They tested the dough she'd kneaded for the wrappers. They tested the filling she'd chopped and seasoned by hand. They tested the finished dumplings, every single one—checked and screened for poison.

"Well? Find anything?"

The forensic analyst shook his head.

"No trace of any toxic substance."

"These are perfectly normal dumplings."

A young task force member named Justin Dickerson suddenly lifted his head and fixed me with a cold stare.

"Deborah. You'd better come clean."

"Why does your mother insist on making dumplings every single time?"

That was something I'd been wondering myself. I pulled my mom over so she could explain.

My mom slapped her thigh, her face a mask of bitter grievance.

"Officers, you have to understand—this is just how things are done where we come from."

"Especially when a daughter's boyfriend visits for the first time. The mother always makes dumplings by hand. It's tradition."

"And with the holidays right around the corner, every family makes dumplings. Every single one."

"It's been this way for as long as I can remember. So how could... how could my daughter's boyfriend just..." Her voice cracked. "Lord have mercy."

But Justin Dickerson from the task force kept his eyes locked on me, refusing to look away.

"Maybe there's a more sophisticated method of poisoning we haven't considered."

The color drained from my face. I opened my mouth, ready to defend myself.

But before I could get a word out, Chief Finch spoke up for me.

"Dickerson, the probability of that is virtually zero."

"Didn't you hear what the coroner just said?"

"There were no signs of poisoning in the victim's body whatsoever. He didn't die from poisoning."

The task force members shook their heads in frustration.

"So we can rule that out. This has nothing to do with the dumplings your mother made."

I couldn't help muttering under my breath.

"Besides, I ate them too."

My mom loved making dumplings more than anything. And before those three boyfriends died, I used to love eating them too.

This time, though, I'd been so anxious about something happening to Richard that my appetite was shot. I'd barely touched them.

But my mom had eaten two full bowls without hesitation.

If there had been anything wrong with those dumplings, how could the two of us still be sitting here, perfectly fine?

One by one, every theory was shot down.