“TAKE THE PLATE AWAY. SHE’S NOT EATING UNTIL SHE APOLOGIZES,” MY BOSS’S FIANCÉE SAID TO HIS EIGHT-YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER—BUT I KNEW WHY THE LITTLE GIRL HAD BEEN HIDING BREAD IN HER SLEEVES.

The silence in the room was absolute.

I stared at the little yellow slip of paper resting on the mahogany table.

Vanessa snatched it up instantly, her hand moving like a striking snake, but it was too late. Daniel had already seen it.

“Give that to me,” Daniel demanded.

“It’s nothing,” Vanessa stammered, crushing the ticket in her fist. “It’s garbage, Daniel, just old receipts from a coat pocket—”

“I said give it to me!”

Daniel grabbed her wrist. He pried her fingers open and took the crumpled ticket. He smoothed it out against the table.

New York City to Boston. October 14th.

The night Claire’s car skidded off a rain-slicked bridge in Boston.

“You told me you were in Europe when Claire died,” Daniel said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You told me we met a year later in London.”

“I was!” Vanessa cried. “Daniel, please, you have to believe me. Someone is setting me up! Raina, tell him! She’s been sneaking around my room, hasn’t she?”

She pointed at me, desperate to shift the blame.

“Leave Raina out of this,” Beatrice said firmly. “This is your own web unspooling, Vanessa.”

But as Beatrice spoke, her voice faltered. She swayed on her feet.

“Grandma!” Ivy screamed.

Beatrice’s cane clattered to the floor. I lunged forward, catching the frail woman just before she hit the ground. Her skin was freezing cold, and her eyes rolled back.

“Call an ambulance!” Daniel yelled, dropping the ticket and dropping to his knees beside us.

I fumbled for my phone in my apron pocket, my hands shaking as I dialed 911. Ivy was sobbing, clutching her grandmother’s hand.

Vanessa stood frozen in her red dress, staring at the chaotic scene. She didn’t offer to help. She didn’t even look concerned. She looked like a woman calculating her next move.

As I laid Beatrice’s head gently on the rug, her fingers went slack.

A heavy, dark wooden rosary slipped from her palm.

But it wasn’t just a rosary. Tangled in the wooden beads was a small, torn corner of a photograph.

I pulled it free before Vanessa could see.

It was a piece of a photo showing a woman’s hand resting on a steering wheel. And on that wrist was the silver bracelet.