“Who was the lawyer?” I asked.

“A man named Harrison,” he said, not meeting my eyes. “He passed away ten years ago, Evelyn. It’s over. It’s done.”

He walked back to the counter and picked up his tea, but his hand shook so badly the liquid sloshed over the rim.

“We are a family,” he said, staring into the dark liquid. “We raised a beautiful, happy daughter. That is what matters.”

I looked at him, really looked at him, and noticed the way his gaze shifted toward the hallway.

Just beyond the kitchen was his private study, the room he always kept locked.

He had always told me he kept his private client files in there, sensitive financial documents from his accounting firm.

“Is Rose still in contact with you?” I asked.

“No,” he said immediately.

His answer came too fast, too practiced.

“She moved away years ago,” he added, setting the mug down again. “I haven’t heard from her since Claire was an infant.”

I felt the folded piece of paper in my coat pocket, the address Rose had given me.