I tapped the open page of the journal.

“And these are the actual prescriptions signed by Dr. Evans.”

I pointed to the discrepancy.

“You were giving her triple the sedative dosage on days the lawyers were scheduled to visit.”

The color began to drain from Patricia’s manicured cheeks.

Her fingers twitched against her skirt.

“That is ridiculous,” she muttered.

“It’s elder abuse,” I said. “And depending on the autopsy review, it might be worse.”

She stared at the handwritten notes.

Her breathing became shallow, her chest rising and falling beneath her cashmere sweater.

“The cook had no right to spy on me,” she whispered.

“The cook loved my mother,” I said. “And she knew something was wrong.”

Patricia reached out to touch the papers, but I pulled them back, out of her reach.

“These are copies,” I said. “The originals are already with Thomas Bell.”

The mention of Thomas’s name made her flinch.

She knew Thomas wouldn’t hesitate to take this to the district attorney.

“Claire, let’s not be dramatic,” she said, her voice wavering.

“Dramatic?” I asked. “You drugged her to keep her from changing her will.”