“I don’t mind Lyft,” I told him. The car was on its way. Fifteen minutes. Hopefully, if the daughter was leading Spencer someplace secluded, or even off the grounds entirely, she would choose another path. There were so many.

“I want to ask . . .” Marshall’s voice trailed off. Whatever it was, it was difficult for him.

“What?” I had time to listen. It was better than waiting alone with my thoughts. I might go mad. I would have Robert back, tomorrow at the latest, but I wasn’t sure how I’d survive this night.

Behind him, back up the path, I saw Spencer Shaw and the Clausens at a small bar on the edge of the green closest to us. I froze, feeling my eyes go wide and my mouth tighten. Marshall turned to see what had dismayed me.

Spencer passed a white wine to Mrs. Clausen. The daughter was not with them. No one was, unless I counted the bartender. I didn’t. He was male. The three of them stepped away and stood in a triangle shape, chatting.

Marshall stared from me to Spencer Shaw’s group with way too many questions rising in his eyes.

I wasn’t sure exactly how much time had passed since I’d dosed Spence, but roofies worked fast. He could start reeling and slurring any minute. He already didn’t look good. Sweaty and pale. He took a white linen handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped at his brow.

I was afraid to leave. Maybe something had gone wrong. If the daughter couldn’t get Spencer off alone, would I be blamed?

Marshall said, “Bree, are you okay?”

It shocked me that this conversation with Marshall kept on happening. Life kept on happening. Robert had been brutally taken from me, and yet here, on the green, Spence was clapping Mr. Clausen’s shoulder, a singer was crooning, waiters were passing signature gimlets and snacks. People were eating and gossiping and going to the bathroom and breathing in and out. It was wrong and crazy. I wanted everything to stop. I wanted the daughter to complete her business. I wanted my son.

“I’m fine,” I said.

Marshall said, “Something’s off. Talk to me.”

A female figure turned onto our small path, blocking my view. The light was behind her, making her a curvy silhouette. My heart leaped up into my throat. Was it the daughter, come to shoo me home?

I grabbed Marshall’s arm, saying, “Shhhh,” trying to drag him backward.

“What are you . . . ?” he said.

I let go, ready to run for the entrance, my heart galloping, but the woman called out, “Bree?”

I recognized her voice. It was Gabrielle Baxter.

Gabrielle was not the daughter. She couldn’t be. I’d met her parents at a party. They were black and sophisticated and quite well-off. The old woman I’d seen was white, and she didn’t have a posh, rich-person’s accent. Plus, the mother had told me they’d been unable to get in to see Spence. Gabrielle saw him every day.

“Are you hiding from Gabrielle?” Marshall whispered.

“No.”

As she came to join us, I shifted so I could still see Spence. He was trying to charm the Clausens, leaning in to tell an animated story, but he looked downright sick now. He paused and swayed, and Mr. Clausen looked concerned. God, I hoped I hadn’t overdosed him.

“Hey, Marshall,” Gabrielle said.

“Evening, Gabrielle.” Marshall took his puzzled glance off me to greet her with an easy smile.

She turned to me. “I’ve been looking for you. Janice said you were heading out this way. I’m so glad I caught you.”

“I can’t stay. I’m on the way to meet my Lyft.”

“I only need a minute.” She looked anxious.

This was about Spence, I thought, my heart sinking. It had to be.

I had a sudden urge to tell her, Don’t sweat it. I just roofied him, and however uncomfortable he made you feel, I bet something worse is coming for him.

“Maybe tomorrow you could call me,” I said instead. “If you want to talk privately.”

Marshall asked, “Should I give you two a minute?”

“No,” Gabrielle said. She touched his arm lightly. “Marshall knows.”

They were friends, I realized with a small shock. Marshall, who had gotten colder and colder toward me, was close with Gabrielle.

“Oh, this is about . . .” Marshall inclined his head back toward Spence, who was now waving an expansive hand a little too close to Mrs. Clausen’s face. He looked like he was assuring them that he was fine. He did not look fine.

Gabrielle nodded. “She saw. So it isn’t my word against his anymore.” She turned back to me, chin up, almost challenging me, her hands twisting together. “If you’re willing to back me up, that is.”

If Marshall knew, then the inappropriate behavior I had seen in the Orchid Center was not an isolated incident. I ought to be shocked by this, and outraged, determined to make it stop. If Gabrielle made partner, she would be only the third woman to reach that pinnacle. The first African-American woman. Spence was putting all that at risk, using his seniority in ways that made me sick. If she spoke out, the blame would fall on her. Even post-#MeToo, the good-ol’-boy network was strong at old, established firms like this one. But right now I was busy watching Spence for my own reasons. Tomorrow, once Robert was safe home, I would care.

Gabrielle, her voice fierce, said, “This stuff with Spence, it’s all him. He started it after things got bad with Charlotte. I want you to know I never flirted with him to get ahead, I never—” She broke off, but I knew what she meant.

“Of course not. I never thought that,” I assured her. I should help her, but all I wanted was to get away and look at the cheap phone, see if the mother had texted me some new instructions. She might need me to intervene and separate Spence from the Clausens. I had to make sure all went well for them, so that it would go well for Robert. “But I can’t really talk about this now.”

Her lips curved down, and she blinked. Disappointed but not surprised. Spence worked so closely with my husband that talking to me at all had been a risk. Now she thought I was shutting her down, taking his side.

Marshall saw it, too. “Bree will back you. She’s just sick,” he explained. For all that he’d been so cold, he knew me well enough to know this and to vouch for me. It did my aching heart some good.

“Oh. Nothing serious, I hope?” Now she wasn’t sure what to think.