Cooperative witnesses do well with this, and I usually come out with answers. But here’s the problem—I didn’t yet know if Flynn was a witness or a suspect in his brother’s disappearance. Everything he told me could be a truthful recollection of the events that might help us find Jasper.

On the other hand, the entire story I was about to hear—every word of it—could be an expertly crafted lie.

SIX

By the time Flynn Sinclair arrived at Tern Island on Friday, October 20, his brother was already there. As Norton pulled the skiff up to the flooded dock, Flynn spotted Jasper on the shore. Jasper’s arm was around a woman. She was Jasper’s height, but her nonverbal cues made her look small. Like a girl with something to hide, Flynn said.

It was Jasper’s idea to come to the island. He and Abella had been dating only a few months, but he was eager to introduce her to Camilla. Camilla, in turn, insisted the rest of the family come, too, and what would have been a quiet weekend morphed into a huge family affair.

Abella delivered a practiced smile as Flynn climbed out of the boat. There was a stranger in the boathouse dressed in camouflage, but since getting up in age, Norton sometimes brought on help for the labor-intensive jobs around the island, so Flynn ignored it and offered to help dock the boat.

“I’m heading back to the mainland,” Norton said. “One last run to the market before the weather turns.”

As he revved the engine and raced off across the water, Flynn clapped his younger brother on the back.

“The elusive Abella, at last,” Flynn said as he shook the woman’s hand for the first time.

“Call me Abby,” she replied with a weak smile.

Jasper explained the English call her Abby, while the French use Bella. Flynn didn’t like that. Having two nicknames felt like deceit. Even before meeting her, Flynn wasn’t optimistic about his brother’s relationship. Jasper and Abella met at the PR firm where Jasper used to work. She was from Montreal and in the U.S. on a work visa, but she’d recently been fired. Without a company to back her, Abella couldn’t stay in the country much longer. Her whole life was up in the air, and Flynn mistrusted her instability.

“You’re late, by the way,” Jasper said with annoyance. “Your better half’s already here.”

“Some of us have to work.” Flynn forced a laugh. “Jasper parties for a living, you know that, Abby?”

“Abby knows exactly what fashion marketing entails,” Jasper said, “and that we’re operating in a saturated and competitive market. Not as easy as it sounds.”

“Parties for a living, like I said. It’s freezing out here,” said Flynn with a shiver. “Let’s go up, yeah?”

An avid indoor cyclist—he pushed a stationary bike to its limits daily while trainers shouted at him over live-streaming video—Flynn shouldn’t have had trouble with the steps, but as he ascended the pathway toward the house he felt winded. Jasper, on the other hand, talked nonstop as he climbed, his stories punctuated by Abella’s laugh. She giggled in all the right places. The rhythm of their conversation was so smooth it appeared rehearsed. That, too, grated on Flynn. He couldn’t stop thinking about what awaited him at the house.