The room spun violently.
Dr.
Benson pushed me gently back.
“No.”
“I need the police.”
My mother grabbed my wrist.
“No.”
I looked at her.
She lowered her voice.
“Not yet.”
“My husband tried to bury me alive.”
“I know.”
“And Sabine—”
“I know what you heard.”
My breath caught.
“What I heard?”
My mother reached into her purse.
She removed her phone.
“When Julian said you moved, I turned on the recorder before I went near you.”
She tapped the screen.
Preston’s voice filled the room.
Faint.
Muffled.
But unmistakable.
The death certificate is already filed.
The insurance money will be released after the paperwork.
Then Sabine.
I was afraid she would notice the taste yesterday.
Then Preston.
I told you how much to put in.
My eyes closed.
Hearing it again was worse.
Dr.
Benson whispered, “Jesus.”
My mother stopped the recording.
“We have evidence.”
“Then why aren’t we at the police station?”
“Because Preston’s closest friend is Deputy Chief Nolan Weller.”
I knew that too.
They had grown up together.
Hunting trips.
Poker nights.
