“No,” I lied, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. “I don’t know anyone like that. But I will have my husband call you as soon as he gets home.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll leave my direct extension with you.”

I wrote down the number on a scrap of paper from Claire’s desk.

My fingers were stiff and cold.

“We appreciate your help, Mrs. Vance,” he said.

“Of course,” I said, and hung up the phone.

The silence returned to the house, heavier and more suffocating than before.

I stood there for a long moment, staring at the black receiver.

Rose was dead, and she had died with Richard’s name in her pocket.

I couldn’t let my grief or confusion paralyze me now.

I had to know the truth about Claire.

I turned back to the vanity table and picked up the pink hairbrush again.

Carefully, using my fingertips, I pulled several long, dark strands of hair from the bristles.

I placed them inside the third small plastic baggie and sealed it tight.

I walked downstairs to the kitchen, my boots clicking softly on the hardwood.