“The maintenance logs for that boat disappeared the day after the crash,” Julian said. “My investigator found the mechanic who worked on it. He was paid fifty thousand dollars to leave the state.”

I reached out, my fingers brushing the cold paper of the police report.

“Are you saying…” My voice trailed off, the realization hitting me like a physical blow.

“I am saying your husband’s death was not an accident, Claire,” Julian said.

Before I could speak, the house phone on the bedside table began to flash.

The red light blinked rapidly, casting a bloody glow across the white sheets where Emma slept.

Julian walked over and picked up the receiver.

“Speak,” he said.

He listened, his face hardening into granite.

His eyes slowly drifted back to me, dark and unreadable.

“When did this happen?” Julian asked the caller.

“Ten minutes ago,” Julian said into the receiver.

He did not look at me.

His fingers tightened around the black plastic of the phone until his knuckles turned white.

“Keep the gates closed,” Julian said. “Do not let anyone past the guardhouse without my direct authorization.”