“They called it a fall down the stone steps at the lake house,” Reeves said.

He laid the first photograph on the bedside table, right next to Emily’s water pitcher.

The image showed a young woman with dark hair, her face swollen and purpled by deep bruising.

“Clara Prescott,” I said, my voice flat, hardened by years of viewing casualty reports.

“The official coroner’s report listed the cause of death as a fractured skull consistent with an accidental fall,” Reeves said.

He flipped to the next document in the folder, his thumb smudging the edge of the paper.

“But these are the admitting scans from our emergency department before the Prescott lawyers arrived,” he whispered.

I leaned in closer, my eyes scanning the medical terminology.

“Subdural hematoma, fractured hyoid bone, defensive wounds on both forearms,” I read aloud.

“A broken hyoid bone doesn’t happen from falling down the stairs,” Reeves said.

“No,” I said. “It happens from strangulation.”

“Margaret Prescott arrived at the hospital three hours after Clara was admitted,” Reeves said, looking toward the door again.

“She didn’t come to grieve.”