“Two weeks ago, my mother and I were discussing my inheritance. The house and property belong to me. I have been thinking of selling the place and moving to Los Angeles. An ex of mine lives in Venice. And there are career opportunities for me in Hollywood. Mother was horrified. She asked what Grandfather would think. I told her I knew Eben Chamberlain a hell of a lot better than she did. I said, ‘You don’t even know what he told me before he died.’”

Mariëtte had been biding her time, waiting for this moment. “If I had, you can be sure everything would have been different!”

The daughter put her elbows on her knees and hung her head.

“What did Professor Chamberlain tell you before he died?” I asked.

Without looking up, she answered in a choking voice, “He said it would be good having me along on the hunt. He said he needed my opinion of Bruce.”

“There!” said Mariëtte Chamberlain. “There it is. She’s been sitting on this information for four years as if it doesn’t matter when it proves the professor had misgivings about the man.”

“It could mean any number of things,” said the daughter, raising wet eyes. “You’re assuming without evidence that he viewed Mr. Jewett as a threat to his life.”

“He might have!”

“Did Jewett expect you to come along that morning?” I said. “Did he know you were joining them in the boat?”

“I have no idea.”

“Do you suspect that he offered you schnapps when you were sick to dissuade you from going?”

“I don’t know.”

I paused to take in the scene. The weak sunlight streaming in past the statuesque silhouette of Mariëtte Chamberlain. Her daughter, collapsed in her chair. The wood stove crackling. The dog snoring. The air thickening with the burnt vapors of Christmas spices.

“Can you give me his street address, Mrs. Chamberlain?”

“Halfway up Pill Hill,” said Mariëtte with a triumphant smile. “More than halfway. It’s the last house before all those wretched trailers at the top.”

Bibi rearranged herself in the love seat. “You mean you’re going to talk with him?”

“Yes.”

“He probably won’t even speak with you,” said the mother. “I tried last week but didn’t get past the gate—he has a camera and speakers. He told me to leave before I regretted it. I said I wasn’t scared of him. And he laughed. It was comical, really. He thought he was frightening me.”

At last I rose to my feet. “Where can I find my coat?”

“I’ll get it for you,” said Bibi.

“You need to report back to us after you see him,” said Mariëtte, forcefully guiding me to the door by the elbow, just as she’d forcefully guided me into the parlor. “I want to hear everything he tells you. Perhaps you can record your conversation so we can—”