• Five Best Campus Crime Novels
• Gaudy Night by Dorothy Sayers
• The Case of the Gilded Fly by Edmund Crispin
• Last Seen Wearing . . . by Hillary Waugh
• The Silent World of Nicholas Quinn by Colin Dexter
• The Secret History by Donna Tartt

Harry stared at the note, trying to process what it meant that his father—the only person left in his life whom he truly loved—was gone. In the morning he wrote an e-mail to Jane Ogden, his thesis advisor, telling her he’d have to miss the history majors’ dinner that night, and explaining why. Then he went onto his college’s website and found an e-mail address for letting the school know that he wouldn’t be attending graduation. In bold letters on the website it said that cancellations could not be made within two weeks of graduation. But what were they going to do? If his name got called, and he wasn’t there, what did it possibly matter?

There was little else to do. His work and exams were all finished, all his requirements submitted. There were friends to see, of course. And there was Kim. He’d run into her the previous weekend at the St. Dun’s party. They’d kissed in the billiards room, and promised to see each other one more time before graduation. But he didn’t really want to see Kim now; he didn’t want to see anyone. His friends would hear the news, eventually, one way or another.

Harry rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, shut off the engine, and stepped out into the sea-salt air, much cooler than it had been in Connecticut. He spotted Alice in a second-floor window—his father’s and her bedroom window—and when she saw that Harry had noticed her she waved briefly. She was in a white robe, her skin and hair pale as gold, and she looked almost ghostly in the arched Victorian window. After waving she disappeared from view. He breathed deeply, preparing himself to see Alice, and preparing himself to walk into the house he’d only ever known as his father’s house, full of his father’s things.

In the doorway, Harry hugged Alice. Her hair smelled of expensive shampoo, something with lavender in it.

“Thank you for coming back early,” she said, her voice huskier than usual, strained from crying.

“Of course,” Harry said.

“I made up your old room for you. Can I help you bring things in?”

“No, no,” Harry said. “It’s not much.”