Chapter Forty-One
I stood beneath the porch light in bare feet smeared with grass and dirt, facing the imposing double doors of Camille Hayward's home. The square panes reflected my drawn face, muddy dress, wind-tangled hair, and the purse digging into my shoulder.
I knocked. The door opened a crack. Camille's face hardened when she saw me. Her voice came out flat and cold. "What are you doing here, Dahlia?"
She had changed out of her dress from the memorial and wore gray pressed slacks paired with an emerald cashmere sweater, no jewelry. Even at this hour, she looked composed.
I, on the other hand, looked like I'd crawled through a war zone. "They just arrested Mia. I need you to represent her at the precinct tonight."
She opened the door wider. "I told you I can't help you."
"This isn't about me. Please, Camille. She's fourteen."
"Call the public defender. That's what they're for."
I kept my voice steady. "She deserves more than just a warm body going through the motions. She needs the best. Please. She needs you."
Her gaze flicked to my purse, where the corner of the camera peeked out. Her mouth tightened. "I'm not interested."
"Mia confessed to pushing Leah."
Camille didn't move. Behind me, the wind whipped through the trees. "She confessed?"
"She said it was an accident. She says she didn't mean…" My voice cracked. I forced the rest out. "She didn't mean for Leah to fall."
"Did she say why?"
"There wasn't time. The police showed up and arrested her."
Something in her expression shifted. A flash of controlled anger.
"Your daughter admits she pushed her best friend off the bluff, and now you show up on my doorstep after interrogating my daughter and implying all kinds of sordid things about my family?
" Her tone sharpened. "You made this worse, and you know it. "
I flushed hot with shame. My pulse fluttered in my throat. "I never meant to implicate Zara. I was trying to track what really happened that night. I got it wrong. I'm sorry."
She let out a harsh laugh. "You're sorry."
"You’re the only thing between Mia and a first-degree murder charge."
She leaned against the doorjamb and looked past me into the dark, contemplating whether to shut the door and let me drown on the porch. "You're asking for too much."
"I'm asking you to do what you've always done. Fight for the right thing."
She stared at me for a long moment, her intent gaze searching my face, her mouth pursed. Finally, she stepped back and opened the door wide. "Come inside."
I followed her inside before she could change her mind. The foyer opened into a great room with soaring ceilings framed with walls of glass. Above the fireplace, a large abstract canvas painted in cobalt-blue and burnt-orange commanded the space. Just like Camille: bold and fearless.
She led me toward the kitchen, a sleek open-concept design with mid-century lines, smooth wood cabinets without hardware, and a white quartz island with a waterfall edge.
The TV was on in the living room, tuned to ESPN. Zion and Jerome sat on the plush sofa, watching a baseball game together.
On the breakfast nook table, a slim laptop glowed blue. Zara sat in one of the linen chairs, knees drawn up under her familiar fluorescent yellow hoodie, her braids tucked over one shoulder. Earbuds dangled around her neck.
She looked up in surprise. "Hey."
"Go to bed, Zara," Camille said.
Zara didn't move. "What's going on?"
"Nothing you need to worry about."
"The police arrested Mia," I said. "She's at the precinct."
Zara's face tightened. She looked at me, then at her mother. "We literally have to do something."
Camille shot me a warning glance, then faced her daughter. She put her hands on her hips. "This is not your concern."
"It's totally my concern," Zara said. "Leah loved Mia, you know she did. She'd hate all of this. There's no way Mia would've intentionally killed her. That's insane. If there's something we can do to prove it was an accident, we should help."
"You don't decide my cases," Camille cut in, her tone clipped. "It's late. Go to your room."
Jerome wandered in from the hallway. He'd changed out of his suit and wore faded Snoopy pajama pants with a white T-Shirt. "Hey, who's hungry? And why does this house always smell like somebody's cooking even when nobody's cooking?"
He stopped when he saw us sitting at the island. The tension in our bodies, our faces. "What's all this about?"
Camille crossed to him. She put her hands on his forearms, leaned in, and kissed him firmly on the mouth. She pulled back. "I'm sorry, honey, but this is a privileged conversation."
Jerome met my gaze across the table. It was steady, intensely curious, but without judgment or reproach. That was something.
"Well, Zion and I will enjoy our Tigers game in the den with some popcorn and pizza, then. Don't be jealous." Jerome ruffled Zara's braids.
Zara ducked her head. "Dad!"
"Jerome," Camille said.
He winked at me. "I can see when I'm not wanted."
As soon as he was gone, Zara gave me an imploring look. "Is there anything? Any proof that might help Mia?"
I pulled the Nikon D780 from my purse by the yellow strap and set it on the table like an offering. "Mia's camera."
Zara let out a gasp. "Wait, you actually found it!"
A spark of interest lit in Camille's gaze. She moved closer to the table, as if drawn to the camera against her will.
"Peyton buried it at the base of the bluff. Some files are corrupted from water damage, I think. But there may be something on here. If we can pull even a frame with a time stamp, audio, anything, it could help. Peyton stole it for a reason."
Zara reached for the camera. "Can I see it?"
"Of course. Mia says you're the tech genius. Can you recover the damaged files?"
She hesitated, glancing at her mother for permission, and when Camille didn't stop her, she plugged a cable into the port with quick, sure movements. "Let me try."
"Zara," Camille warned, but she didn't make a move to thwart her daughter.
Zara rolled her eyes. "I know what I'm doing, Mom."
"That's not what I'm concerned about."
"You taught me to do what's right, not what's easy."
"Don't lecture me." Camille closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She sighed heavily. "You're impossible."
"Thanks." Zara grinned, revealing dimples I hadn't noticed before.
She bent her head, focused on the computer screen.
"Okay, so the SD card's water-damaged, but the file allocation table's still intact, which means I can try to recover what's salvageable.
Metadata survived on some of these. Timestamps, GPS coordinates.
These are all from 12:17 a.m. to 12:39 a.m."
Camille stiffened. "Right before Leah fell."
"Wait." Zara leaned closer. She muttered something under her breath, adjusted something, and tried again. "There are several photos. And a video fragment timestamped 3:31 a.m. Mom, that's literally when I heard those noises on the bluff."
Camille's expression sharpened. Her attention narrowed as if she were about to cross-examine someone into oblivion. She moved around the island to stand behind Zara, one hand braced on the back of the chair, eyes tracking the screen. "Can you retrieve the damaged files?"
"I think so," Zara said. "The data's still physically there. But the water damage corrupted some sectors, so I'm running a deep scan to reconstruct what I can. Video files are way bigger and more fragmented. It's gonna take a second."
Fragile hope bloomed in my chest. "This could help Mia's case."
"It could also hurt her," Camille said. "Depending on what it shows."
Those files would reveal something that would change everything. I'd bet my life on it. "It won't."
Zara looked up at her mother with a pleading expression. "If I'd spoken up sooner, if I'd just said something... maybe none of this would've happened. Maybe Leah would still be alive. We can actually do something now."
Camille's shoulders dropped. She looked as tired as I felt. "Even if I wanted to, Dahlia, you and I, there's a conflict. I withdrew because you refused to follow advice, and because you interfered with witnesses and endangered your daughter's case, which made my continued representation untenable."
Pride was a luxury I couldn't afford. I would beg. I would do anything. "I won't say a word without you. I won't talk to witnesses. I won't breathe unless you tell me to."
"Too late."
"I know you're angry with me. I deserve that. But Mia—she's not a murderer. She's a kid who panicked and made a terrible mistake. Whatever you feel about me, please, don't let them eat her alive."
Camille let out a heavy sigh. "I'm not forgiving you."
"I'm not asking you to. I'm asking you to save my daughter."
"Fine. I'll represent her through the arraignment. After that, we reassess whether I stay on or refer you out. That's all I can promise."
Relief hit me so hard my vision blurred. I braced a hand on the island until the room steadied. The words were too small for what I felt, but they were all I had. "Thank you."
Camille was already moving toward the back door. "Zara, save whatever you find to an external drive. Make a copy to the cloud. Email me anything that looks exculpatory. Chain-of-custody issues are going to be a problem, but right now we need leverage."
Zara didn't glance up from her work. "I'm on it."
Camille grabbed her keys from a hook by the door to the garage and slid on her zebra-print heels, all business now. Her gaze lowered to my bare feet. "You can wear a pair of my shoes. Let's go."