Theo and I stared at each other for a wary moment. He nonchalantly adjusted one gold cuff link. Again, I could see the edge of the scar on his wrist. Caro didn’t confide much, but she’d told me he was covered in scars.

“You think the man she was seeing did . . . something to her?” Theo asked.

That answer was not on my bingo card. I’d expected him to downplay my suspicions, not invent a suspect. “What man?”

“Caroline wasn’t just out for a jog the morning she died,” Theo said. “We both know that, don’t we? She was meeting someone.”

His voice was quiet, but the words stabbed at my heart. He was actually accusing my dead sister of cheating on him.

“There was no other man,” I snapped. “She would never do that.”

“She wanted a divorce,” Theo shot back. “Why would she ask for that if no one else was involved?”

It was my turn to stare dully at him. Finally, I croaked out, “Divorce?”

A shadow crossed his face. “I thought perhaps you knew.” Theo turned his eyes to the window. “Caroline played everything close to the vest. She never really confided in anyone, did she?”

“When did this come up?”

“A couple of months ago,” Theo said.

“Did you agree to it?”

Theo’s answer was so quiet I almost missed it. “No.”

The car gave a jolt, and I realized we had crossed the broad, grand gates of Brooklyn’s Green-Wood Cemetery. It’s now or never, I told myself. There was no graceful way to do this.

“Maybe Caro wanted a divorce because she found out about your first wife,” I said.

“What did you say?”

“Is your first wife buried here in the Thraxton family plot?”

He glared at me without answering.

“You’re not denying she exists, are you?” My voice was getting louder.

He glanced at his watch and looked out the window. I wanted to grab him by the lapels of his expensive suit and shake him until the truth rattled loose out of his skull.

“Where’s your first wife buried, Theo?”

“How is that any of your business?”

The last shreds of any doubt fell away. My sister’s message wasn’t crazy. There had been a first Mrs. Theo Thraxton, even if that secret was lying in a cold grave.

“I don’t know, Theo. Caro’s dead. Your first wife is dead. Isn’t that what police call a pattern?”

In a heartbeat, the air between us froze into ice. I knew he’d never speak to me again. But that didn’t matter. He’d said enough.