A woman sat in the passenger seat.
Her face was partly obscured by a scarf.
Mom leaned closer.
Then suddenly gripped my arm.
“Emma…”
“What?”
“That's Agnes.”
I stared at the photograph.
The woman's face was difficult to see.
“Mom, are you sure?”
“Look at her hands.”
I frowned.
Mom pointed toward the woman's left wrist.
She wore a wide silver bracelet with a distinctive flower clasp.
“Agnes's husband gave her that bracelet on their fortieth anniversary. She never took it off.”
Detective Ortiz wrote something down.
“When was this photograph taken?” Mom asked.
The detective hesitated.
“Eight days ago.”
My mother covered her mouth.
Agnes had supposedly been dead for more than a month.
Yet someone who looked like her had been photographed entering a care facility eight days earlier.
I felt cold.
Was Agnes another victim whose death had been falsified—or was something even stranger happening?
The next day, Helen Parker agreed to speak with me after her caseworker and the detective confirmed she was comfortable receiving a visitor.
