Chapter 23

When I’d moved from Austin back to Santa Sofia, I’d hauled all my photography equipment back with me. I’d finally gotten the second spare room in my house set up with a green backdrop for green screen, a white backdrop, side lighting, and everything else I needed.

Gretchen Arnold was my first official client in my in-home studio.

She showed up right on time, bright and early so we could capture the soft light of the morning sun. She looked ready to pop. She wore dark gray leggings and a white T-shirt, looking ready for a yoga class. She held up a burlap bag. “I brought a dress, too.”

“Perfect,” I said, my mind already planning different shots. “We’ll take some inside in the studio, but also out in the yard. Okay?”

“I’ve never had professional photos taken,” she said, “so whatever you say.” She grinned and bounced on the balls of her feet. “I’m excited!”

I led her to my new studio space. I’d set up side lighting and had the white backdrop in place. I positioned a few cream-colored pillows on the floor and helped her down, setting them up so she could recline slightly. I positioned her, instructed her to reveal her belly, and set to work, moving around her to take close-ups of her hands shaped into a heart and laid on her bulging belly.

“How’s Rachel doing?” I asked her after I’d taken at least fifty shots.

“She’s hanging in there. Her dad has her seeing a therapist. She knows deep down that it was self-defense, but she killed her mom, you know, so that’s going to leave some emotional scars.”

“Did she tell you what happened?” I asked. I’d heard the lowdown from Emmaline, but I wondered how much Gretchen had known.

She looked suddenly melancholy. “No, but I knew something was wrong. She wouldn’t tell me, though.”

I helped her up and adjusted the settings on my camera while she went into the bathroom to change into the other outfit she’d brought. She emerged wearing a white eyelet V-neck dress. I led her outside. Agatha was stretched out on her belly in the sun, fast asleep.

Gretchen let out a soft, “Ohhh,” followed by, “It’s beautiful out here.”

The vibrant green of the hydrangea leaves provided a backdrop for the spring flowers, which were in full bloom. It was early enough the lighting was still soft. Gretchen walked alongside the flower beds, the sunlight filtering though the leaves of the Japanese maples in the corner of the yard like lace. I snapped a few candids, glancing at the digital screen on the back of my camera to check how they were turning out.

“Ethereal” was the word that came to mind.

I offered her a glass of iced tea and one of the blueberry scones I’d made before she’d arrived, and we sat at the table on the little patio outside the French doors leading to the living room.

She took a bite of the scone and closed her eyes. “So good,” she said after she swallowed. “You have a gift.”

“Olaya Solis has the gift. I’m just learning.”

She held up the pastry. “This is not the work of someone just learning.”

I felt my cheeks warm from the compliment. I’d come a long way with my baking in a short time. I doubted I’d ever get to the level Olaya was at, but that was okay. My bread, and sometimes pastry, baking had become my favorite pastime. My neighbors, especially Mrs. Branford, loved my hobby since they were the beneficiaries of all the extras I baked. I certainly couldn’t eat it all.

After a few moments of silence, I broached the subject I’d been wondering about. “You said your dad brought you here when you were little. To see your mom?”

“I think he thought if she saw me, maybe she’d come back to us.” A veil of sadness fell over her. “It didn’t work. My mother was not a good person. What kind of person attacks their own daughter?”

A monster.

I thought about all the machinations and manipulations Nessa Renchrik had under her belt. Having a child with Guillermo, but keeping Tate from him. Orchestrating the deportation of Sylvia and Carmen. Manipulating the school board vote for the surfing club. Her untimely death changed the outcome of that vote. Good for Chavez Elementary. Too bad for Jerry Zenmark.

“I’m glad you’re there for Rachel. She’s going to need you. Tate, too.”

“Cliff introduced Tate to Guillermo,” she said.

I’d been about to take a bite of scone but stopped midway and put it back down instead. “Wow. That must have been hard for him.”

“I think he knew deep down. It almost seemed like a relief. Like he didn’t have to wonder anymore.”

That made sense. Wondering if your wife had had an affair was one thing. Wondering if she’d had a child with someone else and was hiding it was entirely different.

“They’ll get through this,” Gretchen said.

I hoped she was right.