At that moment, Cash turned. She met his stare head-on and couldn’t help but note that his eyes were dry, despite the grim set of his mouth. He looked away first, shifting to whisper in Lacey’s ear.

The woman stiffened, then glanced toward Izzy and Mia. Izzy couldn’t see her expression, hidden as it was behind the intricate design of her veil.

Lacey. Was he protecting her? From whom? Charles?

Izzy itched to be on a plane to the mainland. She didn’t even know yet what she would ask Charles or Bix, whichever one of them she found. Why is your daughter hiding away on a remote spit of land where her sister was either killed or committed suicide? Yeah, that might be a start.

Lacey moved so that she settled into the crook of Cash’s shoulder, both turning their attention to the front to the priest.

The service itself was short and surprisingly impersonal. Izzy was used to funerals that went on for hours, each family member, extended or not, getting a chance to speak, to pay respects.

For Earl’s service, it was only Jimmy who stood up. He rambled on, his sentences never quite ending, just blending into the next as he told one fisherman’s tale after another. Toward the end, he broke down, his face flushed and sweaty, his mouth trembling. The crowd fidgeted in a collective mix of embarrassment and commiseration. And then exhaled as Jimmy stepped down to the side, retaking his seat next to Cash and Lacey.

“I don’t think he killed Earl,” Izzy whispered, leaning close to Mia’s ear. There were so many people around them.

Mia’s head jerked once, a quick negative in agreement. And if Jimmy hadn’t killed Earl, then he probably hadn’t killed the reporter, either.

“How bad would it have been?” Izzy asked, confident that her question was masked by the overwhelming bass from the organ, which had just launched into “Amazing Grace.” “If Earl had been having an affair with Monroe?”

Mia kept her attention directed ahead, on the priest who was swaying along with the chorus, his arms upraised toward the sky.

“He wouldn’t have been arrested,” Mia said. “I can’t imagine anyone filing that complaint.”

“Even the Bells?”

“They were old money.” Mia shrugged. “Doubt they would have wanted that bad press.”

“So why kill her?”

Mia glanced at her and then shifted straight again. “A baby might do it.”

“Yeah, but what if the father didn’t know? Or what if she wasn’t pregnant? Do you think it warrants killing—an affair with a sixteen-year-old?”

Why hadn’t they thought about this before? They’d been focusing all their attention on Monroe, as if she were the obvious victim. But there had been two other people in the room that night.

“What are you getting at?” Mia asked, quietly now as the final chords ripped through the air.