“And that’s all that matters?” Edie asked, her tone harsh, slipping deeper into her clipped northern accent. “Some reporter no one knew or liked? He matters more than the man who helped keep this town together?”

It was an echo of what Cash had said earlier. An outsider’s life meant less to these people than protecting their own. It was a harsh reality but one Izzy couldn’t ignore.

Izzy followed Mia’s lead in not mentioning their theory that Earl’s suicide may have been staged. If she didn’t want to bring it up, Izzy wasn’t going to rock the boat.

Mia’s stance was braced, looking like she was ready for a fight. “What aren’t you telling me? What happened that night, Mama?”

“Earl Bishop was a good man,” Edie said.

“I know.” It was said on an exhale that wasn’t quite as impatient as Izzy would have been. Mia knew these people. Knew when to push, when to back off.

Time stretched, the hands on the clock’s slow tick forward the only thing marking the passing of the seconds. The sound wiggled and burrowed into the crevices of Izzy’s brain, and she wanted to scratch at the soft tissue until she could reach it.

I’m sorry. Forgive me.

What had Earl meant by that letter? And had he even written it?

Izzy’s legs ached, begging her to push to her feet, walk, stretch, let the pressure that had been tightening in her chest unfurl.

“He brought Lacey here, too,” Edie finally said. “Her parents were still at the lighthouse.”

Mia’s reaction was characteristically muted. “You’d never told me that.”

“Because we talk about it so often?”

There was a beat, a nod, a recognition of the point made. “What happened then?”

“He left.” Edie picked up her mug, her stubby fingers pale white against the turquoise.

“Then what aren’t you saying?”

Edie took a swallow of her tea. “You were a zombie, completely out of it. I would have said you were high, but it was different.”

This was what Mia had been getting at earlier. The lost day. Maybe it wasn’t just her brain protecting itself. Maybe it had been deliberate.

Izzy leaned forward. “Drugged?”

“Sedated, maybe. Figured Doc gave her something.”

“Who’s Doc?”

“Sammy B.’s predecessor,” Mia answered. “Henry Jackson.”

“More info please,” Izzy said. Another player, another player, another player. They kept adding up. So many on the island had been touched by that night.

“He grew up here, was friends with Earl and Jimmy.” Mia held a hand up before Izzy could say anything. “Everyone of that age was. It’s not unusual.”