“Of course. She’ll probably divide ownership with Kirsten. Those two share everything.”

“I don’t quite understand the situation with Kirsten.” Astrid glanced down the street, at the rest of the family approaching the marina. “I don’t want to put my foot in my mouth, so can you explain in thirty seconds?”

“Kirsten’s mother died when she was four. Her father had made a mint smuggling booze from Canada, then lost it all. When his wife died, he lost his mind. Went on a crackerjack bender that…” He shook his head, a keen eye on the little girls, who were now running ahead of everyone. “That’s better off unspoken,” he said. “Long story short, my mother took Kirsten in until Charlie Lund pulled himself together. He found work fishing off the coast of Maine. He comes home every few months. Sends money in between. A letter if he can be bothered to put two words together. I don’t know. I don’t have much good to say about Charlie. Sometimes it seems Kirsten’s just one of his bills to be paid.”

“Or maybe he feels like he failed her,” Astrid said. “And he’s better off out of her life.”

“Maybe.”

“Where’s your boat?”

He pointed to his Baby Gar. Across its stern, in black letters, read Hildur.

“Hildur?” Astrid said. “Like Hildur, the queen of the elves?”

“You know that story?”

“Of course. She’s a queen, but she’s cursed to live on earth. She can only return to the elven kingdom for one night a year, but at the cost of a human life. And the curse won’t be broken until a human can prove who she is and where she’s been.”

“That’s right.”

She crossed her arms and looked at him sideways. “After what Major said about keeping secrets and burying bodies, I’m rather intrigued by you naming your boat for her.”

There was no more time to discuss—Trudy and Kirsten came pounding down the dock, seized Astrid’s hands and pulled her toward the Marianne III.

“We’re not done talking about this,” Astrid called over her shoulder, looking just like her photograph.

If you only knew, Kennet thought.

“She’s a bit of an all right,” Minor said. He sat up with Kennet at the wheel of the boat, while everyone else gathered with Astrid in the cabin, pointing in all directions at every passing item of interest along the river. A spirited, show-offy free-for-all, nothing like the smooth, practiced commentary that Kennet and Minor had been reciting to customers since they were sixteen and allowed to give tours.

Minor jostled Kennet’s leg. “I said, she’s a—”

“I heard you the first time. Yes. She is. Now be quiet.”