It takes a second to register that Dinah is speaking to us. She’s glaring daggers at me and Easton, who’s just coming back from the casket.

“This is shameful!” she screams, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so unhinged before. Her face is one red splotch, her green eyes wild with outrage. “You Royals don’t belong here! And you—”

She’s talking to me now.

“—you’re not even family! Get out! All of you!”

I don’t know what not-guilty looks like, but I’m putting Dinah at the top of my suspects list. A woman who’d blackmail some poor guy into her bed is a woman who’d do other terrible things.

Callum stalks over, a hard look in his eyes. Steve, who’s in a similar black suit, tails him. Steve’s gaze flicks at my black sack of a dress that I found on the first sale rack at the mall department store. It’s two sizes too big, but the only other black dress I have is a body-con one from my mother. That was absolutely too morbid—and much too sexy—to wear to a funeral.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Callum says tightly. “In fact, we have more right to be here than you, Dinah. I was engaged to marry her, for Pete’s sake.”

“You didn’t even love her,” Dinah growls. She’s trembling so violently that her entire body is swaying. “She was nothing but a sex toy for you!”

My gaze darts around the room to see if anyone heard that.

They all did. Every single pair of eyes is glued to this confrontation, including the minister’s. He’s frowning at us from the podium, and I’m not the only one who notices.

“Dinah.” Steve’s voice is low and more commanding than I’ve ever heard it. Usually he speaks in an easygoing manner, but not right now. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”

“I don’t care!” she roars. “They don’t belong here! She was my friend! She was like a sister to me!”

“She was Callum’s fiancée,” Steve snaps. “Whatever feelings he may or may not have had for her, we know what her feelings were. She loved Callum. She’d want him here.”

That shuts Dinah up. For about half a second. Then she aims her furious gaze at me. “Well, she doesn’t belong here, then!”

Steve’s eyes narrow into dangerous slits. “Like hell she doesn’t. Ella’s my daughter.”

“She’s been your daughter for all of five minutes! I’m your goddamn wife!”

The minister clears his throat. Loudly. I guess he doesn’t appreciate her taking the Lord’s name in vain in the middle of a chapel.

“You’re acting like a child,” Steve says harshly. “And you’re embarrassing yourself. So I suggest you sit down before you’re the one who gets thrown out of here.”

That shuts her up for good. With a thunderous glower in our direction, she stomps to the front of the room and slams her ass down on a pew.

“I’m sorry about that,” Steve apologizes, but he’s only looking at me. “She’s a little…emotional.”

Easton snorts softly, as if to say “A little?”

Callum gives a curt nod. “Let’s just sit down. The service is about to begin.”

I breathe in relief when Steve walks away to join his horrible wife. I’m glad he’s not sitting with us. Every time someone reminds me that I’m his daughter, my discomfort skyrockets.

To my surprise, Callum abandons us, too, settling onto a front-row pew on the opposite aisle of the O’Hallorans.

“He’s giving a speech,” Easton tells me.

My eyebrows soar. “Seriously?”

“He was her fiancé,” is the shrugged response.

Right. I keep forgetting it’s not public knowledge that Callum hated Brooke by the end of their destructive relationship.

“It’d look suspicious if he—ah, fuck.” Easton stops abruptly, his gaze swinging to the right.

Tension coils in my neck when I see what made him curse. The police detective who came to Astor Park earlier this week—Cousins?—has entered the chapel. A short, dark-haired woman is at his side. They both have shiny gold badges clipped to their belts.

As uneasy as their presence makes me, I can’t help but feel a burst of triumph. I wish Reed were here so I could say, See! The cops are here because they also think the killer might show up!

“They better not try to interview us,” I mumble to Easton as I scrutinize the guests.

One of them could be the killer. My gaze pauses on the back of Callum’s head. He had motive, but there’s no way he would let his son take the heat for a crime he committed. Plus, Callum was in D.C. with us.

My gaze moves to Steve. But what would be the motive? If it was Dinah in the casket, he’d be my prime suspect, but he’s been gone for nine months, which means there’s no way he could’ve been the father of Brooke’s baby. I dismiss him.

The other handful of people, I don’t know. It must be one of them. But who?

“Dad’s lawyers are still stalling about that,” Easton mumbles back. “If it happens, it’ll be next week. They talked to Wade, though.”

I suck in a breath. “They did?” I wonder why Val didn’t say anything, but then I think, when would she have had the opportunity?

I’ve barely spent any time with my best friend since this whole mess began. I know she misses me, and I miss her, too, but it’s hard to hang out and gossip and have a good time when life is so screwed up right now.

“They asked him all these questions about Reed’s fighting,” Easton confesses. “And about all the chicks Reed’s been with.”

“What the hell? Why is that important?” I’m oddly resentful about that. I don’t like the idea of these cops dissecting Reed’s previous relationships. Or his current one with me.

“I don’t know. Just telling you what Wade said. That was pretty much it. They didn’t even talk to him about Brooke or—” He halts again. “Okay, seriously? This is just weird.”

When I turn again, this time it’s to find Gideon walking in our direction.

Easton mutters to me out of the side of his mouth. “Why is Gid here? Who drives three hours to attend a funeral of some bitch he couldn’t even stand?”