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opened his mouth to intervene.
    â€œThen let’s do it!” Hannah stuck out her tongue at her brother-in-law like an overgrown toddler.
    Nicole’s gaze met Rich’s. Amusement flickered between them, and his insides warmed. Maybe there was still a chance that they could be friends…or something more.
    â€œI’m sorry.” Rich looked toward Hannah. “We need DNA from the mother and father for legal certainty of the child’s identity.”
    Hannah’s shoulders wilted.
    Simon waved her away. “Go polish your nails or something.”
    Hannah shuffled to the door, Nicole in her wake. On the threshold, Nicole glanced back and their gazes collided. What did he see in her eyes? Pity toward Hannah? Anger toward Simon? Fear of the police investigation? Yes, all of those. Rich was pretty sure if there was any more information to be gleaned from Hannah, Nicole would get it.
    But would she share it with him?
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    Nicole’s hands bunched into fists as she trailed Hannah up a dim hallway. The older woman’s head hung as if her scarf were a mantle of sorrow. Nicole didn’t blame Hannah for chronic depression. If human kindness had ever warmed these rooms, all trace had long since leached away. In Hannah’s place, she would have popped Simon one in the snoot—at least in her imagination—and packed her bags.Why did the woman stay around? Of course, at her age, the most likely move was an assisted-living facility, and those cost a lot of money that Hannah likely didn’t have. The poor woman was trapped.
    Nicole moved up alongside her forlorn hostess. “I should be going now. I hadn’t intended to stay this long.”
    â€œIt’s all right.” Hannah patted Nicole’s shoulder. The ghost of a spark lit the older woman’s gaze.
    Rebellion still lived in the wrinkled old heart, and Nicole silently rejoiced. “Can you show me to the door?”
    â€œI have something I need to give you first.” Hannah crooked a finger and entered a small sitting room toward the back of the house “This is my little apartment.” She continued through the outer room and into a bedroom done in pale pink chintz. More like a child’s room than an adult’s with the frilly canopy over a twin bed and a ballerina theme.
    Hannah stood on tiptoe and twirled, full skirt billowing. “You can see what I once dreamed of doing.”
    Nicole nodded, mute. She understood squashed dreams. She and Glen had wanted children in the worst way, but—Nicole stuffed the pain back into its hidey-hole. Too raw to deal with at this inconvenient moment. But when would the convenient time come?
    â€œThis way.” Hannah waved her over to a gaily painted trunk at the foot of the bed. She rummaged inside and came out with a blue satin drawstring bag. “Here.” She held it out.
    â€œOh, I couldn’t—”
    Hannah placed a pudgy finger over Nicole’s lips. “This was Sammy’s. My keepsake of him. Give it to Chief Wilson.”
    Nicole swallowed the urge to correct her on the chief’s identity. What was the point? She peeped inside the bag. It contained an infant’s hair brush.
    Her heart rate sprang into a jog-trot. “I’ll pass this along.”
    â€œGood.” Hannah winked. “The back door is up the hall and to the left.” The woman stretched and yawned. “I’m very tired now. I think I’ll turn in.”
    Nicole carried her small treasure toward the exit. Hannah must be sharper than anyone gave her credit for if she realized the hairs in the brush might positively identify her precious nephew, with or without parental DNA.
    Nicole passed through a pristine, stainless-steel kitchen and shivered. Clean, cold and efficient. Like the people who lived here. Except she got the feeling that beneath the polish of prestige the filth ran deep. Sort of like the Pharisees Jesus called “white-washed