She wondered if it had to do with Lucy planting that silly idea in his head about Taylor having faked the letters from his dad. It was a ridiculous assumption. If the woman had wanted to knock him off the sailboat, grab the family’s fortune, and then write the letters to make people think she’d loved him and could never have done such a thing . . . well, why would she have hidden the letters for years? Still, Annie did not know how she might have felt if she were Jonas.

Three vehicles were ahead of him. A month ago there would have been no one on a Sunday; no doubt people had come from the mainland for the weekend to get their houses prepped for summer.

Staring at the back of Jonas’s SUV, Annie sat perfectly still, aware that she shouldn’t get involved, yet feeling that she was, thanks to Lucy.

The On Time scuttled toward its berth. There wasn’t much time if Annie wanted to stop him.

She opened her door. “Hey!” she cried, scurrying toward his vehicle. “Jonas!”

He opened the driver’s window and stuck his head out.

“Where are you off to on such a beautiful day?” She tried to sound nonchalant, but wasn’t sure if it was working.

“I’m going to Boston. To see a friend. Then I’m going home. You won’t see me again.”

A tiny knot formed in her throat for the boy who’d been manipulated most of his life. “The last I heard, this was your home.”

He shook his head. “New York’s my home. I don’t know what made me think I could live on the island. It’s just too weird here for me.”

The On Time arrived, and three vehicles exited.

“Don’t,” Annie heard herself say. “Please don’t go. Not yet.” Even if she discounted the role Lucy had played, Annie knew that if she hadn’t found the skull, Jonas wouldn’t have had his life turned upside down. Again.

He shrugged. “I have to. I can’t live with my mother.”

The vehicles in front of his motored onto the ferry and turned off their engines; the captain hitched the safety strap, and the ferry glided away. Jonas stepped on the gas so he’d be first in line for the next trip.

Annie knew she had about one hundred and eighty seconds to get him to change his mind. She dashed back to her Jeep, jumped in, and pulled up behind him. She got out again and ran up to his car door. Luckily, his window was still down.

“Let’s talk,” she said. “Please? I’ll buy breakfast? Or an early lunch? At the diner?”

He seemed to think about that for five, ten, maybe twelve seconds. In her peripheral vision she saw that the ferry was close to reaching the Edgartown side.

“Jonas, please. I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret.”

He did not respond.

“Please,” she repeated. “Lunch?”