Previously…
– Travis’ trial for Loretta Ragan’s murder paused for the weekend after the prosecution made a strong opening case.
– After learning that Sarah and Landon were looking into her own mother as a potential suspect, Rosie followed a lead to New York, hoping to learn whether Gia Vincent had any connection to Loretta.
– Sophie struggled with strange emotional shifts after witnessing a close moment between her father, Jason, and his girlfriend, Sabrina. In private, Sophie recalled having been the one behind the threats made against Sabrina.

A sleek, glass-and-steel high-rise towers over the sidewalk. Yellow cabs weave through traffic, easing toward and pulling away from curbs at a frantic pace. Rosie Jimenez steps out of one, the wind tugging at her dark coat. She squints up at the building’s façade.

The noise and activity of Manhattan swirls all around her; she has only been to New York once, long ago, when her parents brought her and Sebastian to visit some relatives. But they lived in the Bronx, a world away from the chic NoMad neighborhood in which she now finds herself.

A doorman pulls open the door with a practiced, polite nod, and Rosie steps inside the building, relieved to be out of the whipping winds. She strides toward the front desk, where a mustached concierge sits.

“How can I help you, ma’am?” he asks, and she is even more relieved to recognize a hint of a Puerto Rican accent in his voice.

“Hi. My name’s Rosie Jimenez. I’m here to see Gia Vincent. I think she’s in PH–“

“Three,” the concierge finishes for her with a smile as he consults the log on the computer. “It doesn’t look like Ms. Vincent is expecting anyone.”

Rosie grimaces. “I’ve been communicating with her constantly. She’s expecting me. Could you please call up… mi pana?”

The concierge grins at the touch of cultural familiarity and picks up his phone to place a call. Within seconds, he is engaged in conversation: “Yes, her name is Ms. Jimenez… she says you’re expecting her…”

“And if she doesn’t let me up or come down to speak with me now, I’ll have her served with a subpoena,” Rosie adds, loudly enough to be heard through the phone.

Moments later, the concierge’s phone is back in its cradle, and he is pressing an elevator button.

“Gracias,” she says before leaving the desk.

“De nada,” he says quietly.

She takes the elevator up to the penthouse level. As it rises, she feels a stab of pain in her abdomen. She presses a hand to the elevator’s mirrored wall and draws a deep breath. Within seconds, the pain fades, and soon she is stepping out onto the floor and scanning for PH-3. As she reaches the door, it is whipped open, revealing the middle-aged, blonde fashionista.

“You have some nerve,” Gia Vincent says.

“I need your help,” Rosie says. “And so does my husband.”

“Get in here before anyone sees you.”

Rosie steps into the impressive penthouse unit. Views of New York stretch as far as the eye can see, though the sky is moody today.

“I need to know what you know about Loretta Ragan,” Rosie tells her.

“Yes, you’ve mentioned her name in every single phone call you’ve harassed me with for the past week. What are you expecting me to tell you?”

“How you know her, and what she wanted you to do at Objection,” Rosie says, folding her arms as she awaits Gia’s response.

—–

“You’ve hardly touched your Fruity Pebbles donut,” Landon Esco remarks.

Travis Fisher, seated on the sofa in the apartment that the two men used to share, looks up dolefully.

“Sorry,” he says.

“I can get you a different one. What do you want? Golden Grahams?”

Travis regards the donut in front of him as if it might hold the answer to some ancient mystery. “I don’t have much of an appetite. Sorry. I appreciate you getting them.”

“Thinking about… you know?” Landon lets one hand flitter off into the air, and that does all the explaining that he needs to do.

“I feel like I’m going crazy. I thought a weekend break would be nice. But every hour that goes by, the jury’s sitting with the D.A.’s story and I haven’t had a chance to defend myself.”

“You’ll be back in court tomorrow. Freaking out today isn’t gonna help.”

“Plus, Rosie’s off in New York. I should be with her.”

“You literally can’t leave town right now,” Landon says. “Bad look. She’ll be back when court resumes tomorrow.”

Travis runs a hand through his sandy blond hair. “She’s pregnant, and she’s flying all over the country to help me while I sit here like a useless piece of shit.”

“You are not a piece of shit, dude.”

“I feel like one.”

Landon rises from his seat in the recliner. “Hey. Stop that.”

“My pregnant wife is all the way across the country because I had to go and get myself arrested for murder. I don’t really feel like a peak specimen, you know?”

“Rosie is Rosie,” Landon says. “She does what she needs to do.”

“I don’t even get what she’s trying to do, totally,” Travis admits. “She thinks Gia Vincent was in cahoots with Loretta? And somehow that’s going to clear me?”

“It’s worth a shot, considering.”

“Considering what?”

Landon freezes, realizing he has gone a step too far.

“Landon!” Travis presses. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Okay, so,” Landon begins cautiously. “Conrad pulled a bunch of phone records to have your Aunt Sarah and I follow up on something… and Rosie kind of found out…”

Travis’s eyes widen. “Found out what?”

“That we were, uh… looking into her mom.”

“What? Her mom? Like, as the killer?”

“Kind of exactly that. Yeah.”

“So this is the lead Conrad wouldn’t tell us about,” Travis says with shock. “Why is Juanita even on your radar? What the hell?”

“Think about it,” Landon says. “Someone planted that vial of poison in your gym bag. As far as we can tell, it didn’t happen at the gym. It didn’t happen at the restaurant. But if your bag was in the house…”

Travis draws in a slow breath of realization and then flops back against the sofa. “What the hell? There’s no way.”

“We’re just digging. Seeing what we can find. We don’t have much… yet,” Landon explains.

“What do you have?”

“Some pings that place her kinda-sorta in the direction of the Ragan house that night. Nothing concrete. But Rosie came to check in with us, and she saw the phone records, and that’s when she decided to chase down Gia, I think.”

“Because now she’s trying to protect me and her mom.” Travis drops his head into his hands. “How does this keep getting worse?”

Landon takes a seat on the sofa beside his best friend. “I promise, it’s gonna get better. Soon.”

“I don’t even know how to believe that anymore,” Travis laments.

All Landon can do is clap a hand on Travis’s back supportively.

—–

Jason Fisher sits at the kitchen island, sipping on coffee. On the far side of the large granite slab, Sabrina Gage stands, preparing sandwiches for lunch.

“Do you want mustard?” she asks.

“Duh. As much as you can get on there.”

Sabrina winces. “I don’t get the mustard thing.” Nevertheless, she goes to the refrigerator and retrieves a squeeze bottle of the condiment.

“And I don’t get the mayo thing, but live and let live, right?” Jason teases.

She shrugs and resumes making the sandwiches. They both hear footsteps descending the stairs and walking toward the kitchen.

“I’m making some lunch,” Sabrina says. “Would you like a–“

She abruptly cuts off mid-question. Jason whips around, only to see Sophie Fisher standing there in a darker, more provocative version of her usual moody attire: a short black skirt, fishnet stockings, boots, and heavy eyeliner. Jason nearly chokes on his coffee.

“Uh, hi, Soph,” he says. “Where are you headed?”

“Out,” the teenager replies flatly.

Jason swivels around fully on his stool. “I’m going to need a few more details than that.”

“Just… shopping.”

“Dressed like that?”

“Dad, I’m 16, not six.”

He exhales. “And you’re 16, not 26. I don’t know if this is… appropriate.”

“Oh my god,” Sophie moans.

Sabrina steps around the island. “She’s a teenager. She needs to express herself. It’s harmless.”

Jason considers this for a moment. “This isn’t really your usual style,” he tells his daughter.

“People change,” Sophie says.

“I remember being a teenager,” Sabrina offers. “You try out different stuff. Sophie, I think you look… fun.”

Sophie regards her with an inscrutable look. “Fun?”

“I mean, I like that you express yourself through style.”

“Thanks,” Sophie says. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Make sure you’re home by 6:30,” Jason says. “Your grandma is coming for dinner.”

“Fine!” the teen answers, already on her way out of the house. Seconds later, the sound of the front door closing echoes through the house.

“I hope I didn’t overstep,” Sabrina says.

“No, you’re fine,” Jason replies. “She just… hasn’t seemed like herself lately, you know?”

Sabrina nods sympathetically, then adds, “She’s a teenager. Herself is about ten different people on any given day, from what I remember.”

“Okay, you’ve got a point there,” he says, returning his attention to his coffee. Still, something about his daughter’s extreme new look continues to gnaw at his mind.

—–

Outside the house, Sophie slips her arms into the black trench coat that she grabbed on her way out. She strides down the driveway toward the street, where there is a crosswalk only about 30 yards away. But as she walks, Sabrina’s words echo in her head:

“She needs to express herself. It’s harmless.”

“I like that you express yourself through style.”

“I like that you express yourself through style,” Sophie parrots aloud in an obnoxious voice. She folds her arms in front of her body as she moves down the sidewalk.

Then a haughty, self-satisfied cackle spills out of her throat — one that doesn’t quite sound like Sophie.

“She has no idea who she’s dealing with now,” she says. The image of the skates in her room — and their sharp, gleaming blades, one of which cut her finger just yesterday — comes roaring to the front of her consciousness. Lifting her hand, she looks at the band-aid covering the nick in her skin.

So sharp, she thinks to herself. Dangerous.

A grin spreads over her face as she continues walking.

—–

In the glass-enclosed penthouse, Gia folds her arms and studies Rosie carefully.

“Loretta Ragan?” she asks. “That woman who was murdered?”

“Yes.”

Gia gives a small, dismissive shrug. “I read about it online. Seems like Molly and her family can’t stay out of trouble, doesn’t it?”

“What do you know about Loretta?” Rosie presses.

“That she was some wicked old lady in King’s Bay who was killed. I don’t know. Is this a trick question?”

Rosie’s brow furrows. “Did you ever meet her?”

“No.”

“You never spoke to her? Did business with her?”

“No, no, no,” Gia says with exasperation, already tired of the interrogation. Rosie watches her carefully, searching for the slightest flicker of dishonesty. If Gia is lying, she must be very good at it.

“Then why,” Rosie asks, “was your former assistant arguing with Loretta at the moment that she dropped dead?”

Gia tosses her luxurious blonde hair over one shoulder. “Finn? Damned if I know. We didn’t have any contact after I got the boot from Objection. It isn’t like we were close.”

“But you hired him to be your assistant,” Rosie says. “The two of you conspired to oust Molly from the company.”

“I hired him because he gave me the… whole-field press? Full-court press? I don’t know. I don’t really do sports.” She waves a hand dismissively. “He hounded me until I agreed to hire him. I needed someone fast, and he’d been the receptionist there, so he knew the terrain. But if you’re suggesting I put him up to something — I had absolutely nothing to do with that Ragan woman.”

Rosie slowly begins to pace across the floor of the penthouse’s living room, her mind racing.

“So Finn was the one who was desperate to work for you,” she says. “Almost like he needed access.”

“That’s what everybody wants, isn’t it?” Gia pauses, thinking, then adds, “Access?”

Rosie nods slowly — but before she can respond, a sharp pain tears through her abdomen, stealing her breath for a second. She stiffens, her hand drifting toward the edge of the marble mantel for support.

“Are you all right?” Gia asks.

Rosie forces herself to straighten. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“My husband is on trial for murder. So ‘fine’ might be an overstatement. But I’ll be okay.”

Gia continues to watch her uncertainly. Under the burn of her gaze, Rosie forces herself to stand up straight.

“Thanks for speaking with me,” she says, pushing through the discomfort. She walks back toward the front door.

“Do you think Finn had some ulterior motive for wanting to work with me?” Gia asks.

Rosie turns back over her shoulder. “I plan to find out.”

With that, she opens the door and steps out of the apartment. She closes the door softly behind herself, then stands unmoving in the hallway for a long moment. Thoughts swirl inside her head: Finn pushed Gia to hire him. He wanted to be on the inside at Objection. And he was arguing with Loretta when she died.

“There’s something to this,” she says, setting her jaw with determination as she starts for the elevator.

—–

The knock sounds, and Landon skips to the apartment’s front door. Then he pauses, takes a deep breath, and puts on a composed face before opening it.

“M’lady,” he says with a smile. “You just missed Travis.”

“Really?” Tori Gray says as she steps inside. “I was hoping I’d catch him. I know this whole thing has to be… a lot.”

His face softens. “That’s one way to put it.”

A brief beat passes as they take one another in.

“But I’m glad you’re here,” Landon says as he lets her into the apartment.

“Is Lucy around?” she asks, glancing toward the back hallway.

He shakes his head. “Brunch shift. She won’t be back for a while.”

Tori nods slowly. “So… we have the place to ourselves.”

There is a shift in the air, somehow both subtle yet unmistakable. She steps closer to him.

He exhales. “Tori…”

She closes the remaining distance between them and kisses him. It is gentle at first — almost tentative — but it doesn’t stay that way for long.

“Travis is lucky to have you fighting for him,” she says.

“I’m doing my best.”

She kisses him again, deeper this time. His hands find her waist. Hers slide up to his shoulders. Urgency creeps in, the weight of everything unspoken finally giving way.

Landon pulls back, trying to catch his breath.

Tori looks up at him, her eyes searching his. “Do you want to…?”

He breathes hard. “Are PopTarts an incredible feat of science?”

She laughs. “Shut up.” She kisses him again. “Does that mean…”

“Yes, obviously.” He kisses her again and then grasps her hand. “Come on.”

He leads her into the bedroom, their bodies crashing together again as the door closes.

—–

Travis sits behind the steering wheel of his Honda, Tame Impala playing through the Bluetooth system as he waits for the light ahead to turn red. His body rocks lightly in time with the shuddering of the vehicle as it idles; unable to resist, he grabs his phone from the cup holder in the center and checks the screen.

No notifications.

He navigates to his contacts, and his finger lingers over Rosie’s name, but he stops before placing the call. He knows that she is in New York doing something that she believes will help his case, and he is hardly in a position to distract her or demand updates. With a sigh, he taps the icon to send her a message instead.

Phone in his lap, eyes flitting between the phone and the traffic light ahead, his thumbs hammer out a message:

Hope everything’s going okay. I wish I could be there to help.

He hits send, then quickly adds a second message:

Call me before you board your flight back. Love you.

A honk from behind startles him. He looks up, realizes that the light ahead has turned green, and shoves the phone back into the cup holder as he steps on the gas.

—–

The elevator doors slide open, revealing the building’s sleek lobby. Rosie steps out, her pace brisk but controlled, focus locked forward.

“Have a good day, Ms. Jimenez,” the concierge calls out.

She lifts a hand in acknowledgement and even manages a grateful smile. He nods in response, and she continues on her way outside.

As she steps through the door, the wind hits her immediately — sharp, biting. The sky has darkened further, as clouds roll in over the city. Horns blare and engines grumble as traffic rolls past in fits and starts. Rosie pulls her coat tighter around her body as she steps to the sidewalk.

She lifts a hand to flag down a taxi.

“There’s something to all this,” she says to herself, determined not to waste a single second now. Might as well think through it while she waits. “Finn pushed his way in, got close to Gia, and–“

A sudden cramp cuts her off.

The pain is stronger this time — deeper, more insistent. She braces herself against a newspaper dispenser that looks like it has seen better days.

“Just breathe,” she mutters.

Then another wave hits. This one is sharper, and she clamps her eyes closed as if that might ward it off. A hand goes to her abdomen. Around her, the city keeps moving: people passing by, a taxi easing up to the curb, a person laughing into their phone as they hurry past. No one seems to notice.

She digs into her purse and fishes out her iPhone.

“Travis,” she says, but the cramps overtake her, and she feels the phone slipping from her grasp.

She hears it hit the ground, and then she hears a distant voice shout, “Ma’am! Are you okay?”

Before she can respond, everything fades out.

END OF EPISODE 1296

What is happening to Rosie?
Will Sophie try to hurt Sabrina?
How do you feel about Tori and Landon?
Talk about it all in the comments below!