“Yes, you are.” Now, Aunt Olivia didn’t sound pleasant at all. Her voice was low enough that I wondered if John David had been hiding under the bed in order to get audio as good as he had. Either that, or he’d purchased some pretty high-tech spy equipment off the internet. “It’s one thing for you to have your fun between the sheets, though I confess that I’ve always found your choice of paramour rather… odd.”

“Don’t you dare talk to me about Ana.”

My gaze darted from the phone back up to Lily. Her dark brown eyes were intent and smoldering. She wouldn’t—maybe couldn’t—look at me.

“You’ve been giving her money. And I’m stupid—so stupid—that I didn’t know it until now.”

“You’re very, very stupid,” J.D. said, his voice every bit as low as his wife’s. “And you don’t get to say a word to me about any money that I might or might not have given to Ana.”

After that, the audio cut out. Lily still wouldn’t look at me. I sat down beside her on the bed, my own mind reeling.

“She knew, Sawyer.” Lily shook her head, like that might make what she was saying less true, like she was waiting for me to tell her that she was jumping to conclusions, when she very clearly wasn’t. “Mama already knew about Ana, and she didn’t care.”

How much of the anguish Lily had been through in the past two weeks was out of guilt, for what we’d discovered? For the fact that because of us, her mother had learned the truth, too?

“She cared that he was paying her.” I said that so that Lily didn’t have to.

“I thought . . .” Lily didn’t finish that sentence. Instead, she scrolled through the audio files and selected another one to play.

“I want a divorce.” This time, there were no clues on the tape about where the conversation was taking place—or where John David might have been hidden when his father issued that statement.

“Of course you do.” Aunt Olivia didn’t sound particularly fussed. “But, J.D., honey, we can’t always get what we want. Some of us take our commitments seriously. Some of us don’t make promises unless we’re dead set on keeping them.”

I had a feeling—a very vague one—that there might have been more than one meaning to those words. Her husband’s next statement did nothing to weaken that particular bit of intuition.

“Let me go. Olivia, please . . .”

“Nice manners from a man who’s cheating on his wife.” She’d taken the gloves off more quickly this time.

The second she did, he lost it, at low volume. “You blackmailed me into marrying you in the first place!”