Outside, Maribel stood near the chairs greeting guests, smiling brightly. When she finally noticed me approaching, she waved.
I walked straight up to her.
“Maribel,” I said quietly, “we need to talk.”
“Grant, right now?” she asked, still smiling.
“Yes. Right now.”
I led her toward the side of the yard near the hedges.
“Why did you tell my daughter to sit in the bathroom?”
Her smile flickered. “Oh, Grant… relax.”
“Answer me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Your daughter is always sticking her nose into things.”
“She’s nine,” I said. “And this is her home.”
“She watches me like I’m a criminal,” Maribel snapped. “It’s strange.”
“Juniper said you were in my office last night,” I continued. “She said you took papers from the blue folder.”
Maribel’s eyes flicked toward the house.
“I was just looking for tape,” she said quickly. “Decorations needed—”
“Three papers,” I interrupted.
Her patience broke.
“Grant, the music is starting. We’ll talk later.”
She reached for my hand as if to guide me toward the aisle. I pulled away.
“No. We talk now.”
Her face hardened. “Don’t do this.”
“Don’t do what? Protect my child?”
