Previously…
– Brent questioned Natalie about the stylist she hired to do Loretta’s hair on the day that Loretta was murdered.
– Spencer wrestled with complicated feelings about Loretta’s death.
– Tempest found herself acting as the go-between for Isaac and Sienna as Noelle’s paternity remained uncertain.

The faint scent of antiseptic hangs in the air in the lobby of the King’s Bay Police Department. Natalie Bishop is perched on the edge of a bench covered in a torn faux-leather cushion, which her hands anxiously grip as she taps the toe of her designer stiletto against the floor. Finally, she sees Conrad Halston push through the metal-framed glass door, his actual leather briefcase clutched in one hand. His jaw tightens when he spots her.

“Thanks for coming,” Natalie says, more quietly than she ever says anything.

Conrad studies her with worry. “What happened? On the phone, you sounded–“

“I need your help.” She flips her red hair over her right shoulder.

“I haven’t heard those words from you in eons,” he says. “I assume this doesn’t have to do with Bree.”

“I told you, Bree is fine.” Natalie rises to her feet, brushing imaginary — or so she’d like to think, but there is no knowing with this place — dust from the sleeves of her burnt-orange silk blouse. “Brent wants to question me about Loretta‘s murder.”

He reacts in the same understated way that he reacts to most things, turning inward to work out his reaction before expressing much on the exterior.

“They’re officially calling it a murder, then,” he finally says.

“Yes. And he came to see me because I hired the stylist who did Loretta’s hair that day, and I don’t know what she told him, but now he’s breathing down my neck again, and–” Flustered, she stops and digs into her Hermes bag. She pulls out an object and thrusts it toward him. “Here.”

Conrad looks at her quizzically for a split-second, then takes the folded dollar bill with a knowing sigh. “My retainer?”

“I’m not going in there without an attorney.” She watches his hesitation, then presses: “Oh, come on. You’re not going to turn me away, are you?”

“Natalie…”

“Think about how it’ll be for Bree if the KBPD somehow railroad me into being charged, or– or worse.” Her eyes plead with him.

“Fine.” He tucks the dollar bill into the pocket of his chinos, and then he glances around them to be sure they will not be overheard. “If we’re doing this, I need you to be honest with me.”

“I did not kill that old bag!” Natalie says. “God knows I thought about it a hundred times or so–“

“Maybe leave that part out of your statement.”

“I didn’t do it. I need you to believe me, Conrad.”

He regards her with the skepticism of a man who saw her at her absolute worst during their divorce, then sighs.

“Let’s see what we can do,” Conrad says.

—–

The outdoor stairs creak under Spencer Ragan‘s steps as he ascends to the apartment above The Wild Lady. The smell of beer mingling with wood chippings clings to the air, a reminder of the saloon-style bar below. At the top of the stairs, he hesitates, his hand hovering just shy of the apartment’s front door. He can hear the faint hum of music from inside — the new SZA album, he thinks.

He knocks with three quick raps and then leans against the doorframe, his head bowed forward. His chest feels like a tightly coiled spring, ready to snap.

The door swings open, and Elly Vanderbilt stands there, barefoot, in jeans and a loose sweater that hangs off one shoulder. Her bold red hair falls loose, subtle notes of blonde and copper glinting in the light.

“Uh, hi,” she says.

“Hi. Can I come in?”

She steps aside, and he moves inside quickly. The apartment smells of lavender. Elly uses her phone to switch off the music.

“You look like hell,” she comments.

“Thanks.”

She rolls her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“I came to grab a drink downstairs and– I don’t know. I need to ask you about something.”

“What the hell is going on?” she asks.

“They’re questioning Natalie about the murder.”

“Whoa. Really?” She processes this for a moment as she closes the door.

“Yeah. Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, but if she goes down for this, and I try to get custody — there’s no way she could use that time I ran away with Peter against me, could she?”

“That was a thousand years ago. And we can cross that bridge if we ever come to it. Do you think she…”

“I have no idea,” he says. “Their relationship never made sense to me. They clearly hated each other, but Natalie was the one who pressed for Loretta to stay in our house. She said it was about keeping your enemies close or whatever, but there was a lot of tension there.”

“I mean, you could hardly blame Natalie if she finally snapped.”

Spencer frowns at her.

“Sorry. I know Loretta was your mother.”

“That’s the part I can’t make sense of. She scared the shit out of me, and I know she did all these horrible things, but she also made me who I am. Now she’s gone, and I feel… I don’t even know. Free. Guilty. Relieved. All of it.”

She steps forward and places a hand on each of his shoulders. “You’re allowed to feel all of those things, even if it doesn’t feel like they make sense.”

“But I don’t know how to feel,” he says. “This whole love-hate thing…”

“You do seem to have that dynamic with a lot of people.”

Spencer steps back, shaking off her touch. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Isaac Banks sits in a waiting area on the ground floor of the hospital, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly together. He still wears his white doctor’s coat, but the calm professionalism that it is supposed to represent feels foreign right now. To say that he feels on-edge, like a raw nerve, would be an understatement. His left leg bounces as he casts frequent glances toward the hospital’s main entrance.

The automatic doors hiss open once more, but this time, it is actually his sister who strides through them. Tempest’s braids swing softly, and she wears a careful, neutral expression. Behind her is Sienna Ridley — and, more importantly, a small child.

Isaac’s stomach twists as he jolts to a standing position. Noelle clings to her mother’s hand, as her wide, curious eyes scan the large space. Her skin is a soft, warm brown, a perfect blend of Sienna’s golden complexion and…

He tries to stop his mind from getting ahead of him.

“Hey,” Tempest says gently as she greets him with a hug. He can tell from her tone that she understands how fraught this is for him.

“Hey. Thanks for bringing them,” he says, doing his best to summon positivity. He looks past her. “Hi, Sienna.”

“Hi, Isaac.” Her facial features are held tight with concern; she certainly doesn’t look like someone who is getting away with a scam, although he knows her well enough — or at least used to — to understand how skilled she is at putting on a show.

“And you must be Noelle,” Isaac says to the little girl. His heart hammers inside his chest.

“Who are you?” the little girl asks in a voice as sweet as her smile.

“I’m, uh, I’m Isaac. I know your mommy.”

Noelle immediately looks up at Sienna for confirmation. Sienna nods.

“I guess we should do this,” Isaac says. “We can go up to the lab.”

“This won’t hurt her, will it?” Sienna asks, with what sounds like genuine alarm.

Isaac shakes his head. “It’s just a cheek swab.”

“Okay. Good.” Sienna nods her head rapidly, as if trying to reassure herself. “Ready, then?”

“I think we’re all ready for the truth,” Tempest says as she begins to lead the way to the elevator bank. Sienna and Noelle fall into step behind her.

Isaac lingers behind, unable to take his eyes off the tight, blondish-brown curls atop Noelle’s head. As skeptical as he has been since discovering that Sienna was in King’s Bay and had befriended his sister, he already knows one thing for certain: there is no way that child was fathered by his former best friend.

—–

In a windowless interrogation room, Natalie and Conrad sit across from the police commander, Brent Taylor.

“The stylist you hired was very forthcoming,” Brent explains. “She shared text messages between the two of you, gave an account of that day, and let us test all her products and supplies.”

Conrad folds his hands on top of the metal table. “Did you find any trace of the poison that killed Loretta?”

“We didn’t,” Brent says coolly, though as Natalie observes him, she is sure that she sees a flicker of defeat, or at least annoyance, in his eyes.

“As we expected,” Conrad says, giving Natalie a firm nod.

“And you said that you left for the Objection party not long after the stylist arrived, right?” Brent continues.

“I let her into the house, yeah,” Natalie answers. “Then Spencer, Peter, and I left.”

“So you admit you were in the house at the same time as the stylist’s supplies.”

“Yeah, I let her in!” Natalie says.

“Brent, what are you trying to ask?” Conrad interjects.

“I’m trying to establish a clear timeline,” Brent says, a note of annoyance creeping into his voice.

“Well, it’s the same as the one I gave you before,” Natalie tells him. “My husband, son, cell phone records, and whatever else can back it up. I let the stylist in, we finished getting ready, we left, we went straight to the party.”

Brent jots down some notes in the small notebook in front of him. The sound of the pen scratching against the paper sounds ominously loud in the otherwise silent room.

“Interesting you say that,” he finally goes on, “because we have a witness — a delivery driver — who can vouch for the fact that a red-haired woman went back into the house about 40 minutes after you claim to have left.”

“What?” Natalie asks with a mixture of shock and disgust.

“Loretta was having her hair dyed back to red,” Conrad says calmly. “That’s why the stylist was there. Of course there was a red-haired woman at the house.”

Brent glances up from his notes. “Forty minutes wouldn’t have been long enough for the color to take. We asked the stylist and an unrelated expert.”

“Who, the ghost of Vidal Sassoon?” Natalie snaps.

Conrad shoots her a warning look that says, Not now.

But Brent responds, with a touch of smugness, “A verified expert in hair dyes. Should we go to trial, you’ll find out who it is.”

“Trial?” Natalie says. “Brent, this is crazy. I went to the party with Spencer and Peter. I was there. Are you seriously suggesting I snuck out, went back to the house, poisoned Loretta, and then went back to the party without anyone noticing?”

Brent makes her wait a long moment, then simply shrugs. “I’m only stating facts. There was a red-haired woman going into the house after you claim to have left.”

“Well, it wasn’t me,” Natalie scoffs. “But I bet whoever it is knows a lot more than I do about Loretta’s death.”

—–

“Oh, don’t act all offended,” Elly tells Spencer. “I sure as hell never know where I stand with you.”

“And whose fault is that?” Spencer responds. “You’re the one who bit my head off at the hospital.”

“Because Rosie had just jumped down my throat!”

“What does that have to do with me?”

She grits her teeth and then lets out a frustrated growl. “I don’t know!”

Spencer crosses his arms. “So you think this is, what, some love-hate thing?”

“Let’s say push-pull,” Elly sneers back at him.

“Oh, so love is too strong a word?”

“Don’t be so full of yourself. Besides, you’re a married man, aren’t you?”

“This isn’t about me being married,” Spencer says.

“How is it not about that?”

He grins. “So you’ve been thinking that part the whole time, too.”

“What are you even talking about?” Elly asks, throwing up her hands.

“That this goes beyond us just, I don’t know, getting along,” Spencer says. “That there’s something there.”

“Something?”

“Yeah.” Spencer draws in a deep breath through his nose, then takes an oversized step forward and places his hands on her face. “Yeah.”

He plants his mouth on hers, and although Elly resists for a split-second, she soon gives in to her hunger and kisses him back. Spencer’s hands tug at her sweater.

But then Elly pulls back.

“Are you sure?” she asks, her tone suddenly very serious.

“Yes. I need this. I need you,” he says through heavy breaths.

Elly looks into his eyes for a moment, then pulls the sweater over her head. “Good. I do, too.”

She tosses her sweater across the room, then pushes Spencer back onto the couch as they continue making out.

END OF EPISODE 1247

Is this a mistake for Spencer and Elly?
Will Natalie be able to save herself?
How should Isaac handle Sienna now?
Talk about it all in the comments below!