Mom picks a stray sock off the floor, piling it into the washing basket tucked under her arm. "Jonathan's coming for dinner tonight, Kitty."

"Oh, my God!" I say, tearing away from the mirror, where I had been watching as I smoothed out every hair with a brush. "When did he get back?"

"Last night," Mom says, leaning on the door frame, "He said visiting us was his priority at the moment; considering the guilt he's feeling and all."

"I can't believe this," I say, my eyes lighting up, "do you think we'll finally know who did it?"

Mom sighs, scanning the room for anymore laundry I've carelessly left behind, "You know these cases take a while to solve. Besides, if the team doesn't find any evidence..."

I hang my head, dropping my brush onto the counter where it lands with a loud clang. "We'll never know who killed Dad."

Mom walks out the door, sighing, "Perhaps not, Kitty; perhaps not."

The school day flies by; but I ignore everything around me, as if it's a blur; as if I'm in a coma. I can't wait until tonight and the return of Jonathan Seymour.

When the last school bell rings, I perk up and start paying attention to my surroundings.

The walk home seems quicker than usual, my heart pounding at the prospect of finally seeing Jonathan after all these months, and the fact that Dad's case will soon be reopened.

When I walk through the door, Mom's already chopping celery and carrots in a furious frenzy.

"Kitty! Hurry! Jonathan's going to be here in half an hour!" she announces, her face dripping in painful onion tears.

I smile before going upstairs to get changed. I throw on a strapped emerald dress with a midi-length skirt and large slit and quickly braid my hair into a loose side plait.

"KITTY! SAM!" Mom calls from downstairs, as I hear her open the oven, "I need your help!" Her heels click across the tiled floor, and I make my way down to help.

"Throw on an apron and stir that," Mom says, frantic. Her brown-blonde hair still perfectly curled and in place. Her make-up is perfect, aside from her furrowed brows and stressed lines on her forehead. She checks the clock. "He'll be here any minute," she stresses.

I stir my designated pot as the doorbell rings, echoing through the house. Mom pats her hair down, but it's sprayed with so much hairspray, it really makes no difference.

"Get those out in five minutes," she says, gesturing to the little rolls of garlic bread.

"SAM!" she yells up the staircase  as she walks to the front door.  "For heaven's sake, get down here!"

I hear her open the door, and picture her smile; the same big grin plastered all over the Eastmore bus stations advertising her Real Estate Agency.

"Jon!" I hear the faint sound of her peck on his cheek and a tap on his back. "It's been forever, hasn't it?"

"Michelle! How are you? How are the kids?" says Jon's rough, gravelly voice.

Mom 's heels begin clicking towards me and I stir the pot more vigorously; nervous as Mom and Jonathan come into the kitchen.

"Kitty! Look at you!" says Jonathan coming into view. He's in his mid-forties with dark hair speckled with grey, with dark rough salt-and-pepper stubble. His eyes are dark; a scary balance between soft and kind and dark and reckless. He has wrinkles around the edges of his eyes are up his forehead.  He used to be an alcoholic, before he turned his life around, joining the police force; something I had always looked up to him for. He had be best friends with my Dad since high school, and they would do anything for each other...which made Jonathan dropping Dad's case suspicious.

I tear of my apron, and meekly put my arms around him as we embrace. "Oh, you're all so grown up," he smiles, the edges of his eyes crinkling.

"It's only been seven months," I laugh, "where's Debra?"

Jonathan's face falls and Mom gives me a knowing look. Jon clears his throat, "Um...Debra and I split up."

I'm shocked, Debra and Jonathan had been married for twenty years. Despite my itching to ask why, I just say, "Oh, I'm so sorry."

Jonathan doesn't have a chance to reply, as Sam finally makes his way down the stairs; sporting tan pants a linen shirt and ruffled hair.

"Hey!" he said, seeing Jonathan, and reaching out to shake his hand. I take the garlic bread out of the oven, as Mom invites us to sit down.

I take my place and nervously place a cold linen napkin across my lap. Awkwardly, I grapple for my cutlery, dropping my fork which clangs loudly on the floor. Blushing, I pick it up, watching as Mom, Sam and Jonathan stare.

Mom clears her throat and passes around the garlic bread. "Garlic bread, Jonathan?"

As we bite into the crunchy garlic bread; butter oozing in our mouths, Mom attempts to strike up a conversation. "So, uh, how was Hawaii, Jonathan?"

Jonathan wipes the corners of his mouth with a crisply starched napkin. "Renewing; refilling; refreshing," he says; his eyes have a far-off look. "But Debra left on two weeks in," he face falls, "So I set off on a spiritual journey without her."

I roll my eyes internally, they're letting a man who went on a spiritual journey lead my Dad's murder case?

Fed up of his nonsense, I'm direct. "So, what do you know about Dad's case."

Mom gives me a warning look and even Sam eyes me strangely.

Jonathan puts down his cutlery and shifts around on his seat; sitting up abruptly. "I'm sorry, Kitty; we haven't found anything."

I stare him down; deep into his dark eyes which seem cold. "Nothing?" I challenge. "All those months and absolutely NOTHING?"

Jonathan shifts his gaze uncomfortably, "No. No leads."

The pressure of Dad's murder and Aster's disappearence build up inside me, and I jab my knife into the cutlet of chicken on my plate. I stand up, defiantly as Mom and Sam watch in horror. "No fingerprints? No suspects? No cars? Number plates?"

Jonathan stays quiet, and Mom speaks up. "I think you should go to your room, Kitty."

I trudge up the stairs, but Jonathan follows me up the first few steps. He stares me in the eyes, before I go, his cold hand wrapped around my wrist sending unwanted shivers up my spine "No, Katherine, we've found nothing. You need to be careful and you need to watch your tongue. Not everyone likes a defiant young girl."