The drive home was unusually quiet.
Clara sat beside Arthur, staring at the anonymous messages on her phone.
Ask your mother what she was holding when she left your father's study that night.
The words had been repeating in her mind ever since she received them.
Whoever had sent the messages knew something about Edward's final hours.
And they wanted Clara to doubt Eleanor.
Arthur glanced at her.
"You're going to keep staring at that phone until it confesses?"
Clara looked up.
"Unfortunately, it seems to be the only witness willing to communicate."
"Then perhaps we should question a more useful witness."
"Mother?"
He nodded.
Clara sighed.
"I don't want to interrogate her."
"You're not interrogating her. You're asking her to tell you the truth."
"Those two things can sound remarkably similar when the person being questioned is your mother."
Arthur reached for her hand.
"Then let me ask the questions."
Clara looked at him.
"And what if she refuses to answer?"
