David stepped sideways.
Beth was standing behind him.
For several seconds, I couldn’t connect the woman in front of me with the same Beth who had texted me that morning about Megan’s papers as though we were arranging a family dinner.
Her face was pale.
She had removed the careful makeup she’d worn to the funeral, and her eyes looked swollen from a night without sleep.
I pushed my chair back.
“What is she doing here?”
Beth flinched.
David answered before she could.
“I told you not to tell Beth because yesterday I didn’t know whether Megan trusted her.
I didn’t know whether I could trust her either.”
I looked from him to Beth.
“And now you do?”
“Now,” he said, “I know she brought something Megan expected someone to eventually find.”
Beth swallowed.
“Laura, I know how this looks.”
“Do you?”
My voice was quieter than I expected.
That seemed to unsettle her more than shouting would have.
She reached toward her coat, then stopped when she saw me tense.
“It’s only my phone.”
“Put it on the table.”
She did.
David turned it facedown.
“You don’t need to trust her yet,” he said.
“Megan didn’t.
That’s important.”
Beth shut her eyes briefly.
“She had every reason not to.”
I looked at Megan’s note again.
Don’t trust anyone until you see what David shows you.
Not Mitchell.
Not Beth.
Anyone.
“Start talking,” I said.
Beth sat across from me, but she kept both hands visible on the table.
“Mitchell has been obsessed with Megan’s records for months.
I didn’t understand why at first.
He kept saying she was becoming paranoid about money, that she was checking accounts constantly, that she thought someone had been inside her files.”
David slid one of Megan’s printed emails toward me.
“She wasn’t paranoid.”
Beth nodded.
“I know that now.”
“When did you know?”
“Last night.”
I almost laughed.
“Convenient.”
“I deserve that.”
She looked down at her hands.
“After the funeral, Mitchell wouldn’t come to bed.
He kept going through boxes from Megan’s house.
He told me he was looking for estate documents.
Then he asked whether I’d seen any folders she might have kept somewhere else.”
The folder in front of me suddenly felt heavier.
“What kind of folders?”
“Hard copies.
