I took Montrose to West Gray and made my way to Sally’s. The house rose behind a giant lawn with a walk that led straight from the curb to the front door. Before Danielle, I’d never met anybody who lived in River Oaks. Their house was a medium-sized mansion with a gray stone façade. As a kid I was dazzled by it. The rooms appeared to multiply, another and then another; I couldn’t retain the whole floor plan in my mind at once. A housekeeper came every day and kept the kitchen stocked with artisan breads, nice cheeses, and olives. The fridge always contained fancy leftovers from some catered party—duck quesadillas, wilted kale, smoked salmon. I wore Danielle’s clothes, which the housekeeper washed and hung in the closet. I loved the food and how clean everything was. The art on the walls cost a fortune.

Now Sally answered my knock in stocking feet, no jacket, her blouse tucked into her suit skirt.

“Thanks for stopping by, sweetie,” she said. “Come on in.”

The house looked the same as I remembered it: huge and clean, a little sterile. And way too big for one person. How did Sally feel, moving around in her expensive house, alone? I handed her the bouquet.

“Oh, they’re lovely, Charlotte,” she said. “I’ll get a vase. Can I offer you a drink? I’m having wine.”

“Sure,” I said. I could use it.

“Sit down.”

She gestured into the adjacent parlor, furnished with antiques and a woven rug that matched the drapes. Danielle and I had never spent time in this room. We hung out by the pool, mostly, and upstairs. Sally returned with the wine bottle and handed me a glass. She sat opposite me in a wing chair, the coffee table between us. Her toenails were painted a red that showed through her stockings. For some reason the toes bothered me. It was too intimate, seeing her without shoes, like she was half naked.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, and grimaced at the cliché.

“Well, you lost her, too,” Sally said. “It’s a difficult time.”

“Yes,” I said.

I wanted to gulp my wine but I wasn’t sure she’d refill it. I sipped it, replacing my glass on the coaster.

“I’m glad you came,” she said. “There are a couple of issues we need to discuss.”

I wondered if she wanted the money back. I didn’t have it all; I’d spent a lot on drinks.

“Charlotte,” she said, “how did this happen?”

“I have no idea.”

“You must know something. Who did this, Charlotte? Who did this to her? She’s dead now, you can tell me.”

“Why are you asking me?”

“You girls always kept secrets from me. I’m not an idiot. She must have brought this on herself.”

I gaped at her, heard the disgust in her tone. She hated Danielle, even dead. She always had.

“I deserve to know the truth,” she said. “I’m her mother.”

“No,” I said, louder than I meant to. “I don’t know what happened, I wasn’t involved.”