“Shh, stop. No need to walk me to the door. Mrs. Kravitz is really cranky when I come home late. But I’ll see you tomorrow night.” I’d opened the gate to the yard, I’d made sure there wasn’t a lock earlier during my scouting missions. This wasn’t the first time I’d used “my” Brentwood home. I just had to hope none of the actual residents inside the complex would wake up and call the police. That happened once. I couldn’t let it happen again. Two months later, we were engaged. Newly funded, I’d had the staying power I needed to break through in Hollywood.

Until everything changed.

I feel Sam’s eyes on me. “It’s nice to see you smiling, Mrs. H.”

“Thank you. Sam, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude but I need to make a call.” I pull out my phone to search my contacts. There he is.

“Want me to pull over? Do you need privacy?” Sam asks.

Why isn’t everyone in the world like Sam? “No, it’s fine. I don’t mind if you hear. Just apologies for not giving you my full attention.”

“I drive for Lyft, Mrs. H. Most people forget I’m up here.”

I punch the contact number for Detective Branson. Shockingly, he answers on the second ring. I bet he didn’t check caller ID.

“Branson here.”

“Hello, Alan, it’s Jane Harris. Mary’s mother. How are you?”

Soft sigh. “Fine, ma’am. And you? I know you had the memorial service last night. We meant to make it by, but we got a call. My apologies.”

I don’t believe him, but I need him. “No problem. It was lovely. And, actually, enlightening.”

Big sigh. “How so, ma’am?”

“I got a clue. A letter. I need to show it to you. Proof Mary was murdered, killed. And Betsy knows something.” I know what you’re thinking. I’m overstating my case a tad. But you have to understand what I’ve been through with all of this, all of them.

“Someone admitted to murdering your daughter?”

I have his attention. “Yes. In a way.” In another way, not really, but it does say Mary’s death wasn’t an accident.

“I need to see that letter, ma’am. Should I swing by?” I hear him cuff his hand over the mouthpiece. I imagine him pulling out his thick day planner, slotting me in. “I can be over around noon.”

I take a deep breath. He believes me. “I’ll see you then. And, Alan, Detective, thank you for taking my call.”

“Of course, Mrs. Harris. You know I’m here to help. I’ll be anxious to see your proof.”

Sam’s eyes are big, and watching me.

“What?” I smile at him.

“You think your daughter was murdered? You have proof? You think Betsy knows something?”