Like the puzzle of the invoice, pieces start to move in my mind, rearranging themselves into a new image. I thought I knew how the puzzle ended up . . . with Yvette Horne as the murderous poisoner of her husband.

But what if I’m wrong?

What if we’re all wrong?

My eyes narrow as the new image comes into focus. One that doesn’t have Yvette as a black widow—ugh, the hated nickname stings even as I use it for someone else.

Nor does the picture have Yvette and Sebastian in cahoots, two lovers removing a roadblock to their relationship. No, this latest picture has only one person on the puzzle box.

Sebastian.

“Yvette, you’ve been drinking the smoothies too?” I clarify before I get too far down this new path of thinking.

She sniffles. “Yeah, they’re gross and give me headaches, but they’re better than eating three pounds of broccoli a day.”

She says that as though someone said it to her and she’s quoting them. Perhaps Sebastian?

“Headaches?”

Sebastian gives me a piercing look, and though it physically hurts me to do so, I force my feet to move closer to Yvette and Sebastian. “May I?”

I hold out my hand to Yvette, and though she looks to Sebastian for permission first, she slips her hand into mine. I press on her fingers, feeling the coolness there. “Do you have any numbness or tingling?”

“I guess.” She shrugs. “But I’m no spring chicken either. That’s what happens when you get older—your joints are always sore, your back argues when you try to hop out of bed, and your belly is a little sensitive.”

Headaches? Sore joints? Upset stomach? Numbness and tingling? All signs of heavy metal poisoning.

“Yvette, you’re not old by any means. And even if you were, those are not normal signs of aging.” I’m baby stepping here, because I think I’m in worse danger than I thought. But so is Yvette, and she has no idea. I need to try a different angle to get more information and to get Yvette to see reason. “I’m sure Sebastian doesn’t think you’re old. Look at the way he looks at you,” I tease like we’re girlfriends who’ve escaped to the bathroom to discuss our cute dates.

Yvette looks up at Sebastian, and he cups her cheek gently, love and affection filling his eyes in an instant. “You don’t think I’m old, do you?”

“Of course not, Vettie. I can barely keep up with you, but I’m looking forward to trying my hardest.”

It sounds right—sweet and complimentary, reassuring Yvette that their age gap isn’t a problem. But when she looks back to me with a crushing school girl’s smile, Sebastian’s face goes blank, all adoration simply turning off like a switch.