They held me overnight, my cheek aching, my bones heavy as I sat in the cell, wondering if I had really fucked it up this time. I used my call to phone Maggie, asked her to take care of Dusty. Praying I would get to see him again soon.

And after twenty-four hours, my prayer had come true. After twenty-four hours, they released me.

Two days ago, McKnight had, once again, come by my cottage. He returned the items they’d taken from my house, my laptop included. Then he told me that after receiving confirmation from Mass Mutual that Vera had tried to cash in an extremely large insurance policy on John, after the knife had come back with my prints, as well as hers, after they’d discovered some disturbing journal entries on Vera’s laptop dating from after she heard about the rumors, they’d released Sam Alby and charged Vera, posthumously, with John’s death.

They wouldn’t be pressing charges against me – for the plot, or for the altercation with Vera. My story had checked out, consistent with Vera’s autopsy and the forensics on the knife, and Maggie had even spoken to McKnight on my behalf, telling him that Vera had been lashing out, threatening me, ever since John died. It wasn’t exactly true, but he didn’t have to know that; I had a feeling that Maggie was only protecting me from people she thought could hurt me, just like she would her own daughter.

Even so, McKnight had looked at me as if I were a teenager caught in the middle of a graduation prank gone wrong. ‘Next time someone tries to involve you in something illegal like this, run. You might not find yourself so lucky again.’

All week, while the police processed the scene of our altercation, I’d been nervous, waiting for them to find the note John had left me, for Rachel’s photos of him to turn up. Vera had taken them – obviously – but I didn’t know what she’d done with them. Yet McKnight didn’t mention them. It seemed, against all odds, that I was safe.

I walked to the bathroom and examined my bruise in the mirror. It was yellowing already, would begin to fade soon. I dabbed on a bit of Dermablend, then grabbed my purse and leashed up Dusty. When Rachel had called yesterday, inviting me and Dusty over for an afternoon glass of wine, I’d accepted without hesitation. I had no one left, and I was eager for company, eager to speak to someone who’d known Vera and John, who was, in some way, a witness to all this.