Harry slept late again the following day, coming down to find a note from Alice saying she had gone out to do errands and wouldn’t be back till noon. Harry suddenly relished the idea of some time alone in the house, some time to think some more about what had happened to his father, and his strange date the evening before with Grace. He called John at the store and let him know that he wasn’t feeling great, and could he just come in during the afternoon.

“You don’t have to come in at all, Harry,” John said. “I can handle things here.”

“Okay, but I’d like to come in. If I feel better I’ll drop by, and if I don’t feel better, I guess you won’t see me.”

“Okay. Take care, son.”

There was half a pot of lukewarm coffee left and Harry poured himself a mug, adding milk, then heating it up in the microwave. He brought the coffee back up to his room and logged on to his laptop. He was hoping to find out something more about Grace; he knew she had lied about her relationship with his father. Were they having an affair? And if so, was that why she had come to Maine from New York? For the funeral? Then why was she sticking around?

He realized he didn’t know her last name, so he Googled “Grace” and everything she’d mentioned to him the night before. “Ann Arbor, Michigan.” “New York University.” He even tried “Ackerson’s Rare Books.” Nothing came up, and it made him realize how little he’d learned about her. On a whim, he decided to call the Ackerson’s in New York and see if Ron Krakowski was there. He got the number from their website and called on his cell phone.

“Ackerson’s Rare Books.” It was a female voice.

“Is Ron available?”

“Let me check. Can I ask who’s calling?”

Harry gave his name, knowing that Ron, phobic sometimes about talking on the telephone, would take the call.

A half minute passed before Ron’s voice said, “Jesus, Harry, I can’t fucking believe it.”

“I know,” Harry said, suddenly happy to hear Ron’s voice. He was a prickly presence, but a constant one. Harry had known him his whole life.

“I left a message for Alice, but I haven’t heard back. You in Maine now? Of course you are. What are they saying? He just slipped and fell and died, just like that?”

“Actually, no. Now they’re saying that maybe he was hit first. That’s what killed him.”

“Like someone killed him? Jesus H. Christ. How do they know all this? Maine CSI, I guess, right? They know who did it?”

Harry told him they didn’t, and that the police had been by to ask him if he knew anyone who might have had a grudge against his father.