his anger from three rows back.
Seats have been taken now, and the one seat he saved is clearly for me alone.
But two seats sit open directly behind them, and Noah steers me toward those.
Jessica turns, smiling sweetly. Something in her eyes contradicts the smile entirely. Richard stares forward, refusing to look at us. Fortunately, the hum of activity around us cuts what might be particularly awkward thanks to Richard.
The lights dim. The curtain rises.
As the play unfolds, I’m struck by how easily truth twists in the wrong hands. The Crucible isn’t about witchcraft—it’s about jealousy, ignorance, a community hungry for moral superiority. A willingness to condemn without evidence.
A willingness to destroy.
Stella plays her role perfectly. She told me she was the villain—but she’s not. More of an accomplice. And I like that she knows that. I like that she already understands the danger of following others blindly.
When the final curtain rises, the auditorium erupts in applause. Families spill into the hall.
Noah, Richard, Jessica, and I drift toward the school entrance to wait for the cast.
“She did good,” Noah says.
“She did,” I agree.
“So, Alicia,” Jessica says, linking her arm through Richard’s. He keeps his hands in his pockets, gaze distant, bored. “It’s good you could be here. I know it means the world to Stella.”
I smile politely. Noah’s hand presses at the small of my back—a quiet claim that Jessica clocks immediately.
“Do you have a court date yet?” Jessica asks.
I glance at Richard—he knows. He’s been updated.
“It’s scheduled,” I say. “But we’re hoping for a dismissal.”
“Oh?” she asks, wide-eyed, glancing at Richard as though she’s waiting for him to feed her information.
“The evidence we’ve gathered is strong,” Noah says lightly. “I expect prosecutors will drop the case at Monday’s meeting. If they do, then no need for the judge to dismiss.”
Jessica’s lips tighten—a near-flinch.
“Wow. Did you know this?” she asks Richard, sounding affronted.
“Of course,” he says flatly.
“Well, I never thought you did it,” Jessica adds, aiming it at me like absolution I didn’t ask for.
Noah looks at me for permission.
This isn’t the approach my legal team cautioned against. This is just a name, dropped in a crowd. And I want to see her face.
I nod.
“We’ve located a man named Daniel Frazier,” he says. “Does that name mean anything to you?”
Jessica goes still. Not frozen—that would be too obvious. But still, the way a deer goes still when it first hears the snap of a branch.
“We’ve placed him at the hotel the day of the murder. At Alicia’s home. And he hired a PI to investigate me,” Noah adds.
“We’re still developing the full picture,” I say evenly. “But we expect everything to be tied up by Monday.”
Jessica’s throat bobs. Her fingers tighten on Richard’s arm.
And in that moment, whatever doubt I had evaporates.
She’s involved.
Maybe not alone. Maybe not in the way we first theorized.
But involved—without question.
“Noah!” Stella bursts through the crowd. “You made it!”
She darts past me to high-five him. He hands her the flowers he brought, and I kiss her temple. “You were wonderful.”
“I messed up two lines,” she says. “But Jimmy forgot an entire section!”
“You couldn’t tell,” I assure her.
Richard bends to hug Stella. When he straightens, he looks around. “Where did Jessica go? We brought you flowers too.”
I scan the crowd filtering toward the exits. She’s gone. No goodbye. No excuse. Just—gone. Noah’s hand finds mine, a brief squeeze.
Richard’s frown deepens. “That’s...odd.”
“Maybe she had a call,” I offer, though Noah and I both know better.
Stella chatters about her performance, oblivious to the tension crackling between the adults. And I let her. Because for tonight, she deserves to bask in her success.
As the crowd thins, the certainty settles.
Jessica’s absence vibrates through me like a struck wire—sharp, undeniable, truth confirming.