Every lead was followed. Every coincidence ruled out. The investigators pursued every angle, documented everyone near the scene of Mary’s death. They even went as far as pushing a dummy of Mary’s height from the edge of the cliff, marking where it fell versus a dummy that slipped from the edge. The results were strikingly similar. In the end, the detectives decided Mary didn’t have any enemies, wasn’t suicidal and that it was a tragic accident. They were almost correct.

I start walking down the street, away from the ocean. If I walk through the park, through the tunnel, up the steep set of stairs, I’ll be home in ten minutes. I check the time. I could have Sam pick me up down here. He’s at my beck and call.

I text Sam from the park bench. As I wait for my ride I realize I need to talk to Josh again, without his mom. Whatever he knows, I will make him tell me. He’s a bit soft—I mean, he plays the piano, for heaven’s sake—but despite the politeness and the finger sandwiches, I can tell he’s also very angry. They say you can recognize yourself in others.

Sam pulls up to the curb and hops out to open my door. “Good afternoon, Mrs. H. I hope everything is okay. You usually don’t see the doctor twice in a week.”

He closes the door behind me and slips behind the wheel.

“I’m afraid everything isn’t fine.” I almost tell Sam about the latest note, but I don’t. It’s destroyed, like it didn’t exist.

Sam says, “Anything I can do to help? Want to talk about anything? Has something happened?”

Poor guy. It’s almost as if he thinks we are friends, confidants. Let’s see, well, there’s this. “My husband bought a house for his girlfriend.”

“Really? Wow.” Sam’s eyes are big, but fortunately glued to the road.

“And Betsy’s old boyfriend thinks Betsy pushed Mary off the cliff.” I shrug.

Sam pulls into the parking lot without saying a word. “Betsy didn’t hurt Mary. I’m sorry about your husband.”

“You don’t know anything. You’re a Lyft driver, for heaven’s sake,” I blurt before I can stop myself. My anger acting out again. Besides, he needs to remember his place, but I need him on my side for one more day. “Sorry.”

Sam opens my door, but he doesn’t make eye contact. And he doesn’t say a word as I walk toward the doctor’s office.