Sixty Minutes Until She Dies

When my father died of cyanide poisoning six years ago, I didn't hesitate. I had Brenda Gable—the live-in housekeeper who had managed our kitchen and his medications for over a decade—arrested on the spot.

My husband, Preston Brooks, looked at me like I’d lost my mind.

Preston was Boston’s golden-boy trial attorney, the kind of partner whose face ended up on the covers of legal journals. He insisted Brenda was innocent. Brenda had helped raise him in his family’s rambling home outside Brookline after his mother died; she was family, he claimed, practically a saint.