EPISODE 377
Written by: Bre L Drew
January 24, 2026
Last Time on Town and Country
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After the hostage situation, Jolene and Tricia stay at the rectory with Thora and Presley as things settle.
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Ernest arrives on police business to question Jolene and Tricia about Wade’s death, despite their insistence that it was self-defense.
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Louise voices her discomfort with Sean’s continued involvement in Tricia’s life, while Sean insists his concern is purely supportive, further straining their relationship.
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Each year, the Saunders family and close friends gather for their annual Christmas tree trimming celebration.
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Although Will is now with Martha, a strong and unresolved bond still exists between him and Emma.
RADCLIFFE POLICE DEPARTMENT
Jolene Wood loses track of time, though she instinctively knows it hasn’t been more than twenty minutes as she sits at the table in the interrogation room at the Radcliffe Police Department. Out of the blue, she and her daughter were brought in by Ernest—of all people—the one guy she thought was on their side. They had been staying with Thora and Presley McKnight after the whole ordeal of being held hostage by her husband, which resulted in Jolene taking his life by shooting him. After all the years of abuse she suffered at his hands, it feels like he is still torturing her.
At the moment, however, she isn’t alone. Detective Hank Sorenson, who briskly introduced himself, sits across from her.
On the other side of the room is another man of Chinese descent, fiddling with technical equipment in the background, clearly wishing he were anywhere but in this cramped space with its horrible white and brownish-gray stucco walls. The thought makes Jolene want to tell him to join the club.
“Okay,” the detective says. He appears to be in his mid-forties, with dark golden-blond hair, wearing a button-down shirt, tie, and slacks. From certain angles, he might even pass for a Hollywood leading man.
He clears his throat. “Present in this interrogation is Detective Hank Sorenson, badge number seventy-two; recording technician Erik Lee; and the interviewee, Jolene Wood.”
Jolene can’t help but feel as if an invisible spotlight has been trained on her now, knowing she will have to explain what led her to take her husband’s life.
“On the date in question,” Sorenson asks, “what led up to the incident?”
At first, Jolene almost asks what he’s talking about, before realizing he means that day.
Uh… I woke up around eight-thirty,” she begins. She wonders if she’s saying too much, but the detective remains silent.
Seeing that he doesn’t interrupt, she presses on. “I woke up from a nightmare,” she adds. “About my husband… attacking me. And that’s when I realized I couldn’t keep feeling that way anymore.”
“Like I told you,” she continues, her voice tightening. “I had enough.”
Sorenson and the technician exchange a brief look before the detective asks, “Had enough of what?”
Before Jolene can answer, there’s a knock at the door. A uniformed officer opens it, allowing whoever is there to enter.
Moments later, Jes Choudhury steps into the interrogation room, briefcase in hand, wearing a wine-colored pantsuit. She doesn’t waste a second.
“Detective, you should know better than to conduct an interview without the interviewee’s counsel present.”
“Well, your client didn’t state she had a lawyer,” Sorenson replies evenly.
Jolene suddenly recalls Tricia insisting on hiring Jes after they were released from captivity.
“Well, she does now,” Jes says matter-of-factly. “And this line of questioning is postponed until I have a moment alone with my client.”
Sorenson and the technician exchange another look—here we go again—as the detective states aloud that the interview is terminated at 15:35.
The two men exit the room. Jes sets her briefcase on the table across from Jolene and folds her arms, studying her carefully.
“Okay, Jolene,” she says calmly. “Start from the beginning—right up until the moment you pulled the trigger.”
Ernest McKnight braces himself before entering his office, knowing exactly who occupies the space on the other side of the door. He steps into the mostly neat and organized room, his office as chief of police. Sitting across from his desk is Tricia Lockhart, who looks as though not only the weight of the world rests on her shoulders, but as if she has recently been held at gunpoint by her stepfather—because she has. Only days earlier. Now both she and her mother are being questioned for it, even though it was Wade who took things to that drastic place.
Ernest hands the young woman a paper cup of coffee, unsure whether she’ll accept it, knowing their last encounter at the rectory was less than receptive. Still, she takes it.
“How are you holding up?” Ernest asks.
Tricia lets out a hollow little laugh at the question. “Suppose I’m doing better than my mother. I mostly got off unscathed, but I don’t know how she’s going to handle all of this.”
The café manager had already been questioned by a uniformed officer and instructed to remain within the jurisdiction, as she may be questioned again. Even so, it’s obvious their primary interest is in her mother.
Ernest nods, understanding completely. Earlier, when he told them he would have to bring them down to the station, neither woman had been thrilled with him. As seriously as he takes his job, he knows what these women—especially Jolene—have endured.
Tricia exhales, a touch impatient now, before finally voicing what she’s been holding back.
“In your professional opinion,” she asks, “do you think there’s any chance she could go down for murdering that bastard?”
FRANKLIN FARM: MAIN HOUSE
Despite the holiday season wrapping up and most people having taken down their décor by now, the complete opposite can be said for the main house on Franklin Farm. A noble fir tree stands perfectly still and tall in the living room, vintage stockings hanging from the fireplace, while Chicago’s rendition of “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” plays through the soundbar. Festive rock rhythm echoes throughout the two-story home as this year’s annual Saunders Christmas tradition—though belated—of tree trimming is underway.
In the kitchen, Sarah Lynn Saunders leads the preparation of the food, as she has for as long as she can remember. This year, however, her granddaughter, Lenny Barker, helps out, currently peeling potatoes.
“How’s it going?” asks the older blonde, standing near the oven in one of her signature aprons.
“It’s going,” the younger blonde replies, working the peeler. “You know, I never realized how much work goes into this,” she says, referring to making a holiday dinner.
“That’s true—it’s a lot of work,” Sarah Lynn agrees, “but it’s always worth it in the end. Besides, I’d rather be in here than outside like your husband and SJ.”
Outside, the two toss a football back and forth in the cool air.
“I wonder if they need a third?” Lenny teases, drawing a laugh from her grandmother.
Just then, Will Jackson and Martha Saunders enter through the back door with bags of groceries through the kitchen.
“We did our best to get everything on your list,” Will says as he sets his bags down on the table, then helps Martha place hers beside them.
Martha removes her gloves and turns to her mother and niece. “You know how it is. This time of year, every other item is off the shelf and won’t be restocked until the new year.”
Sarah Lynn slowly begins unpacking the bags, checking items off in her head. “Thank you both for going out. I usually remember everything, but since we didn’t trim the tree on Christmas, I guess something was bound to slip, huh?”
“It’s all good,” Will says gently to the woman who once took him in when he had nowhere else to go after a falling-out with his mother years ago.
Lenny wipes her hands on a dish towel. “So… any of you interested in lending your services in here?”
Martha smiles at her niece and slips an arm around her shoulders. “There’s something you should know, Niecy of mine.”
“What’s that?”
“Once you live here, you automatically become part of the kitchen crew—which includes cooking,” Martha says, delivering the punchline with a grin that amuses both Will and her mother.
Lenny groans, tossing her head back in defeat. “I guess I walked right into that, huh?”
This time, Sarah Lynn offers encouragement. “You’re doing just fine, Lenny. It does my heart good to see three generations of Saunders women in this room—just as it should be.”
Will clears his throat deliberately. “Speaking of Saunders women... Is Courtney stoppin’ by?”
An uncomfortable silence settles over the kitchen—her absence lingering, unspoken but unmistakably felt.
It doesn’t take long for Will to seize the reprieve when the doorbell rings. Having just endured a less-than-warm reception inside, he makes a quick escape toward the front door, the one adorned with a neatly draped wreath.
When he opens it, he finds someone he hadn’t expected—though, given the family connection, her presence here today makes sense.
Emma Covington Laurent smiles lightly. “Aren’t you going to let me in, or should I just stand here like a younger, fitter Mrs. Claus?”
The heiress holds two impeccably large gift bags, brimming with presents.
“Oh—sorry,” Will says after a beat, regaining his composure as he steps aside and offers to take her coat, revealing a plaid turtleneck and black pants beneath.
Their hands brush—an instant charged with unspoken history and complicated emotion.
“Jackie boy parkin’ the car?” he asks, though Jacques has never exactly been his favorite person, for obvious reasons.
Emma sets the gift bags down near the growing pile beneath the tree. “Uh, not exactly. He’s dealing with a crisis at Covington.”
Will registers that there’s more behind her answer, but he doesn’t press.
Martha’s voice carries as she steps into the kitchen doorway. “Hey, you wanna lick the bowl?”
She rounds the corner—and stops short when she sees Emma.
Despite the low temperature, a light accumulation of snow covers the rural front yard of the farm, and the partly cloudy sky is unsure whether to snow or turn to rain. Louise Saunders Lockhart pulls her 2012 black Range Rover into park, the tires crunching routinely over gravel as she stops in front of the home she grew up in—and now helps run day to day as part of the farm’s business.
She and Tanner Lockhart step out of the truck, arms full of various bags, including desserts picked up from Jojo’s for the family gathering. They walk toward the house in silence, their footsteps the only sound, until Louise scans the porch and spots a familiar figure sitting on the swing, phone pressed to his ear.
“Hey, it’s me,” Sean Lockhart says into his iPhone. He arrived minutes earlier but paused outside to check in on Tricia, leaving a voicemail when she didn’t answer. “I know you probably don’t want to talk right now, but I just want you to know I’m thinking of your mother—and you too, Tricia. Bye.”
He sighs as he ends the call and looks up, unaware that his eldest daughter is only feet away—or that his first wife, and current partner, has clearly overheard the message.
“God… Louise… I was just—”
She doesn’t just look at him; she says it plainly. “It’s not the time or the place, okay?”
They had already talked earlier about his role in his ex-wife’s life, especially after she and her mother were recently held hostage by Jolene’s now-deceased husband, whom she shot in self-defense.
“Louise, I’m just being a concerned friend. That’s all. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Let’s just pause the emotional back-and-forth for the next few hours,” she replies, clearly tired of revisiting the same conversation.
Sean notices Tanner then, realizing she shouldn’t have to witness this again. “Hey, pretty princess,” he says gently. “We don’t mean to do this in front of you.”
Tanner nods. “It’s alright.”
Still, she can’t help seeing the parallels between her parents and herself and Tricia—between Tommy and Jordan— and it settles uneasily within her.
Louise watches them both, conflicted, caught between old feelings and the boundaries she’s trying to hold in the present.
RADCLIFFE POLICE DEPARTMENT
So, what are my mother’s chances?” Tricia repeats.
She and Ernest sit across from one another in his office as they wait for word on Jolene, who is being questioned by a detective.
Ernest taps his fingers on the top of the desk before speaking. “To be frank, it’s still too soon to tell. It depends on what the county prosecutor decides to do.”
Tricia grows frustrated with the legal explanations and interrupts, demanding, “What are her chances, damn it?”
The police chief remains patient. He’s dealt with outbursts from the public before, but he recognizes that hers is pain-driven—and justified.
“Look, Ernest says. “It’s not up to any of us whether charges are filed. That decision rests with the county prosecutor, who will likely conduct an investigation. That said, with Jolene’s history of abuse and the clear case of self-defense, I don’t think she’ll see the inside of a courtroom over this.”
Still, Tricia can’t shake the nagging feeling in her head as she tucks a strand of brown hair behind her ear.
“However,” she adds, “staying in a thirty-year marriage marked by domestic violence could raise questions about why she never left.”
“Well, the stats are out there,” he counters. “Most women stay in abusive marriages because of psychological trauma and fear. Besides, he held you two against your will for several hours and threatened you both multiple times.”
Ernest nods. "If your mother’s attorney does the job right, she’ll be okay.”
As they speak, Tricia’s phone vibrates. She looks down and sees a missed call from Sean.
Her expression shifts—another layer of emotional conflict added to the stress she’s already carrying.
“Are you going to be alright?” Ernest asks gently.
Tricia, exhausted and overwhelmed, doesn’t give a real answer.
Instead, she mutters, “Ask me again when all of this is over.”
FRANKLIN FARM: MAIN HOUSE
Trying her best to overcome the embarrassment of having blurted out something about licking the bowl of batter from the homemade blackberry jam cake her mother had been making in Emma’s presence, no less, Martha steps out toward her partner and her newly acquired aunt.
“Emma, I didn’t know you were already here,” Martha says.
Emma offers a polite but guarded smile. “Oh, don’t worry. Will was just keeping me company.”
The way she says it—and the look that accompanies it—doesn’t go unnoticed. Martha clocks how close the former couple still are, though she hardly needs the reminder, given that they also work together.
“Anyway,” Martha says quickly, shifting gears, “my mom and Lenny are in the kitchen. They could probably use another set of hands.”
Will lets out a laugh, already anticipating the answer, which makes Emma laugh as well.
“Good to know where they are,” Emma replies, “but I am so not a woman for the kitchen. Thanks anyway.” She turns to her ex, now firmly in the category of close friend. “I’m going to use the restroom. Be right back.”
With that, the businesswoman saunters up the staircase.
Sensing that Martha isn’t exactly thrilled by Emma’s presence, Will slips an arm around her. “It ain’t nothin’ you gotta be jealous about, okay?”
He presses a meaningful kiss to her forehead.
“Like you said,” Martha replies softly, letting herself relax into him, “it isn’t anything to be jealous about.”
From the stairs, Emma briefly witnesses the intimacy between them before continuing on to the restroom.
RADCLIFFE POLICE DEPARTMENT
Concurrently, back in the interrogation room, Jes has now had ample time to speak with Jolene thoroughly. Once satisfied, she allows Detective Sorenson and the technician back in. Jes remains seated beside her client as Sorenson returns to his place across the table, and the technician resumes his position near the equipment.
Sorenson restarts the protocol.
“Okay. The interview resumes at 16:20. Present in the room are Detective Hank Sorenson, badge number seventy-two; recording technician Erik Lee; attorney Jes Choudhury; and Jolene Wood. Mrs. Wood, please continue.”
Jolene sighs exasperatedly as Jes gives her an encouraging nod to keep going.
“I got ready to come here to file a restraining order,” Jolene says. “I spoke with your chief, Ernest McKnight. We talked…”
“About what?” Sorenson asks.
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Jolene shrugs slightly before continuing. “We talked the way friends do. He took me to get the restraining order, and afterward, we returned to his office to continue talking. Then… my daughter, Tricia Lockhart, called me. She didn’t sound like herself. Ernest told me to put the phone on speaker, and then my husband came on the line. He told me if I didn’t come back to the apartment, he’d hurt her.”
Sorenson raises a hand, pen between his fingers. “Did he use the word ‘hurt’?”
Jolene thinks the memory of the gun aimed at her daughter is clouding her thoughts. She shakes her head. “Not exactly. But it was implied. He’d threatened her before if I didn’t go back to Bakersfield with him.”
“Take us to when you arrived at the apartment,” Sorenson says, steering the interview forward.
“Ernest told me to stay put, but there was no way I was going to do that,” Jolene replies. “I called a cab and got there before you did. I used my key to get inside, and then—” She stops, fighting the tears rising in her eyes. Years of conditioning told her never to cry in front of Wade. She clears her throat. “I saw my daughter being held at gunpoint.
Wade threw me onto the couch. I tried to reason with him—talked about our past—but he was determined to keep us there. He said I betrayed him the most.”
She swallows hard. “Then Ernest and the officers arrived outside, along with my former son-in-law, Sean Lockhart. I don’t know… something in me shut down. I could see he was enjoying torturing us. Eventually, I found my voice again, and we went back and forth for a while.”
“How did you come into possession of the gun?” Sorenson asks.
“He had it pointed at Tricia,” Jolene says. “Then he tightened his grip on her, and the gun fell to the floor. I picked it up.
The next thing I knew, I was pointing it at him. He taunted me—said he’d always be in my head. And then I pulled the trigger.”
Her composure breaks as tears spill down her face. Jes watches closely, seeing the toll this retelling takes on her client.
“Did you plan this beforehand?” Sorenson asks, his tone shifting subtly. “Did you have any intention—premeditated—to kill him?”
Jes immediately swings into action. “On the grounds that this question may incriminate my client, I advise her that she does not have to answer.”
Despite that, Jolene slowly shakes her head and speaks anyway.
“No,” Jolene says firmly. “But I wasn’t going to let him hurt my daughter—or me—ever again.”
The technician briefly looks up, his expression one of empathy. Jes remains alert, protective.
“Detective,” Jes says evenly, “my client has fully cooperated. She has no prior criminal record, and this is clearly a case of self-defense. What steps are necessary to secure her release?”
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Sorenson pauses, weighing his options.
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END OF EPISODE
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ON THE NEXT EPISODE OF TOWN AND COUNTRY
​The holiday continues to bring the Saunders’ together.
Tricia advises Jordan.
Passion overcomes Jacques and Aaliyah.
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