“That doesn’t mean anything.”
Claire’s eyes filled.
“You don’t understand.”
“What?”
Claire looked at Daniel.
Then at me.
Then back to Eleanor.
“Marcus left the house before sunrise.”
Daniel went still.
“Where did he say he was going?”
“He didn’t.”
She swallowed.
“And when he came back…”
Her hands began trembling.
“There was mud all over his shoes.”
Eleanor whispered, “Claire.”
But Claire wasn’t finished.
“He burned his coat.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“He what?”
“In the fireplace.”
Claire’s voice broke.
“He said coffee spilled on it.”
Daniel reached for his phone.
Then Claire grabbed Eleanor’s hand.
“There’s more.”
Eleanor stared at her.
“What?”
Claire pulled something from her purse.
A small envelope.
“I found this in his safe last week.”
She emptied its contents onto the conference table.
Photographs scattered across the polished wood.
Eleanor leaving restaurants.
Eleanor entering meetings.
