Violet and Trudy owned and operated Two Sisters Art and Handmade Goods in downtown Sugar Bend. What started as a place for Trudy to make and sell her popular mixed-media art pieces had grown over the years into a shop where patrons could find just-right gifts for any occasion. Trudy’s unconventional sculptures were always a big hit, and their inventory also included everything from hand-thrown pottery to small canvas paintings to handmade soap, candles, and door wreaths.

Aside from just an art shop, Two Sisters had become somewhat of a gathering spot for people who needed rest and community—men whose wives were busy shopping, lonely seniors who craved company and conversation, even a few book clubs and knitting circles. Violet and Trudy had bought the shop eight years ago from the previous owners, who’d had to sell quickly, for a song. Trudy had been selling her artwork at the annual art festival for years, but having a brick-and-mortar space allowed her to sell her wares all through the year rather than in one hectic weekend. It also gave her a place to spread out her materials and work without covering their home with sand and splinters of wood. Or at least not as much as she used to.

Downstairs Trudy stepped into the shallow water alongside their dock and slid the kayak in, then carefully sat and picked up the double-bladed paddle. Only when she began paddling, her strong arms pulling the kayak through the glass surface of the river, did Violet stand to ready herself for her morning bird survey.

But just as she reached for her mug, a strange sensation washed through her, like ice water rippling under her skin. She paused, then turned to the screen door and pushed it open. There on the top step, as if someone had laid it there just for her, was a complete set of fish bones.

Violet’s breath rushed out and her skin tingled, a chill shooting up her arms and across the back of her neck. The skeleton was about as long as the width of her hand. It had a head with a gaping hole where the eye had once been, a spine with slender ribs sticking out, and at the end, the wispy, fragile bones of a small tail fin.

Despite living mere feet from the river and just a few miles from the Gulf of Mexico, the sight of the bones didn’t bring to mind the river teeming with life or the many fish she’d grilled, fried, or baked over the years—instead, she remembered the last day she’d seen him. He’d been wearing a crisp navy suit, starched white shirt, shiny wing-tip shoes. And the girl on his arm—Trudy, in a red dress, matching lipstick, and an anxious smile. And his trademark cuff links—tiny silver fish bones winking in the light.

In a quick, angry motion, Violet scraped the bones off the top step with the sole of her slipper, and they landed with a dull clatter in the saw grass growing next to the porch. Dropping to a half crouch—knees aching, heart pounding—she swiveled her head, expecting to see him looming on the dock or in the grass or behind her on the porch. But nothing was there. No one watching. Just a dewy morning stretching out its arms, unconcerned by the warning bells ringing in Violet’s ears.