My son brought his fiancée home for dinner — when she took off her coat, I recognized the necklace I buried 25 years ago.

A sick, cold understanding began to slide into place, but my mind fought it.

My brother had been at my mother’s funeral.

My brother had hugged me when I cried.

My brother had watched me place that necklace in the coffin.

Unless…

Unless I hadn’t.

I swallowed hard. “What did he look like?”

Richard described him in short, annoyed bursts—average height, graying hair, a quick smile, the kind of man who talked easily.

It fit.

Too well.

I forced myself to breathe through my nose.

I collected the photos slowly and slid them back into the envelope.

Richard watched me, wary. “What are you going to do?”

I stood.

“I’m going to talk to my brother,” I said.

Richard’s face tightened. “This has nothing to do with Claire.”

I paused, my anger sparking. “It has everything to do with Claire. My son is marrying your daughter. That necklace is going to sit at my table for the rest of my life unless I understand exactly what kind of poison brought it here.”

Richard flinched.

I moved toward the door.

“Mrs. Parker—” he started.

I turned, and my voice came quiet as a blade. “If you ever hang up on me again,” I said, “I’ll involve police and press and anyone else who might enjoy the story of a necklace stolen from a coffin.”

Richard’s face went pale.

I left without another word.

I drove to my brother’s house without stopping once.

My hands were so tight on the steering wheel my knuckles ached.

My thoughts ran wild, bouncing off each other like they were trapped in a box.

No.

It can’t be.

Dan wouldn’t.

But beneath those protests was a quieter voice, one that had always known my brother was capable of selfishness.

Dan had always been charming in the way people were charming when they wanted something. He’d always had an excuse. Always had a story. Always had a way of making you feel like you were overreacting.

When I pulled into his driveway, his TV was on loud enough that I could hear it through the closed windows.

I knocked.

He opened the door with a grin already loaded, like he’d been practicing it for years.

“Maureen!” he boomed. “Come in, come in.”

He pulled me into a hug before I could speak. His arms were warm. Familiar.

It made me want to shove him away.

“I’ve been meaning to call you,” Dan said brightly, releasing me just enough to look at my face. “Heard the good news about Will and his lovely lady. You must be over the moon, huh? When’s the wedding?”

I let him talk.

I stepped inside.

His house smelled like microwaved food and stale coffee. The TV blared in the living room. A pile of laundry sat unfolded on the couch.

Normal. Ordinary. My brother’s mess of a life.

Dan kept talking as he guided me into the kitchen, still performing the excited-uncle routine like it was muscle memory.