Chapter 9: What Diane Said to the Detective
Two days later, Diane gave a formal statement.
Farrell called me that evening.
I was home by then — discharged the morning after my father's visit, Clara still holding steady, bed rest ordered for the next two weeks.
I was on the sofa with a pillow behind my back and Daniel's laptop open on the coffee table when the call came.
"I want to update you on a few things," Farrell said.
"Your sister gave her statement this afternoon.
She confirmed that your mother told her a small amount of a natural compound had been added to your drink.
She said she was told it would cause cramping and discomfort — enough to make you leave the gathering early."
"She believed that."
"She says she did.
Whether that's true is something the DA will weigh." A pause.
"She also confirmed that the argument in the yard was not spontaneous.
She said your mother had told her that if you left with the document and reached the lawyer on Monday, the amendment would be finalized and there would be nothing they could do."
"So the kick was meant to stop me from leaving."
"That's what she's saying.
She's framing it as panic.
Her attorney is already talking about reduced charges in exchange for full cooperation against your mother."
I looked at the ceiling.
"What is my mother being charged with?" I said.
"Conspiracy to commit aggravated assault.
Tampering with evidence — the document.
And the DA is reviewing the substance charge separately.
Depending on how they classify the compound and the intent, that could carry additional weight."
"And my father?"
"The text message to your husband constitutes witness intimidation.
He's been formally cautioned.
If he makes any further contact with you or anyone connected to the case, it becomes a charge."
I sat with that.
"What about the trust?" I said.
"That's civil.
Not our lane.
But from what I understand, your grandfather's attorney has everything he needs."
After the call, I sat quietly for a while.
Daniel was in the kitchen.
I could hear him moving around, the sound of a pan, water running.
Normal sounds.
Diane had given my mother up.
I didn't feel triumphant about it.
I didn't feel much of anything except tired and very certain that I had done the right things in the right order.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Reese.
*How are you?
How's the baby?*
I smiled for the first time in three days.
*We're both okay,* I typed.
*Thank you for what you did.
I mean it.*
*I just kept recording,* she wrote back.
*I didn't know what else to do.*
*That was exactly the right thing,* I said.
A pause.
Then: *Is it weird that I feel bad for Ivy?
Like none of this is her fault.*
Ivy.
Diane's four-year-old.
*It's not weird,* I typed.
*It's the right thing to feel.*
I set the phone down and looked at my stomach.
Clara.
Six months and two days, and already she had survived more than most people face in a lifetime.
May you like
"Dinner's ready," Daniel called.
I got up slowly, one hand on the armrest, and went to the table.
