After ending the call, he Googled “Grace McGowan.” There were quite a few, but none that seemed to match the person he was looking for. There were still people—even young people—who didn’t have online profiles. He was one of them. Alice was another. His father didn’t have much of one, but he had been profiled years earlier in a New York Times article about selling books in the age of the Internet. He looked him up now, reread the article, and studied the accompanying picture of his father, looking distinguished and handsome in front of a cluttered shelf of books. Like a young Ted Hughes, all strong chin and thick hair. He killed the screen, not wanting to look anymore, but he kept thinking of his father.

Would he have had an affair with a much younger woman in New York? Maybe Harry was biased, but he would have said no if his mother had never died. But maybe his relationship with Alice had soured, or maybe Grace had thrown herself at his father, and he’d simply been unable to resist.

And if he had had an affair, what if Alice had found out about it? How would she react? Would she have followed him on his afternoon walk, waited for him to reach a secluded spot, and hit him with something? It seemed ridiculous, but someone had killed him. Why not Alice? Or for that matter, why not Grace McGowan? Maybe his father had broken off the affair, and she’d followed him to Maine to get her revenge? Harry wondered if there might be some answers to these questions in the house. If Alice had suspected Bill of cheating, she might have hired a private detective to follow him in New York. And if so, there might be some record of it.