“You knew,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “You’ve known this whole time?”
“I found out three months ago,” I said, finally standing up from the folding chair. “Mom’s attorney contacted me after the estate settled. He sent me copies of everything. The new deed. The trust documents. And the investigation report.”
“Investigation?” Vanessa spoke for the first time. Her voice was higher, shriller than I remembered. She stepped onto the porch, tightening my robe around her. “What investigation?”
Richard smiled at her. It was a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. It was a shark’s smile.
“Mrs. Eleanor Mitchell hired a private investigator in the last year of her life,” Richard said, directing his attention to Vanessa. “She documented quite extensively the affair between Mr. Mitchell and yourself. We have dates. We have locations. We have the receipts from the hotel rooms charged to the joint account.”
He pulled out a third document, holding it up but not handing it over.
“We have photographs,” Richard said pleasantly. “Timestamped. Geotagged. Including the evening of March 3rd. That was the night Mr. Mitchell told his wife he was ‘working late’ to pay for her mother’s hospice care. In reality, he was at the downtown Marriott with you. That was the same night Mrs. Eleanor Mitchell fell in her bathroom, and Sarah had to call the ambulance alone because her husband wasn’t answering his phone.”
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the birds seemed to stop singing. The neighbors, still watching, were motionless.
Derek stumbled back, bumping into Vanessa. She flinched away from him as if he were radioactive.
