The fake happiness suffocated her. She raced from the room into the hallway that led to the office. Memories of Baines’s last day bombarded her as she slowed to small, halting steps.

She stood in the doorway and peered inside. In a small mercy, all signs of the bloodbath had been erased. It looked normal, as if a life hadn’t ended there in a flash of horror.

She forced her mind to concentrate. She breathed through the shudder running through her. Closed her eyes and tried to think like Baines. Where would he hide damning evidence? The police and forensic professionals had been all over the house, and they weren’t talking.

The safe in the bedroom seemed too obvious. She doubted the file cabinet held anything of any real interest. The police would have dumped those drawers into boxes and taken them out of the house along with all the computers anyway.

So . . . in books? In drawers? “Baines, give me a hint.”

She laughed at how ridiculous she sounded. He would love that he had her spinning in circles, questioning her sanity, and racing around after him. Any act that gave him power or shifted attention to him counted as a win.

“Asshole.” The word slipped out, but maybe that was a good sign. She’d spent years calling him that in her head or with her friends. This was the first time since finding his body she’d let her mind go there. “I will not grant you sainthood in death, my dear ex-husband.”

She looked at the framed photo of Kennedy on the table behind his desk. Photos and family . . . and in the next second her mind wandered back to that misplaced family photograph over the fireplace. He hadn’t asked for that in the divorce. She’d lost track of it, forgot about it, really, until five minutes ago.

Who kept a near-life-sized photo with their ex-spouse right there—boom—where it couldn’t be avoided?

She turned and walked back into the great room and stared the damn thing down. It looked . . . different. She studied the photo and, no, that was the same. The frame. It was bigger, maybe bulkier.

She slipped her fingers under the bottom edge. Nothing but smooth paper backing until . . . a bump. She peeked under but couldn’t see anything.

“Damn it, Baines. This is so needlessly dramatic.”

Keys. That’s all she had on her. She yanked them out of her pants pocket and poked through the brown paper. Trying to angle for some light while she balanced the heavy frame on her shoulder, she reached under and poked through the paper. Made a hole big enough to squeeze a finger in and heard the tear rip through the quiet room.

She thought she felt an envelope. She wriggled it out, ripping a bigger hole in the paper backing. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

She heard the footsteps behind her, but it was too late.