Harry had seen Alice just once since they’d been together in Jake’s condo. Chrissie had texted him to ask if he could get some more clothes from Grey Lady, plus Alice’s straightening iron, and deliver them to her (a ginormous favor, I know), and Harry had done it, going late at night back to the house to avoid news reporters, although one enterprising journalist had raced from his car when Paul and he emerged from the house with two suitcases filled with Alice’s things. They’d refused to answer the reporter’s shouted questions, and the next morning Harry went to the Herricks’ house. Alice had given him a short hug after he’d brought the suitcases into her bedroom. “I’ll leave you two alone for a while,” Chrissie said and disappeared.

“How are you holding up?” Harry asked. Alice still held on to one of his hands, then let go and sat on the edge of the bed. Harry sat on a wicker chair that had been painted white.

“I’m in shock, Harry. I’d known Jake my whole life.”

“Why was he calling himself John Richards?”

“I asked him, once, and he said he just wanted a fresh start. But now I think he was trying to escape something from his past, maybe something he did in Florida.”

“And you’re sure that my father knew he was your stepfather?” Harry asked.

“Oh, I’m sure he did,” Alice said quickly. “Still, it wasn’t a big thing. He and my mother were married barely any time at all. I just can’t believe . . . I had no idea he was capable . . .”

“You must have thought it strange that he changed his name?”

“It should have concerned me more, I know, but—”

“I just wondered,” Harry said. It was bothering him, not so much that Jake was calling himself by a different name, but that Alice had gone along with it. He wondered if his father really knew who his employee was, but there was no way to find that out now.

They spoke for just a little bit longer, Harry trying to read Alice’s emotions, her thoughts, but it was something he’d never been able to do. And he still couldn’t.

“I should go,” he said.

“Where are you going next?” Alice asked.

“Paul rented a place near here, and I’m staying with him.”

“No, I mean, after this is all over. Will you stay here in Maine?”

“I don’t think so, Alice.”

“No, I know. I understand.”

“How about you?”

“I’ll stay here. I don’t know where else I’d go.”

They hugged good-bye, and Alice held on to Harry a little too long, her face buried in his neck, as though she was smelling him.

“Jake probably killed my mother,” she said, as soon as they’d broken the embrace.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.