“You don’t?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you suspect him.”
“I suspect Richard of anything now.”
My father had been in the hospital that morning.
He had kissed Rosie’s forehead before they took her upstairs.
He had called her his brave little girl.
Then he had left, saying he could not bear to watch his daughter suffer.
I remembered the way he had gripped Ben’s shoulder.
Take care of her.
Had it been a plea?
Or a warning?
“Where is he?” I asked.
“Probably at home.”
“Call the police.”
“We don’t have enough yet.”
“There’s a letter saying he murdered my mother.”
“A letter written by his daughter after reviewing evidence we haven’t secured.”
“What evidence?”
Ben looked down the hallway.
Then he lowered his voice.
“Inside your house.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Rosie hid something there.”
“Why my house?”
“Because Richard never visits without warning. She believed it was the safest place.”
