CHAPTER NINETEEN

I suppose that many will judge me when they hear that I read the notes that Sophie gives me. My only defense is that I don't read them for scandal's sake or to entertain myself with the struggles of another person. I read them so that I can understand what exactly might have precipitated the events of the night of Frederick's murder.

In any case, the notes are almost disappointingly mundane. Frederick shares his self-disgust at his infidelity and his fear that the children will lose respect for them if they find out. He expresses his concern that he and Olivia are already drifting apart, and his hope that he can repair their relationship in the future if only he's given the chance.

It gives me no information that I don't already possess, but I can easily see how Strauss might have used the information in these notes to threaten Frederick. The question I have is why would she have killed him? Could it be that he was planning to fire her once and for all? Perhaps he was ready to come clean to his family, and the confessions here no longer had any power over him. It could even be that he was ready to leave his family and didn't care anymore what they thought about him.

Of course, there's also the chance that the opposite is true, that the mental torture to which she subjected him might have been enough to prompt him to actually kill himself. In my book, that makes her just as culpable as if she pulled the trigger herself.

I now have to think of a reason to confront her. I need more than Sophie's testimony to bring this information to the police, and it would be easy for Strauss to claim that Sophie stole these notes and lied about her. If, however, I can record her confessing to the crime, then that would be more than enough. It's risky, but if I am patient, I can alleviate the risk. Strauss is still the family's therapist. I can wait for her to arrive at the house and corner her. If she tries to hurt me, I am surrounded by people who will protect me. Then, I can send that confession to the police and bring her to justice.

I am intelligent enough to understand that my plan is fairly thin. After all, she can simply not confess, and then I'll be left holding the bag with an enemy who is now aware of the threat I represent. But if I can get her to allow something to slip, then maybe I can get enough to bring her to justice.

I don't have long to wait, as it turns out. Frederick's memorial is scheduled for Friday, and Strauss arrives on Thursday—the day after I receive the notes from Sophie—to counsel the family. I wait patiently for her to finish her sessions, then confront her as she's preparing to leave. My phone is put on silent and recording in my pocket.

"You witch."

Not the most subtle opening, I know, but I'm caught up in the emotion of catching a murderer. Strauss looks at me for a moment, stunned. Then her eyes harden. "This is not an appropriate time to have a discussion about your own mental health. If you'd like to make an appointment, we can—"

I laugh, "You foolish, heartless, evil… the words I want to use are not proper for a lady."

"I've heard them all before," she says drily.

"I'm sure you have. Tell me, how do you sleep at night blackmailing a man who has shared the most vulnerable parts of his mind with you?"

She blinks. "What? What on Earth are you talking about?"

I triumphantly show her the folder. Her eyes snap to it and widen. "Where did you get those?"

"It doesn't matter," I reply. I don't want to risk getting Sophie caught up in this. "I know what you were doing. You were blackmailing him for money, or you were going to destroy his reputation with these confessions."

"You're delusional," she snaps.

She reaches for the folder, but I pull it back. "Am I? Is that why you poisoned his relationship with his children? His wife?"

She rolls her eyes. "Mary, honestly. Did you read those?"

"I'm aware of Frederick's philandering," I answer carefully, "but instead of helping him overcome his vices, you used them against him, and when you lost your leverage, you punished him by destroying his relationship with his family."

"You have completely lost touch with reality," she hisses. "I did no such thing! I encouraged Frederick to be honest. He followed that advice, and it was good advice. As for his relationship with his family, it was improving. Ethan was already learning to forgive him, and Catherine had softened her stance on divorce and custody. Olivia would have forgiven him too. They had a tough situation to navigate, but they would have gotten through it had he not died."

"So that's why you killed him."

She stares at me in amazement. "Oh my God. You really are deluded."

"Oh, I don't think so. See, if he was honest and his family was going to forgive him, you'd have no leverage over him at all. What happened? Did he threaten to expose you for the fraud that you are?"

She seizes the folder and tears it from my hands. I feel a rush of fear and step backwards, suddenly certain that she'll attack me. She doesn't, though. Instead, she says, "I don't have time to address every single ridiculous claim that you've made, but I'll address the accusation that I killed him."

"How?"

"It's quite simple. I couldn't have been there because I was in the theater talking with Olivia and Ethan when he died."

I stare at her for a moment. The record-scratch noise they use in old cartoons to indicate surprise comes absurdly to mind. Strauss notices my discomfiture and presses her newfound advantage. "Ask them, if you like. They'll tell you I was there. I wanted a moment to talk to them because I knew they probably felt left out while their parents hosted their party with a bunch of drunk strangers fornicating all over their house, so I visited them while you stepped out to grab more snacks. I planned on leaving when you returned since you clearly hate me so much, but you were gone a while. When Ethan asked why you were gone so long, I realized something was wrong and left the theater just in time to hear your scream from the boathouse."

I continue to stare without saying anything. I feel I should say something, but nothing comes to mind. If what Strauss says is true, and it's easily proven, then the rug has been pulled out of my entire understanding of the night of the crime.

But Sophie was so sure…

No. I can't blame Sophie for this. Not alone, at least. We both wanted to believe that we had found the answer to the murder, so we both latched onto this narrative.

And it's now unraveled entirely in my face.

"What you're doing, Mary, is projecting. You don't hate me. You don't hate therapists. You hate yourself. You feel guilty for what you did to Annie, so you—"

I'm not aware of my hand moving until I feel my palm stinging from the slap I've given Strauss. She cries out and stumbles backwards, staring at me in shock. I'm sure my expression is just as shocked as hers.

"Doctor Strauss?" Olivia's voice asks timidly. "Mary? Is everything okay?"

I turn to Olivia, who stands in the doorway and looks warily at us. I don't know what to say.

"Everything's fine," Strauss replies, controlling her voice. "I was simply telling Mary about our conversation in the theater the other night. I hope you don't mind. I thought she'd like to hear how much you and Ethan appreciated her, and I know it can be awkward to say that."

Olivia reddens and shuffles her feet. "Oh. Um, yeah. We were going to tell you when you got back, but…"

"That's all right," I manage, my voice hollow.

Dr. Strauss's hand is still covering her face. I imagine if she moved it, the welt from my blow would be visible to Olivia, which is why she keeps it covered. She gives me a thin smile and says, "I'll see you later, Mary."

She leaves, and Olivia asks, "Are you sure you're okay?"

I force a smile. "Fine. It's been a really trying week for everyone. I should ask how you're doing."

She shrugs. "I mean. It is what it is, right?"

"And what it is is terrible. It's all right to feel upset. It's all right to feel sad and angry. Don't stifle these emotions. Believe me, it's better to grieve now than to hold onto that feeling for the rest of your life."

Olivia nods. Then her lips start trembling. I open my arms, and she crosses the room to me.

I hold her while she weeps. Her shoulders shake with pain, and tears come to my own eyes. I feel guilty and embarrassed and angry with myself, but I put those feelings aside and simply comfort the young girl whose suffering is far worse than my own right now.