No, dear, it’s how could you? I close the door to muffle the ridiculous accusations. I mean, come on. Who are you going to believe? A teenage almost runaway with tattoos and nose piercings or me? A girl who has always been jealous of her prettier, smarter and more accomplished older sister? It’s so hard when you aren’t the favorite daughter, I’m sure. Of course, you wouldn’t believe her, but you would believe a poor grieving mother suffering from complicated grief who gave everything she had to her daughters to assure their happy home.

I peek into the back of the squad car. Poor Betsy can’t open the door from the inside, and David’s side is closed, too. Both of them are trapped, pointing at me, hugging each other.

Detective Branson hits the side of the squad car and it pulls out from the curb. Roll the credits. A drone shot starts on the back of the squad car and turns to a quick close-up of my sad face, flies into a wide shot, taking in the high school, the seniors turning back to the celebration at hand, and then higher over the coastline and the ocean, finally passing over Point Park and fading to black.

Great flick.

“Let’s head over to the station, Mrs. Harris. I know this must be so hard for you.” Alan turns to me and sees a mom who’s now lost two daughters, a gorgeous woman in a tight dress, standing all alone at the curb.

I sigh, wipe the pretend tear from under my eye. “I’m just in shock.”

“You told me there was more to the story, that note proved it. Turns out you were right. How’d you know?” Branson studies me, a little too closely. “I mean, had you seen her painting? That was really disturbing.”

“No, that was the first time I’d seen it.” The truth. I step back from him. “A mother’s instinct, I suppose. I just didn’t want to believe the truth, even when it was right in front of me.”

“It happens. Well, let’s go. Um, Bo, you’re coming with us?” Detective Branson hurries across the street to his unmarked nondescript car. I slide into the front seat. Bo can ride in the back like the criminal he is.

I blink my eyes and feel the same attraction shoot between us from a year ago. I have him right where I want him. How wonderful. I give him the gift of my warmest smile. “Thank you, for driving me, Alan.” Behind me I hear Bo on his phone. I don’t know who he’s speaking with, but he should be careful. Branson is listening, and so am I.

We drive in comfortable silence, except for Bo’s “uh-huh, uh-huh,” until we pull up to the police station.