I hunted for Vera’s laptop, an old MacBook Air she used mainly for email that she kept tucked away next to her art books on the bottom shelf of the coffee table in the living room.

When I didn’t find it there, I checked everywhere: her bedroom, littered with dirty clothes, unwashed sheets; the office, packed with books but free of loose papers; even the spare bedroom, filled with John’s things. It was only when I was back downstairs that I realized it: The police had taken my laptop. They might have taken hers as well.

I had to focus. Who knew how much time I had? I walked toward the armoire, opening its drawers, where she’d once tucked away those notes from Sam, that photo of her, John, and Rachel.

In the top drawer, I found it, the picture frame I’d nearly sat on that night. I grabbed the velvet backing and flipped it over.

Breath caught in my throat. The photo was marked, thick Sharpie over Rachel’s face, turning Vera’s once friend into nothing more than a black hole, like she’d never even existed.

I took a few steps back, my heart racing. This didn’t mean anything. She didn’t like Rachel; I knew that.

I put the frame away and returned to the kitchen, gazing again at the junk drawer, the key that had been stored there, ready to use whenever she wanted.

I imagined Vera, manic, blacking out Rachel’s face. The anger I’d seen at Platform only a few nights ago. What if that was only the tip of the iceberg?

What if Vera hated Rachel not because she didn’t believe John, but because she was the one who exposed to her who her husband really was?

What if she hated John even more?

Frantically, I began searching through her mail, picking through West Elm catalogs and credit card offers, a padded yellow envelope, until two words caught my eye. ‘Mass Mutual.’

A life insurance company. A letter addressed to Vera Abernathy.

With shaking fingers, I tore it open: A collection of papers, seven or eight of them. Near the top, it read, in formal, bureaucratic type:

This letter is to inform you that your claim is under review.

I flipped more pages, hungry for details. On the last page, I found it, the information about the policy. It was, indeed, a life insurance policy, taken out on John, to the tune of three million dollars. It was purchased six months ago, right around when the rumors had started, and it was a large policy – unusually so. Could this have just been one more step in her plan?

Or was I being paranoid? They were married – and in bad financial straits. Was it so crazy she’d take out a policy on him? But why six months ago, exactly? And why for so much?