Annie bit her lip. “In some ways, maybe it’s for the best that no one else in your crew is here. This way, none of them can get wrapped up in our added drama.”

He plunked down on the rocker and rubbed his weary face. “Jonas told me about the video.”

That answered that. “I think we nipped it in the bud. The media seem to have given up. And John says it’s been scrubbed from the internet. And at least the kids didn’t post a GoFundMe page.” She paused. “Did they?”

“Not that I know of. But this whole thing got me thinking. Jonas has a point. Even if this bone isn’t from his dad, shouldn’t he try to find out what really happened?”

“But what about Taylor? I thought they were getting along really well. I thought he was happy to be with her.”

“I asked her. All I got was crickets. Then she walked out of the house. I’m not sure if she’s pissed or guilty.”

Annie sat on the sofa across from him. She couldn’t imagine how Kevin felt. He was, without a doubt, in a relationship with Taylor. Who might have murdered someone she’d supposedly loved.

“But Kevin,” Annie said, searching for words to cheer him up, “Jonas has letters that prove that Taylor and his father were in love. Weren’t they going to elope to Hawaii?”

“Someone convinced Jonas that the letters might be fake . . . that Taylor might have written them to take the heat off her.”

“Good grief. But who would have suggested that to Jonas? And why?”

Kevin didn’t respond, but studied his fingernails one at a time, first the right hand, then the left, with careful deliberateness.

And that’s when Annie knew. “Did Lucy tell him?”

Kevin folded his hands. “Jonas didn’t say. But I think it must have been her. I know that she did say he should get his DNA done. In case his father wasn’t really Derek Flanagan but another boy—maybe an islander and not a preppie who came from tons of money. She said the guy might still be alive and have other kids.”

The day had turned warm for late April; the late afternoon light slanted through the windows of Annie’s cottage, turning tiny dust motes into golden flecks. “Kevin?” she asked quietly. “Why would Lucy do that?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me.”

“Well, she’s fourteen. And she can be pretty naïve. Sometimes she gets excited about something and doesn’t use common sense. Like, I don’t think it ever occurred to her that posting the picture of the bone would have such a negative impact on all of us. But this? This is so much worse. I know she loves the genealogy stuff, but . . .”