“Oh. Yes, it does look that way.” He cleared his throat. “Is…?”
“Yeah, Noah and I are both wolves,” I replied.
Humbolt looked at me, startled. “You’re a shifter, too?”
I nodded.
“Your mother knew about your twin’s illness, but she didn’t mention you’d also fallen sick,” he said.
“I didn’t as a kid,” I replied. “It happened a little over a year ago.”
“Ah,” Humbolt sounded satisfied and gave a nod. “That explains it, then.”
I looked at him, curious about his complete lack of judgment. Even people who weren’t particularly anti-shifter didn’t usually accept it with that much equanimity.
Humbolt shrugged. “My son is a shifter,” he replied simply. “European red fox. He lives in Charlottesville now. Married. Two kids.” He smiled fondly.
“I feel sorry for their mother,” Elliot remarked. “Having to cook enough to feed all of them.”
Humbolt chuckled. “Darren does most of the cooking,” he replied. “His wife’s an ER nurse.”
“Good for him,” Elliot replied, smiling. He’d clearly decided Humbolt was okay. I’d already liked the man, but this meant that I trusted him even more. Enough to let him in on what I was thinking.
“I think it was my father,” I said out loud, not wanting to second-guess myself again, although the minute I said it, I regretted the fact that I’d ruined what was becoming a friendly exchange.
“What was?” Humbolt asked, frowning.
“The wolf,” Elliot said softly. “The killer.”
Humbolt’s eyes widened. “You think?—”
I gestured across the steps and up to the much larger discoloration of blood on the porch, still thick and starting to crack. They hadn’t even bothered to try to clean it up. My mother’s blood.
She’d died here, bleeding her life out onto the old wood of the porch, near the creaky spot that I’d always listened for as a child that would tell me my father had come home. That the few moments of peace or laughter we’d shared were about to be silenced.
I wondered if she knew, as she stood here, staring out down the long road or into the sun-dappled trees, that she was going to die. If she expected the attack. If she’d always expected it.
I wondered if she was glad, in the end, that it was over.
I foundthe jewelry Momma had left to Noah exactly where I expected to—in the jewelry box in the bedroom that belonged to my parents. It was a room we’d rarely gone into, and it felt like trespassing to go in now, despite the dust and pollen—because this was Virginia in the summer, and pollen dusted everything even with high-quality HEPA filters, and my parents’ house definitely didn’t have those. The layer was thick enough that it was clear no one—including the police—had really been in herein the last week. Maybe the morning after, but I saw no signs of searching or dusting for prints.
I opened Momma’s jewelry box, finding inside the onyx brooch, the central stone polished and set in gold filigree, and a flat velvet box that creaked when I opened it, my grandmother’s pearl necklace settled inside. I was pretty sure I’d never seen my mother wear either. Also in the box were a few rings I’d also never seen her wear and a gold cross studded with what looked like rubies. I’d never seen her wear that, either, but she was wearing it in the wedding photo that sat on her dressing table.
It was the only photo displayed in the house.
The only jewelry I’d ever seen my mother wear was her plain silver wedding ring and a silver cross behind a mother-of-pearl crescent moon. I assumed she’d been wearing them when she died and that the police or the medical examiner probably had them now.
I looked over at Humbolt. “Should I take them?” I asked him. “Or should you?”
“I could do some paperwork for them to be in your custody, I suppose,” he replied. “If you feel strongly about it.”
“No, you can take them if that’s easier,” I replied. I didn’t have any sentimental attachment to either of them. I honestly didn’t know if Noah would, either—maybe he’d give them to Lulu. Or sell them. It didn’t really matter to me what he wanted to do with them.
Humbolt nodded and took both from me, the brooch wrapped in a small jewelry cloth. “This is the bed linen, I assume?” He gestured to the cream-colored dimpled fabric on the bed.
“Yeah,” I replied.
“You can take that with you when you go,” the lawyer told me. “The table linens?”
