Several long, dark strands of hair were tangled in the bristles.

I began to pull them out, my hands shaking.

Suddenly, the quiet of the house was shattered.

The landline phone on her bedside table began to ring.

The sound was deafening in the empty room.

I froze, the hairbrush still in my hand.

The caller ID on the small screen started to flash.

It wasn’t Richard, and it wasn’t Rose.

It was a number I didn’t recognize, but the location under the digits made my blood run cold.

It was the county coroner’s office.

The phone rang a third time.

I let go of the pink hairbrush and stared at the flashing caller ID.

County Coroner.

My hand was shaking so badly I could barely grip the plastic receiver.

I lifted it to my ear.

“Hello?” I said.

My voice sounded small and hollow in Claire’s bedroom.

“Is this the residence of Richard Vance?” a man’s voice asked.

He sounded tired, his tone flat and clinical.

“Yes,” I said. “This is his wife, Evelyn.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, followed by the rustle of papers.