“Yes, sir,” Branson says as David Sr. shuffles to the door of the conference room.

They’re acting like Betsy’s mother isn’t standing right here. “I’ll be here for Betsy.” My father-in-law shakes his head and keeps walking. Branson shuts the door behind him and we’re alone. No doubt he’s been planning this all evening. It’s just me and Alan.

I bat my eyelashes and swing my leg so he can see my high heel, my thigh. Sharon Stone comes to mind. No, I’m not that naughty. “So tell me, what are you charging Betsy with? Is it involuntary manslaughter? Like a crime of passion thing? They were fighting a lot that week, my girls. It’s been tough their whole lives because Mary was good at everything she did and, well, poor Betsy. You can’t imagine how difficult it was raising the two of them, trying not to always point out Mary’s superiority. Betsy can be very hard to love. But I can’t believe Betsy took sibling rivalry this far.” I smile, but then tuck it away. This is serious stuff.

Branson says, “Josh told me you and Betsy fought a lot, too. And you and Mary argued. Josh said you weren’t very nice to the girls, from what he saw.”

He is such a weenie. “What? He didn’t even come to our house. I didn’t even know they’d broken up, that’s how much I saw him. He doesn’t know anything.” Oh, except, I can’t undermine Josh. “But he knows what he saw that day in the park.”

“Sort of,” Branson says. “Josh saw Betsy, consoled her on the trail, before she met Mary.”

I know that’s true, I saw them hugging on the trail.

“Mary showed up a little later. She had the dog with her,” he says.

Sounds right. “Yes. I know now she was trying to make Betsy break things off with Bo. Totally inappropriate relationship.”

“Yes, Betsy agrees her sister wanted her to stop seeing Bo.”

Mary was such a good girl. Except.

“Mary disobeyed you. She started a relationship with her birth mother, a relationship you forbade, is that true?”

Betsy is such a tattletale. “I was upset, yes. I’m Mary’s mother. Not that woman.”

“Were you in Point Park the day Mary died?” Branson looks at me.

I look up at the mirrored wall behind his head and wonder who else is watching. “Do I need an attorney? Are you accusing me of something? Can you get Mr. Jones over here? Who’s watching me from behind that mirror?”

Branson strums his fingers on the table. “Mr. Jones is Betsy’s attorney. You’ll need your own. Or you can just answer the question.”

“No. I told you I wasn’t at the park. I was home all day.” I swallow. I feel like he’s accusing me of something.