Agda stopped in the archway. “It is so hot in the park today for him.” The Scandinavian nanny was a looker and could have been Kimberly’s coed sister. A comparison that made Heat ponder the age disparity between Kimberly Starr, who she ballparked at twenty-eight, and her dead husband, a man in his mid-sixties. Can you say Trophy Wife, boys and girls?

Matty’s solution was the movies. The new Pixar film was out, and even though he’d seen it on its first day, he wanted to go again. Nikki made a note to take her niece to it on the weekend. That little girl loved animated movies. Almost as much as Nikki. Nothing like a niece to provide the perfect excuse to spend two hours enjoying pure innocence. Matty Starr left with an unsure wave, sensing something amiss but so far spared the news that would descend upon the little boy soon enough.

“Once again, Mrs. Starr, I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, Detective.” Her voice came from a far place. She sat primly, smoothing the pleats of her sundress and then waited, immobile except for the tissue she absently twisted on her lap.

“I know this isn’t the best time, but there are some questions I’m going to need to ask.”

“I understand.” Again, the waif voice, measured, remote, and what else? Heat wondered. Yes, proper.

Heat uncapped her pen. “Were you or your son here when it happened?”

“No, thank God. We were out.” The detective made a short note and folded her hands. Kimberly waited, rolling a chunk of black onyx from her David Yurman necklace, then filled the silence. “We went to Dino-Bites over on Amsterdam. We had frozen tar pit soup. It’s just melted chocolate ice cream with Gummysaurs. Matty loves the tar pit soup.”

Rook sat down on the toile Chippendale wing chair opposite Heat. “Do you know if anyone else was home?”

“No, I don’t think so.” She seemed to see him for the first time. “Have we met? You look familiar.”