Carly, in the last year or so, was only beginning to appreciate that her mother might be beautiful. In that final hour, after the entire group watched and rewatched the video together, the hard set to her mother’s jaw, her flush, and the careful mask of composure managed to light her face and posture like a work of art on display. The image of her, incandescent and restrained, convinced Carly to look at her mother in the way the other people, all men at the moment, must see her. Donna Liddell was lovely. And she was furious, but you’d have to be well versed in her usual expression to notice.

As the police finished getting what they needed for all that came next, Carly watched their eyes—helpless, not predatory—drawn over and again to her mother’s face, her glittering eyes and tight, full-lipped smile. And Carly saw they didn’t get it, but her stepfather did.

She noted the chain of appraisal: John, when he wasn’t casting measuring glances at Donna’s pointed avoidance of him, was watching the other men watch his wife. He didn’t look jealous, though, which surprised Carly. He seemed worried, but more in the way of a juggler. As if one too many bowling pins were flying around, and maybe someone just tossed in a carving knife. He looked as if he were doing hard math.

John saw the last cop to the door. He closed it behind the lieutenant, whom he watched through the side window all the way down the driveway. Carly stood next to her mother at the back of the foyer. The room was oriented around the two of them as they faced John nearly to the angle of how it appeared in the video. Carly looked over her shoulder for the camera.

At the turn of the wall was a motion sensor tucked into the corner, pointing toward the front door and the hall table with the painting over it, where they all stopped on the way in and out of the house for their keys and sunglasses. He’d put in a system that turned on the lights when you walked through the house. That’s what he’d explained to them. The camera had to be somewhere near it, or even in it, maybe. Her eyes roamed the smooth span of wall, crown molding, and baseboard. None of it hinted at anywhere else it might be. Carly moved to her mother’s right side, more out of its path.

John turned around from the door like someone who didn’t want to.

He didn’t try to hide that he was drawing in a big preparatory breath. “Okay. There’s a lot to talk about, but let’s try to keep things in perspective.”

“Really?” said Donna. “That’s where you want to start? You sure about that?”

“Donna, listen—”