Small evidence. Domestic evidence. The kind people overlook because nothing looks dramatic enough from a distance.
“Mara,” I said, “why didn’t you come to me directly?”
She didn’t get defensive. That made it sting more.
“I tried twice,” she said. “Once before your Boston trip, but Vanessa answered your phone in the kitchen and said you were in a call. Once after dinner last week, but Lily started panicking when she saw me walking toward your study.”
I remembered that. I’d asked Lily why she was crying. She’d said she was tired.
I’d accepted that because it was easier.
Mara picked up the fallen towel basket and set it on the coffee table.
“The girls were afraid you’d think they were trying to ruin your relationship,” she said. “And after Miss Reed started talking about stolen things, I knew what she was building. If I accused her without proof, I was gone.”
