And then I know. Josh and Betsy broke up. The spell she had on him broke. So he wrote the first two notes. He repeated the same words just now at his home. He is trying to tell me to look at Betsy, to ask her more questions. He thinks she’s guilty. He has access to The Cove stationery. His dad is on the board. Did Betsy somehow keep him under her spell, leading him on until he came home from boarding school and learned the truth?

Despite myself, I feel a spark of pride. She’s my daughter. And then I realize something else. The third note really pissed me off. And I have no idea who it was from. It was on different paper, so maybe it was from Betsy, to throw me off.

All in all, it’s clear she is messing with me, even if she didn’t write the third note. I really hate that. Perhaps I’ve underestimated my younger daughter. But not anymore.

Dr. Rosenthal must have asked me a question, but I wasn’t listening. “Jane?”

And then I have another dawning. Who else besides Betsy would want to help throw me off track? Her boyfriend, Bo, that’s who. I smile at my brilliant detective work.

But my happiness doesn’t last long. Betsy is such a disappointment. I feel the emotions mix in the pit of my stomach, sadness and anger mixed. She’s trying to outsmart me. Silly girl.

Dr. Rosenthal is talking again. “Did you show both notes to David? These are real, right?”

I hate it when she doubts my lucidity. “Yes, of course they’re real. Betsy ripped one in half, in fact. Seems like the action of a guilty person.”

“Jane,” Dr. Rosenthal scolds me.

She thinks I’m imagining the notes. I understand why. She is accustomed to grieving, confused, despondent Jane. A woman suffering from “complicated grief” and all its many symptoms, well documented online and easy to research.

It is complicated. “I showed the first note to Betsy and David. They laughed at it, at me.” I shake my head.

“Why would they laugh at you?” Dr. Rosenthal drops her head so she can look at me without her readers.

“They always do. They gang up on me.” True. “But I think Betsy might have hurt her sister. She always was jealous of Mary’s success, Mary’s life. Mary was the favorite daughter, so it had to be hard. Betsy’s uncomfortable around me, like she’s hiding things. Betsy does know more and that’s why she had to make fun of the note.”

Dr. Rosenthal seems concerned, her fingers tap the desk. “You are accusing your daughter of murder?”

When you say it like that it’s so dramatic, so diabolical. “No, well, I don’t know anymore, I just know they were fighting just before Mary died.”