I looked down at my leather purse resting on the laminate dresser.

“I need to pay the motel owner for another week,” I said.

“Do you have cash?”

“Only a few hundred dollars,” I said. “I need to buy groceries, and Harrison has a cough.”

Harrison had developed a dry, raspy cough from the damp coastal air.

“Use cash only,” Lydia warned. “If you run out, let me know. I can wire money to a local bank under my firm’s name.”

“I’ll try,” I said.

“I have to go,” Lydia said. “The board’s forensic team wants to meet with me at noon. They want to see the documents you took from Julian’s safe.”

“Give them everything,” I said.

“I plan to,” she said.

I hung up and looked at Harrison, who was sitting up in his crib and rubbing his eyes.

“Mama,” he mumbled, reaching his little arms out.

“Good morning, sweetie,” I said, lifting him up against my shoulder.

His forehead felt slightly warm to the touch.

I carried him to the small bathroom and turned on the hot water to create steam.