Rebecca’s voice hardened.
“You hit her.”
Cordelia shook her head.
“She attacked me.”
“You hit her with the fireplace poker.”
“No.”
“You called me afterward.”
Cordelia went completely still.
Rebecca’s eyes burned.
“You forgot that, didn’t you?”
Flynn looked horrified.
Rebecca continued.
“You called the number Eleanor had given you for me.
You thought she had told me where the microfilm was.”
Cordelia’s breathing quickened.
“You confessed because you believed I was dying.”
“No.”
“You told me Malcolm helped you bury her.”
“No.”
Rebecca reached inside her coat.
Not for a weapon.
For a small recorder.
“Everett kept the tape.”
Cordelia collapsed.
Actually collapsed.
Her knees hit the grass.
And for the first time, the woman who had spent decades controlling everyone around her had nothing left to say.
Police excavated the rose garden the next morning.
I did not watch.
I sat on the dock wrapped in Grandfather’s old coat while Rebecca sat beside me.
