“Wait,” Graham stammered, pointing at Marjorie. “You don’t understand. She set it up.”

Marjorie did not flinch, but her chin trembled slightly.

She looked at me, her eyes filled with a cold, ancient resentment.

“Your grandmother was a fool, Evelyn,” Marjorie said, her voice echoing in the quiet nave.

“Do not speak about my grandmother,” I said.

“She thought she could protect you with that trust,” Marjorie said. “But she didn’t know how deep the debts went.”

“Mother, stop,” Graham pleaded, his hands shaking as the detective moved closer.

“I did what was necessary to save this estate,” Marjorie said, her voice rising with a sudden, sharp intensity.

“You stole from a dead woman,” I said. “And you let your son slide the ring onto his mistress’s finger.”

Marjorie looked at the altar, a strange, bitter smile touching her lips.

“The ring was mine by right,” she whispered.

Before I could answer, the heavy wooden doors of the chapel entrance burst open once more.

The wind swept a flurry of rain into the back of the church.