Silence again. Maya and Tyler were pressed together at the shoulders, and Frank had one hand on his cane while the fingers of his other hand covered his lips. Justin leaned forward, elbows pressed to his knees, and rubbed his hands together. He cast a glance toward Frank, then stood.

“I know this was a long time ago, but . . .” He rubbed his forehead. “Regardless of the circumstances around it, technically a crime has just been confessed, so I’ll have to bring you both in and get everything—all the details—on record. And I need to talk to my lieutenant.”

“Justin.” Frank’s voice was quiet, and he spoke without turning toward his nephew. “Is that necessary?”

“I’m sorry, but it is.” Justin was firm.

“It’s okay,” Trudy said, her voice still ragged. “We’ll go. We don’t have anything to hide.” She stood and held her hand down to Violet. Violet grasped her sister’s hand and let Trudy pull her to her feet. She gave Violet’s hand a tender squeeze, and Violet’s heart swelled.

“You’re not going to handcuff us, are you?” she asked Justin.

His eyes grew wide. “No. No, that won’t be necessary. But if you don’t mind . . .” He gestured with his hand out toward the street. “I’ll drive you on down to the station.”

The bracelet in her hand tingled against her skin, and she turned toward Frank. “I’d like Frank to come too.”

Frank sat still, his gaze fixed on some unseen image on the floor in front of him. Violet stared at him, trying to fill every air molecule between them with the fullness and sincerity of her heart. When he finally lifted his head and returned her gaze, she saw it for what it was. A second chance. She breathed in and felt the corners of her mouth rise a bit.

Justin glanced back and forth between the two of them. “I think that’d be fine. You can follow in your car, Uncle Frank.”

Frank used his cane to pull himself up, then waited by Justin as Violet and Trudy walked through the doorway, hand in hand.

* * *

“I understand you’re both here to confess to a murder,” Lieutenant Delaney said. “Is that correct?”

“Not both of us,” Trudy said. “Just me.”

“No, that’s not—” Violet began.

“Hang on a minute.” Delaney wrote something down in a notebook. “Let’s start at the beginning, why don’t we?”

When they’d arrived at the police station half an hour ago, the place had been nearly deserted, with a single cruiser in the parking lot, a bunch of empty desks, and the scent of stale coffee in the air. Within minutes of their arrival, though, the activity level skyrocketed. The lieutenant and a few other officers—all higher ranking than Justin, by the looks of them—strode through the door as if ready for battle, laptops opened, pens poised, faces alert.

With every minute, Violet’s heart beat faster, as memories of the last time she was in the police station came back to her: Men gathered round. Muffled laughter and disbelief. Grating disregard.