“Wendy, go to them now. Tell them what you told me. You had drinks and dinner before Calvo was murdered. So what? That doesn’t prove a thing. And the authorities will be able to track Kerns a lot easier than I will.”

“I wish I felt as sure of that as you do. But I’m going to wait a little longer.”

“A little? You have daughters who need you here. And Mom and Dad aren’t stupid. They know something’s going on. Then there’s your husband.”

“How are Noelle and Holly?”

“Christmas is coming.”

She moved on, as if that was of no consequence. “You sound doubtful? I’m sorry, but you have to trust me.”

Too many things she’d said just barely held together. Did I owe her my trust? Did the lifetime bond of sisterhood mean I had to take everything at face value?

“I trust you, Wendy,” I said at last. “But I’m realizing I don’t know you very well. In some ways we’re strangers, aren’t we? I’ve been looking through your old scrapbooks. I wasn’t here yet to share those memories with you. And the only person I can talk to about you is Mom. I’m just trying to put all this together.”

“Really? You think the past will help you do that?”

She didn’t sound angry. She sounded surprised but also pleased, as if she thought a closer look at her childhood and adolescence might cure me of doubts.

“Talk to my old friends,” she said. “I think one of them is assistant principal at Seabank High now. Her name’s Claire. I don’t know her married name. She and I were in drama club together. Maybe others are around, too. I’ve been too busy to reach out. But if you don’t trust your own memories of me, ask them for theirs.”

My mother had mentioned the assistant principal, too. Whatever I decided, I was sure I needed more information. I concentrated on that, shelving the larger questions. “How were Kerns and the doctor connected? You really can’t remember?”

“I was mentally weighing whether it might be worth coming back to the resort as an official representative of Gracey Group. I guess I missed a lot of the conversation from that point on.”

“If you think of something, you’ll let me know. Because I’m at a dead end here.”

“How’s Dad?”

She won a point for asking. “He’s progressing about the way you’d expect.”

“Take care of all of them.” Three beeps and the call was over.

I put the phone back in my pocket before I looked at Sophie. “What do you think?”

“I think your sister’s story has as many holes as a wool sweater in a trunk filled with moths.”

I admired the simile while wondering if she was right. “Like?”

“Nothing she said, not one bit of it, would be worth pulling a disappearing act. The police might question her about dinner with the doctor, but why would they suspect her of murder? Did anybody see her going into his room? Were her fingerprints there? On the gun? Is there any record she and Calvo might have known each other to help establish a motive? And did you notice she never named the so-called employee who invited her to visit and then conveniently didn’t show up? She didn’t even say what the woman did there.”