“Who is Clara Thomas?” I asked.

My voice wasn’t loud, but it was clear.

The woman beside my mother smiled awkwardly, looking between the two of us.

My mother’s face did not crumble immediately, but her eyes locked onto mine.

The tight, youthful skin around her mouth twitched.

“Excuse us for just a moment, Evelyn,” my mother said to her friend.

Evelyn nodded and quickly slipped away toward the bar.

My mother grabbed my elbow, her grip surprisingly tight.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, her breath smelling of white wine and mint. “This is your sister’s birthday. Don’t start this now.”

“Who is Clara Thomas, Mom?” I repeated, pulling my arm out of her grasp.

She looked around the patio, her eyes darting to see if anyone was watching.

“I don’t know who you are talking about,” she said.

“Detective Miller just called me,” I said. “He found the second insurance policy on the old house. The one taken out two weeks before the fire.”

My mother’s hand went to her collarbone, her fingers clutching her pearl necklace.