Yes. Several things, but first: “It’s Betsy. I had a visit from Hoffman. He says she’s mixed up with the wrong crowd.”

David hands me an envelope. The Cove stationery again. “You may be right. This was in the mailbox.” He pushes his hand through his hair. One of his nervous habits.

“So now you believe me? I’m not the one writing these.”

“I do,” he says as I take the envelope from his hand and pull out the letter. Same block handwriting: BETSY KNOWS THE TRUTH. SHE WAS THERE. SO WAS I.

I look at David as I toss the letter onto the coffee table, as if it were on fire. “What does that mean?”

“Hell if I know.” David stands up, pacing. “Do you know who she’s hanging out with? Who is her best friend? Have you seen Josh lately? I mean, this is kind of your area with the girls. Really, your only job.”

Yes, it is. Was. Especially now, since you’re never here. Keeping track of the girls, their friends and boyfriends, has been my life. “I’ve been distracted by grief, as Dr. Rosenthal would tell you, if you cared. But I do know Josh and Betsy broke up.” I don’t admit I only found this out the other day.

“What happened?” David asks. “I liked him.”

I didn’t. “You’ll need to ask Betsy. There are a lot of things we need to ask Betsy about, it seems. Do you have any idea who could be leaving these notes?”

David stretches and yawns. “No. And what could Betsy possibly know about Mary’s accident?”

“I’m not sure.” But that’s not entirely true. Betsy knows more about the evening Mary disappeared than she has told us. I know it. Sisters have special bonds. Sometimes, even I wasn’t privy to their secrets. Of course, that’s normal, I’m told. Dr. Rosenthal says adult children should have privacy, their own space. But I don’t agree. There should be no secrets kept from your mother.

Stifling another yawn, David says, “Look, I know this is important. But I’m exhausted.”

I bet. He’s had a very busy day: an athletic morning followed by a relaxing romantic dinner and more, ah, romance, with just a smidge of work in between. Poor guy. Too bad. I know where he went after dinner. I was there, too, watching from outside. The Port Streets are lovely at night. Even I like it in that neighborhood, sitting inside my luxury car. It’s easy to blend in, to hide.

It’s almost as if I belong on that street, in one of these homes, in that home. David and I had considered buying a house there but we chose The Cove to be closer to the beach and the ocean. I guess David just wants to have his cake and eat it, too. Such bad karma.