I could have put his mind at ease, but I didn’t. I decided against it, because what if—what if—I was wrong? What if I was a better investigator now than ever? What if Carson was mistaken about my going back to work?

What if I was healed?

We stared at each other across the table. Sometimes, when I got tired of revisiting the worst experience of my life and projected my frustration onto him, I told myself his eyes were too close together. The color made up for that. They were the clear, cool pool I always found relief in when I needed to loosen my muscles and mind.

Carson slid back his chair far enough for me to see his socks. He’d picked Bob Ross today, the painter’s face and iconic puffy hair encircled by the words Happy Clouds. The socks made me smile. “You’re gonna be late,” Carson said. “We’ll talk about it over dinner. Let’s just do takeout. I’ll pick up some Thai food.”

“Not Thai,” I said. “Anything but that.”

“Fish, then,” he said as he kissed the crown of my head and strode off to the bathroom down the hall. The place where his lips met my scalp felt as bright and hot as a flame.

—

Lunch on Tern Island was more refined than my breakfast with Carson by a mile, but there was just as much tension in the air, and just as much unrest. Aside from Camilla, who was still trying her best to be a perfect hostess, everyone stared unsmiling at their plates.

Tim and I planned to eat in shifts—one of us would supervise the Sinclairs while the other wolfed down only the most filling components of Norton’s meal. Camilla had other ideas. She insisted we all sit together in the dining room while the rain streamed down the windowpanes. Naturally, she took the head of the table. Flynn sat at the opposite end. Tim and I were elbow to elbow with our fellow interlopers, Abella and Ned, but Tim did most of the talking, beaming at the others while praising the food. One thing about Tim is he doesn’t like awkward silence. If there’s a chance to talk, he’s going to take it.

As for me, I tried to be invisible. It was my first opportunity to study our witnesses’ faces without looking like a creep, and I intended to make the most of it. Maybe it was because I had Carson on the brain, but I found my eyes lingering on Miles. Looks-wise he reminded me of my fiancé—cool glasses, dark hair with a smattering of gray. If I saw Miles Byrd on the streets of New York, I’d definitely turn my head his way. As I ate, he looked up from his soup and met my gaze with a shy smile.

What was this guy’s relationship with his brother-in-law? Men as good-looking as Miles and Jasper often stuck together. From my place on the periphery I’ve observed that beautiful people travel in packs. Then again, Jasper was an eligible bachelor while Miles was married, a man in his forties with a daughter to think of. He didn’t appear to be devastated by the day’s events. He didn’t look afraid that a dangerous criminal might be lurking on the island either.