He’ll be fine. I have other things to worry about than hurting my driver’s feelings. Besides, how dare he doubt my facts, my truths. This is my story, my family, not his. He’s a Lyft driver. I shake my head and clear my thoughts as I step into Dr. Rosenthal’s office. Later, I will question Josh again. He has more information that can help me.

But first, Dr. Rosenthal needs to be enlightened.

23

3:15 p.m.

Dr. Rosenthal stares across her desk, taking in my new facts. I’ve tried to weave a story from what Sandy and Josh have told me, and what they didn’t. I lean forward in the La-Z-Boy. I didn’t even extend the footrest today.

“I’m afraid Betsy may have killed her sister.” I say it with a shaking voice.

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?” I’m tired of people saying no to me.

I try to imagine the scene. The Point is majestic, but it’s illegal to hike there because the ground at the edge of the cliff is so unstable. In the spring, giant coreopsis invade the typically barren land, bursting with bright yellow. The legal part of the hike circles the point, a fair distance away from the coast. But toward the end, as you near the ocean, you can hear the roar of waves, and you stop at the Hiking Trail Closed. Danger. sign nailed to a post blocking the path. The coroner’s estimate is that Mary fell just before sunset.

“Jane. Talk to me.”

I blink and look at Dr. Rosenthal. I say, “Betsy could have been there with her sister, perhaps they went to the park, maybe so Betsy could introduce Mary to Bo. I’m almost certain that was Betsy’s agenda. I can see them, walking together along the path, quickly jumping the fence warning them of danger while encouraging Cash to do the same. I imagine their conversation was intense, a hushed disagreement, making them unaware of their surroundings.”

“Sisters hike together all the time. It’s normal. Your girls are normal.” Dr. Rosenthal leans forward. Is she trying to stop me?

“I wonder, what were they talking about? Was Mary threatening to tell us about Betsy’s new boyfriend? Did Betsy push her over the edge in a fit of rage?”

“Jane. Stop. I need you to listen to me,” Dr. Rosenthal commands.

I blink. I’m listening.

“You cannot accuse Betsy of this. Mary died of a tragic accident. End of story.”

I shake my head no. “I got another note. Yesterday. The note said Betsy knows more than she’s telling us.”

“Who could be doing this to you, to her?” Dr. Rosenthal looks concerned. Her brows knit together, lips purse. “I mean, it has been a year since Mary died. Why now?”