“My dead first husband,” Alice said.

I gasped, remembering something. “Jeremy Isaacs. Dan Isaacs’s son?” I pointed to Iris. “He set Dad up?” I was just guessing.

“Ms. Bailey, Miss Sitterly,” the agent said, “I think we need to talk.”

“Not without an attorney present!” I chimed in.

“Why?” Iris asked. “It’s not like we did anything wrong.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “Wait until Oliver gets here.”

“Oh!” Alice said. “I accidentally grabbed your phone this morning. I put it back in the pouch.”

I walked over to the leather pouch and retrieved my phone, hugging it to me, then dialed Oliver. When he answered, I said, “I have no idea what is going on, but you need to get to the mommune stat.”

“So does this mean my dad gets to come home?” Iris was asking.

I shushed her, suddenly noticing how incredibly pale Alice was. I sat down beside her and took her hand. “Alice?” She was trembling ever so slightly. “Iris, get Alice some water, please.”

Alice’s eyes were wide as she whispered, “I have mourned that man for almost twenty years. Is he honestly not even dead?” Tears rolled down her cheeks, and I held her to me.

Any notion I might have had that she was somehow involved in this calamity suddenly flew out the window. This was not a woman in on the scheme.

“Could you come back tomorrow?” I asked the agent. “I think I’d like to get her to bed.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Bill deserves to be free, and no one is going to have to wait on me to see that that happens.”

My turn to tear up. I wanted to ask Alice why she hadn’t told me about Bill and her money, but this obviously wasn’t the time.

“Mom,” Iris interrupted huffily. “Can I at least play my recording for the agent while we wait for Oliver? You’re going to want to hear this.” She crossed her arms and gave me that None of you would even be able to process oxygen into carbon dioxide were I not here look.

I gestured like, Be my guest.

And, as I listened, that tiny 1 percent of me that was afraid my husband was guilty floated away into the ether. He was innocent. He was going to come home. And I had a feisty fourteen-year-old to thank for all of it.

JUNIPER SHORES SOCIALITE

@junipershoressocialite

Sharing bad behavior and delicious drama in North Carolina’s most exclusive coastal zip code. DM with tips, pics, and juicy deets.

SEPTEMBER 17, 5:41 P.M.

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You didn’t hear it from me, but…

PIC 1: Well, the feds can’t get enough of the Sitterlys these days. But this time their visit just might spell freedom for our poor, falsely accused Bill. FBI, if our #freebill posts helped, drop an emoji in the comments. Juniper Shores Socialite: solving crimes—and crimes of fashion—since August.