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“You’re talking about scut work.”
Philadelphia’s eyebrows drew together to form that deep crease between them. “I don’t know what that means.”
“No real responsibilities, no real job. Just picking up lower-level chores.”
“Monty wasn’t trained to—”
“Why not? Why didn’t he get the training to be a partner, like you and your older brother?”
“I don’t understand why that matters? Our personal lives—”
“Are my business now.” Eve snapped it out so Philadelphia jerked in her chair. “Twelve girls are dead. It doesn’t matter if you understand the question. Answer it.”
“Come on, Dallas.” Playing her good cop role, Peabody soothed her way in. “We need to know,” she said to Philadelphia, “whatever we can know, so we can try to piece everything together. For the girls,” she added, nudging some of the pictures just a little closer to Philadelphia.
“I want to help, it’s just that . . . it’s painful to talk about Monty. He was the baby.” She sighed out the stiffness. “The youngest of us, and I suppose we all indulged him a little. More when our mother died.”
“Committed suicide.”
“Yes. It’s painful now, it was only more painful then for all of us. She simply wasn’t well, in her mind, in her spirit. She lost her faith, and took her life.”
“That’s a terrible thing for a family to go through,” Peabody said, gentle, gentle. “Even more, I think, for a family of faith. Your mother lost her faith.”
“I feel she lost her will to hold to that faith. She was ill, in her mind, in her heart.”
“Your father took a hard line on that,” Eve put in.
The flush returned, more temper than embarrassment this time, Eve thought. “This was, and is, a very personal tragedy. If he took a hard line, as you say, it was his grief, his great disappointment. My father’s faith is absolute.”
“And your mother’s wasn’t.”
“She was unwell.”
“She became unwell, or began treatment, shortly after giving birth to your youngest brother.”
“It was an unexpected and difficult pregnancy. And yes, it took a toll on her health.”
“Difficult and unexpected,” Eve repeated. “But she went through with it.”
Hands folded tightly on the table, Philadelphia spoke coolly. “While we respect the choices each individual makes, the termination of a pregnancy, except under the most extreme conditions, was not a choice for my mother, nor for those who share our beliefs.”
“All right. So an unexpected and difficult pregnancy, followed by clinical depression, anxiety, and ultimately self-termination.”
“Why do you make it sound so cold?”
“Those are the facts, Ms. Jones.”
“We don’t want to miss anything.” Peabody added the lightest touch of her hand on the back of Philadelphia’s. “He was still living at home at the time of your mother’s death, your younger brother?”
“Yes, he was only sixteen. He came to us—to Nash and me—a few months later, when our father sold the house, went on a mission. It was shortly after that we were able to buy the building on Ninth with our share, and begin The Sanctuary.”
“So young to lose his mom,” Peabody said, all sympathy. “He’d have been old enough to think about college, or practical skills training when you started The Sanctuary. I didn’t see anything in the file on that.”
“No. Monty had no drive to try college, or practical training, and honestly, no real aptitude—not for counseling or organization. He was good with his hands—that was his gift.”
“But no training there either.”
“He wante
