Detective Lena Ortiz did not rush people.
She stood near the center of Evelyn's living room, hands relaxed at her sides, gaze unblinking, as if patience itself were a tactic. The silence stretched—not uncomfortable, but intentional. It was the kind of quiet meant to invite mistakes.
Evelyn had learned long ago how to survive silence.
She busied herself with small, harmless motions. Straightening the edge of the rug. Aligning a coaster on the table. Movements that suggested cooperation, not fear.
"Would you like some coffee?" Evelyn asked.
Ortiz shook her head. "I'm fine."
Evelyn nodded and sat on the arm of the sofa instead, careful not to look like she was retreating. "You said Daniel's death may not have been an accident."
"Yes."
The word was clipped. Controlled.
Evelyn folded her hands in her lap. "The police told me there was no evidence of foul play."
"At the time," Ortiz replied. "That assessment has changed."
Evelyn raised her eyes slowly. "Why?"
Ortiz stepped closer to the coffee table, where a framed photograph of Evelyn and Daniel sat face down. Evelyn noticed the detective glance at it before speaking.
"We recovered a second vehicle's paint transfer from the crash site," Ortiz said. "It didn't match Daniel's car. It also wasn't there when first responders arrived."
Evelyn's chest tightened. "You're saying someone went back."
"I'm saying someone interfered."
Evelyn absorbed that in silence.
Ortiz continued, "Your husband had been withdrawing large sums of money in cash. He met with a private investigator. And he kept a phone no one knew about."
Evelyn let out a quiet breath. "Daniel was afraid."
"Yes," Ortiz agreed. "And people don't usually die accidentally when they're afraid of something specific."
Evelyn's gaze drifted to the study door again.
"Mara Ellison," she said.
Ortiz nodded once. "We believe your husband was involved in her disappearance."
Evelyn felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. "Involved how?"
"That's what we're trying to determine."
"And you think I know something."
"I think," Ortiz said carefully, "that widows often know more than they admit. Sometimes to protect the dead. Sometimes to protect themselves."
Evelyn smiled faintly. "You think I'm lying."
Ortiz didn't smile back. "I think you're choosing your words very carefully."
They held each other's gaze.
Evelyn broke it first.
"I found the phone hidden in Daniel's things," she said. "I didn't know about it before."
"Did you recognize the woman on the lock screen?"
"No."
Another truth that sounded like a lie.
Ortiz reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a folded photograph, setting it on the table between them. "Take a look."
Evelyn unfolded it.
It was Mara Ellison. The same woman from the phone, but this image was different—less guarded. A candid smile. A life frozen mid-moment.
"She worked for a financial consulting firm," Ortiz said. "Junior analyst. She and your husband crossed paths professionally."
Evelyn studied the photo, noting details she'd missed before. The slight tilt of Mara's head. The determination in her eyes.
"She doesn't look like someone who would disappear willingly," Evelyn said.
"No," Ortiz agreed. "She doesn't."
The detective collected the photo and slipped it away. "One more thing," she added. "We traced a burner number that contacted your husband frequently."
Evelyn's pulse thudded.
"The last message sent from that number was after Daniel's death," Ortiz said. "To his hidden phone."
Evelyn did not respond.
Ortiz watched her carefully. "Mrs. Cross, someone believes you're involved."
The word hung between them like a blade.
"I loved my husband," Evelyn said quietly.
"I don't doubt that," Ortiz replied. "But love doesn't preclude harm."
Evelyn stood. "Detective, if Daniel did something terrible, I want the truth as much as you do."
Ortiz nodded. "Then you'll let us keep the phone."
Evelyn hesitated just long enough to register.
"Yes," she said. "Of course."
She went to the kitchen and retrieved the device. Her fingers lingered on its edges before she placed it in Ortiz's open palm.
Ortiz's grip was firm.
"If you remember anything else," the detective said, "call me."
Evelyn nodded.
At the door, Ortiz paused. "Mrs. Cross?"
"Yes?"
"Who else knows about the phone?"
Evelyn met her eyes. "No one."
That was the lie.
Ortiz studied her for a moment longer, then left.
---
The house felt hollow after the detective's departure.
Evelyn locked the door and rested her forehead against it, counting her breaths. Her reflection stared back at her in the glass—composed, controlled, fractured.
She crossed to the study and reopened the folder.
Mara Ellison.
The name echoed.
Daniel had tried to save her. Or silence her. Or both.
Evelyn sank into the desk chair and pulled one document free. It was a handwritten note, Daniel's pen digging hard into the paper.
She won't stop digging.
If she talks, everything falls apart.
I can fix this.
Evelyn closed her eyes.
He hadn't fixed anything.
Her gaze shifted to the desk drawer. Slowly, she opened it.
Inside lay a small silver key.
Her key.
She lifted it, the metal cool against her skin.
Daniel hadn't known she'd kept it.
Hadn't known she'd used it once, on a night she pretended never happened.
Evelyn stood and moved to the hallway closet. At the back, behind winter coats and old boxes, was a narrow metal cabinet she hadn't opened in months.
She unlocked it.
Inside sat a duffel bag.
She unzipped it carefully.
Cash. Neatly bundled.
A bloodstained scarf.
And a passport.
Mara Ellison.
Evelyn swallowed hard.
The promise hadn't been to Daniel.
It had been to Mara.
I'll help you disappear, Evelyn had said.
But you can never come back.
Evelyn closed the bag.
The last lie wasn't that Daniel was innocent.
The last lie was that Evelyn was.