I pushed past her, traipsing into her living room, the heat of her woodstove hitting me all at once.

‘You should sit down,’ she said, gesturing to the sofa. ‘You’re still in shock.’

‘I was wrong,’ I said. ‘I was completely wrong.’

‘What do you mean?’ Vera asked, voice sharp. ‘What do you mean, you were wrong?’

‘Davis didn’t have a key.’

‘I know,’ she said, tugging at the bottom of her shirt. ‘Didn’t you see your window? That’s why I wanted you to report it. You need to get it on record.’

I walked away from her, began to pace her living room. It was messier, more cluttered, than I’d ever seen it before, as if she hadn’t so much as tried to put things back together after the police searched her house. ‘Listen to me,’ I said. ‘That doesn’t matter.’

Vera’s eyes widened. ‘Of course it matters.’

I shook my head. ‘No, I told you last night. I won’t. I can’t.’

‘But, Lucy –’

‘I know it’s my responsibility. I know I’m supposed to – believe me, I’ve told myself this a million times – but I won’t tell them this, I won’t have them put it down in writing. I won’t have my entire past combed through just to make a point.’

‘It’s not just to –’

‘It is, though. Listen. I thought somehow, some way, Davis got a key, made a copy of mine or something.’

She reached for the corner of an armchair, almost as if for balance. ‘I don’t understand. Why would you even think that?’

I sighed. ‘Things have been happening. My faucet was running. Dusty got out. And things are gone. That knife. My mom’s scarf. This –’ I paused, knowing I couldn’t tell her about the note. ‘It doesn’t matter. Someone’s been in there, I’m completely sure of that, and I thought it was Davis. I thought he’d killed John and wanted to frame me for the murder, but it wasn’t him.’

‘You’re in shock,’ Vera said. ‘You’re not thinking straight. Why would –’

‘Please, just listen. I called the real estate agent who’d set me up with this place, to see if anyone else had access.’

Her hands fell to her sides. ‘Jennifer Moon?’

Heat rose to my face, and a sudden anger bubbled within me, in a way it never had toward her. ‘You knew she was Sam’s wife? And Claire’s mom? Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I did,’ Vera said, placing a hand on her hip.

‘No, you didn’t,’ I said firmly. ‘Your archnemesis has access to my house – his wife keeps the keys in their home, she just told me – and you don’t think that’s information I should know?’