My stomach clenched. Who was missing? Camilla. Camilla and . . .

“Out of the way.” Tim gestured for them to move, and at the sight of our weapons they took a step back. We had a clear path.

We were in.

Under United States law there are two degrees of murder, but those aren’t the only ways to classify a killing. There’s voluntary manslaughter, like a crime of passion, and involuntary manslaughter, like what I thought I faced after shooting Flynn. When I’d accepted McIntyre’s job offer in the tiny town of Alexandria Bay, I hadn’t thought Tim and I would ever do more than investigate a break-in at the local dive bar. Like he said, violent crime wasn’t common in these parts.

Over the past few months I’d convinced myself what happened with Bram was irrelevant, nobody’s business but my own. My past was separate from my present reality. You might even say it was an island. There was no need to tell Tim about Bram, because Bram was one in a million. It was a convenient excuse that allowed me to keep my misery to myself.

But the islands in the St. Lawrence River weren’t immune to sin.

Abella Beaudry lay sprawled on the black-and-white checkerboard tile floor. In the too-bright light from the vanity fixture her face was violet, eyes bloated and blank. The rope that killed her was still looped around her throat, and the ring it left was deep and red and raw. Her wounds were fresh, but lethal. There was no saving the girl. Dressed in her pajamas, staggered by the loss of her soon-to-be fiancé, she’d followed this twisted family upstairs to her death.

Ned crouched next to her body mumbling garbled half words as if he were trapped in a nightmare, talking in his sleep. Tim got down next to him and put a hand on Ned’s shoulder. The act woke him from his trance.

“Wait in the hall,” I told Ned. “Don’t go anywhere. You understand?”

“No,” Ned whimpered. “No, no, no.”

“Go, Ned,” Tim said softly when the man didn’t move. Only then did Ned stand and walk zombie-like out the door.

“Son of a bitch.” Tim’s open palm smacked the tile floor so hard I swear I felt the sting. I was too hot, too cold, too everything as I leaned in close to Abella and touched her still-warm arm.

“Look at her fingers,” I said. “Rope burns there, too. Someone snuck up on her from behind.” I pictured her clawing at the rope as it tightened around her neck. My legs felt wobbly.

“They came up here to change. We were only gone a few minutes. That means . . .”

“Someone’s been waiting for their chance to get to her. Norton was downstairs. Flynn, too. But . . .”

“Yeah. But,” said Tim. “And what about Ned? Miles, Bebe, Jade . . .” He blinked at me. “I shouldn’t have left. No matter what, I should have stayed. Jesus, of all the stupid things to do.” He clasped his head in his hands. “This is on me.”