Nobody argued.
When she said, “Start with Clara’s,” my stomach dropped.
Then Adam found the necklace.
I stood in my doorway while they searched my drawers, my closet, the bottom of my wardrobe. Ethan hovered in the hall until Vanessa snapped, “Go to your room.”
Then Adam found the necklace.
My sewing basket. Beneath thread spools and an unfinished hem.
I stared at it. Then at him.
“No.”
He looked sick. Vanessa looked satisfied.
For a moment I thought 40 years might still mean something.
“I didn’t put that there,” I said.
Vanessa folded her arms. “Then how did it get there?”
I stepped toward Adam. “Check the hallway traffic. Check who had access. Search everything again.”
Vanessa said, “Poor people always envy what they can’t have.”
I ignored her. “Adam. Look at me.”
He did. For a moment I thought 40 years might still mean something.
The police walked me out through the front garden.
Instead he said, quietly, “If you won’t tell us the truth, Clara, I’ll have no choice.”
That was worse than if he had yelled.
Ethan said from the hall, “She didn’t do it.”
Vanessa turned so fast it almost made me flinch. “Upstairs. Now.”
The police walked me out through the front garden while the neighbors watched from behind hedges and curtains. I kept my back straight. Humiliation feeds on spectacle. I would not give it more.
