The house looked quiet and empty in the morning light. Harry glanced up at Grace’s second-floor window; it was hard to know for sure, but he thought her lights were on. He walked halfway to the door, thinking maybe he’d knock gently just in case she was up. But then he stopped; the door was open. Not by a lot, but it was cracked by about six inches. He almost turned back, knowing suddenly that something was wrong. He stood frozen for a few moments, then continued toward the door. He could peer inside, and listen. When he reached the door, he pressed his palm against it and pushed. The inside of his mouth was coated with the cloying taste of the sweet coffee.

Grace was on the floor of the foyer, her bare feet pointed toward the door. He knew she was dead but said her name anyway, his voice no louder than a croak. He stepped through the doorway. She was wearing the clothes she’d been in the night before. A striped shirt and jeans. One arm was flung over her head, the other down by her side.

“Grace,” he said louder, hopeful, but when he took another step inside the house, he could see what had happened to her. Her skull, on the left side, was collapsed inward, her hair sticky with blood. Her purple jaw didn’t line up with the rest of her head.

Bile rose in the back of Harry’s throat, and he closed his eyes for a moment. He took a step backward, felt the blood rushing from his head, and took hold of the door frame.

He touched his pocket, even though he knew he didn’t have a phone with him. He took one quick look into the foyer again, past Grace’s body, and saw a phone on a waist-high table. Keeping his eyes on the phone, he went to it. It was an old landline, squat like a toad, and he half expected it to not have a dial tone when he picked up the receiver and pressed it to his ear.

Part 2
Black Water

Chapter 22

Now

Caitlin McGowan reread the e-mail for what must have been the fiftieth time. It was from Grace, her sister, and it had been sent probably just hours before she’d been murdered.

I know you’re going to freak out, C, but I’m in maine. I came up after I heard B died, just after we talked. I found an airbnb and drove up to go to the funeral. I just couldn’t stay in new york and pretend it wasn’t happening. I needed to see her.