Previously…
– A DNA test confirmed that Sienna’s daughter, Noelle, was fathered by Isaac.
– Brent questioned Robbie Wimbiscus about the attacks against Sabrina, but Robbie insisted that he was innocent.
– A witness came forward to state that they had seen a red-haired woman outside the Ragan home on the evening that Loretta was murdered.

The silence inside Tempest Banks‘ and Samantha Fisher‘s apartment feels oppressive. Tempest sits on one end of the couch, fighting the urge to turn on the television or play music or something. Neither form of background noise seems appropriate for this moment, but she can also feel the absolute lack of sound driving her slowly crazy.

Clearly feeling the same thing, Isaac Banks — who is pacing near the front door — exhales loudly. “Where is she? Come on already…”

“She’s still got about five minutes,” Tempest tells him. Having volunteered her apartment as a neutral place for Isaac and Sienna to meet, she now feels just as involved, and just as tense, as her brother does.

Isaac whips toward her, looking as if he is going to snap out of irritation, but he reins in his reaction at the last moment.

“I’m just on-edge with Sienna and her game-playing,” he explains in an apologetic tone.

“I get it,” Tempest replies. “I get it, really. But this is about your daughter, not Sienna.”

“That’s the thing,” Isaac says, shaking his head with a weariness that betrays all the past drama between himself and Sienna. “It’s about Sienna, whether I want it to be or not.”

“All you have to do is co-parent with her.”

“But she’s a manipulator, Tempest! Why are you trusting this woman over me?”

“I’m not trusting her over you,” Tempest snaps, springing to her feet. “I just think you’re assuming the worst–“

“Because I know her! I looked past so many red flags because I thought I was in love with her. And where did that get me? She slept with my best friend, blamed me for it because I had the nerve to have a demanding job–“

“I’m not saying she was right for any of that, but you’ve gotta work with her now.”

“Why are you defending her?” Isaac asks, the volume and intensity of his voice shooting up again. “She’s been playing you, Tempest. And I don’t get why you can’t see that.”

Inside the headquarters of the King’s Bay Police Department, Jason Fisher stands in Commander Brent Taylor‘s office. The scent of burnt coffee lingers in the air, emanating from the paper cup sitting on Brent’s desk. Brent sits in the worn chair, flipping through a file folder that he then slaps shut.

“So what do we have?” Jason, who hasn’t bothered to take a seat, presses.

Brent exhales through his nostrils. “Robbie claims he has alibis for the nights of both incidents — both the fire at Sabrina‘s apartment and the vandalism of her car.”

Jason clenches his jaw. “And you believe him?”

“I don’t believe anything without hard proof,” Brent replies to his brother-in-law. “I have a detective checking out his stories. So we’ll see.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Jason cracks his knuckles restlessly. “Sabrina has been so on-edge. Understandably so.”

“Of course she has. Someone set her apartment on fire and then left a threatening message on her car. It’s a violation. And whoever did it won’t get away with it.”

“If it wasn’t that woman Carrie, and it isn’t Robbie,” Jason says with exhaustion, “then I don’t know what to think. Sabrina lives a very low-key life. She doesn’t have enemies.”

“That’s what makes this such a head-scratcher,” Brent says, just as his desk phone rings. Jason stands back, consumed by worry. He has seen firsthand how scared Sabrina is, and he wants to do something more useful than waiting around for answers. He watches, troubled, as Brent answers the phone.

“Taylor,” Brent says into the receiver. Jason tries not to eavesdrop by focusing on the framed news clippings on the wall, all highlights of the KBPD’s accomplishments in the last few decades. Jason is reading one of the articles when he hears Brent ask, “Natalie?”

Jason turns at the sound of his former fiancée’s name, and Brent just as quickly recognizes his slip and lowers his voice. He listens for a long while, then says flatly, “I’ll get on it right away. Thanks.”

As soon as the phone clicks back onto the receiver, Jason says, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to–“

“It’s fine,” Brent says, a little wearily.

“Is this about Loretta’s murder?” Jason asks, with a sudden urgency.

“You know I can’t comment,” Brent says. “But you also, uh, know how your ex has a tendency to get into trouble.”

“I’m well aware.”

“Other than that, you’ll have to wait,” Brent tells him, as he rises from his chair. “Just like with Robbie Wimbiscus. Sorry I don’t have more for you.”

“I get it,” Jason says. “But if there’s anything we can do–“

“I’ll let you know ASAP,” Brent assures him. “We’re gonna catch whoever’s doing this to Sabrina. I promise.”

—–

Natalie Bishop stands at the expansive kitchen island, tearing open packages of Thai takeout. The scents of basil and spice curl into the air as she does so. Her auburn hair is twisted into a loose knot, and she wears a heathered gray sweatshirt. She is laying the containers out on the countertop when she hears the front door open and then close. Though she feels an instinct to call out, she holds in the instinct and waits until her husband strides into the kitchen.

Spencer Ragan loosens his tie as he walks in, eyes scanning the room like a man entering enemy territory. His dark hair is slightly mussed, as it often looks at the end of a workday, but his carriage — rigid and wary — doesn’t betray exhaustion so much as caution.

“Didn’t know if you’d be home to eat,” she says as she pours herself a glass of wine from the open bottle on the island.

“Well, I’m here,” Spencer says.

“Which you didn’t let me know.” She sets the bottle down on the marble a little too roughly. “What is going on with you? Are you, like, avoiding me?”

“I have a job. And things to do.” He snatches the bottle of wine and carries it over to a glass-fronted cupboard, from which he grabs a glass. “Some of us don’t get to sit around all day luxuriating.”

“You don’t have to be bitchy with me.”

“Is that how I’m being?” Spencer pours a healthy glassful of wine for himself and then sets the bottle down, uncorked. “My mother was murdered, Natalie. I’m doing my best.”

“You didn’t even like her,” Natalie says.

He glares at her and then takes a big slug of the wine.

“Sorry,” Natalie adds. “I know it’s complicated. It’s just–“

“It’s nothing,” Spencer cuts her off. “I’m doing my best. I know you wanted her dead, anyway.”

“I–” Natalie’s mouth flaps open and then closed again. Seconds pass before she manages, “I didn’t want her dead.”

“You wanted her out of here.”

“So did you.”

“I didn’t kill her.”

“Neither did I!” Natalie smacks a hand down on the island. “Don’t let Peter hear you saying that. He’ll think I’m a monster.”

Spencer only responds by lifting one eyebrow at her. Then he takes another sip of wine.

“What is going on with you?” Natalie asks. “Something shifted.”

“I’m going upstairs,” he says, ignoring the question. “Can you put some food away for me?”

Natalie exhales loudly. “Just like I have been for weeks…”

Disregarding her, Spencer clutches his wine as he retreats toward the entryway. Moments later, Natalie hears his footsteps ascending the stairs.

“What the hell else is going on with you?” she mutters to herself as she retrieves plates for her and Peter’s dinner.

—–

Tempest feels her blood heating up suddenly.

“You think I’m stupid?” she challenges Isaac. “You think I’d let myself get played like that?”

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” he says. “Far from it.”

“Then let me make my own damn decisions on people.”

Isaac swipes a hand over his face. “All I’m saying is, I know Sienna. None of this has been a coincidence.”

“She had no way of knowing you’d be at that party last fall.”

“It doesn’t matter. This was a con.”

Tempest’s body tenses. She hates being doubted like this.

“Look, I’m not gonna convince you, so forget it,” she says. “What matters now is Noelle.”

“And I’m gonna be there for her,” Isaac replies, softening. “But it doesn’t mean I have to like — or trust — her mother.”

“You made that clear.” Tempest folds her arms. They are still caught in this standoff when there is a knock at the door.

“Here goes nothing,” Isaac says as he undoes the lock.

—–

Natalie stands at the kitchen sink, rinsing out her wine glass. Nearby on the counter sit her and Peter’s dinner plates, which bear the residue of the takeout meal. The cartons, still half-full, are scattered on the island. As the water cascades from the faucet, Natalie stares out the window above the sink, out at the backyard, which is now draped in shadows despite the relatively early hour.

Spring can’t come fast enough, she thinks.

Just then, her cell phone begins to ring. The sharp trill makes her fingers tense against the glass. Quickly she sets it aside and dries her hands on a Williams Sonoma dishtowel. When she grabs her phone, she tenses at the sight of the name on the display.

“What in the hell,” she says through an exasperated breath as she deliberates sending the call straight to voicemail. But she makes a split-second calculation that it will be easier to know what this is about than to stew on it mentally all night, so she answers.

“Commander,” she says with derision. “What is it?”

“Natalie,” Brent says tersely over the line. “I’m calling to ask you to make an appointment to come down to the station for questioning.”

Her heartrate quickens, but she tries not to let that reflect in her voice. “Again? I gave you my alibi.”

“And we’re operating off some new information.”

“New information?”

“About the poison that killed Loretta,” he says. “I need to ask you some further questions.”

“Fascinating,” she murmurs. “But I really have nothing to add.”

“Well, I have questions to add. So you can make an appointment or–“

“I’ll have Conrad do it in the morning,” Natalie says dismissively.

“Thank you.” Then the line goes dead.

Natalie lingers a moment, staring at the phone in her hand, then sets it back down on the marble. Brent’s words echo in her head:

“We’re operating off some new information.”

She grabs the freshly cleaned wine glass and pours herself another generous helping.

END OF EPISODE 1253

Is Natalie hiding something that Brent will find?
Are Robbie’s alibis going to check out?
Should Tempest believe Isaac’s instincts about Sienna?
Discuss it all in the comments below!