Ethel rang the doorbell. She stepped off the front porch so that she had a view of Davie’s window. The closed blinds parted and the boy peeked between them. Ethel smiled and waved. The blinds snapped shut.

The front door opened. Susan stood wearing the same clothes as the day before, as if time had stopped for her.

“Ethel.” She spoke the name flatly without either enthusiasm or annoyance.

“I apologize for our unexpected arrival. To be truthful, I wanted to have a conversation outside of Bradshaw and the agency.”

Susan nodded, and then looked at Jesse.

“This is Jesse Cooper,” Ethel explained. “He’s a grad student who is helping me. He’s also my double-first-cousin twice-removed.”

The specifics of the relationship made no impression on Susan. She simply stepped back and allowed them to enter. They followed her into the living room, and Susan and Ethel took their same positions on the sofa while Jesse stood awkwardly, holding his computer backpack by his side.

“Did your sister come?” Ethel asked.

“Not yet. I expect her shortly. When I heard the doorbell, I thought it was her.”

“I wouldn’t have come if it weren’t important.”

“Have they found out who killed Johnny?”

“Not yet.” Ethel looked up at Jesse, who was still unsure whether to take a seat or not. “Is Davie here?”

“Yes. He’s dealing with his father’s death as best he can.”

“Do you think it would be okay if Jesse saw his room? Keep Davie occupied so he doesn’t overhear us?”

“He’s uncomfortable with strangers, but if I walk Jesse back and introduce him, he’ll probably be all right. Especially since his room is a safe, familiar environment.”

“Good,” Ethel said. “I’ll wait here.”

As soon as Jesse and Susan left, Ethel pulled her cell phone from the front pocket of her pantsuit and activated her recording app. Then she slipped the phone back in place. The layer of fabric might muffle the conversation, but it would be intelligible.

Within a few minutes, Susan returned. As she sat beside Ethel, she asked, “Now, what’s so important?”

“First, let me say I’m doing my own investigation into your husband’s death. Not that I don’t trust the service. I just want to make sure I get the full story and its context.”

Susan’s forehead furrowed. “Why would you think you’d not get the full story?”

“Because you’re not telling me the full story.”

Blood rushed to the other woman’s face. She managed to sputter, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“When we showed up at your door yesterday, and you realized something serious had happened, you said, ‘Please tell me he didn’t take his own life.’ Not ‘What’s happened?’ or ‘Has Johnny been killed?’ but an immediate fear that Jonathan had committed suicide. Why would you think that?”

Susan looked away. “I don’t know. I just did.”