“Nana’s going to love that,” said Miles. “Better add it to your list of confessions.”

Bebe’s head whipped around and a look of sheer horror came over her face. “Don’t even think about it. Don’t you dare.”

“It’s not like it would make a difference. She despises you already.”

I watched them carefully, trying to read between the lines. From one second to the next Bebe had changed. Her vigor drained away. Now she looked at Miles with desperation in her eyes. “Please, Miles, you can’t. Tell Flynn, I don’t care. Just don’t tell Nana.”

I was missing something. Camilla wouldn’t approve of the affair, but Bebe wasn’t close to her like Jasper was. What was the worst that could happen if Camilla found out? “Mrs. Sinclair,” I said slowly. “I should warn you, in the course of this investigation your relationship with Mr. Yeboah may well come out to your grandmother.”

She spun around to face me. “No. I won’t allow it. It would be too much for her. Jasper, and that blood . . . it’s all too much.”

I pictured Camilla. Her gaunt face. The wig. The realization hit me like a stream of icy water. “Camilla’s sick.”

“Cancer,” Bebe said, nodding. “She has a few weeks at most. My poor, poor grandmother.” She ratcheted up the sadness in her eyes.

Camilla was dying. That’s why Jasper brought Abella to the island, and why Camilla insisted everyone else come, too. She might have hoped for reconciliation, but based on what I knew about Camilla’s grandchildren, it was more likely she knew the most she could hope for was that they pretend. It explained why Miles and Jade were present even though he and Bebe were splitting up. They’d all come together, because Camilla asked them to.

Bebe didn’t want to upset her grandmother. Or was it that she didn’t want Camilla angry? Bebe and Flynn didn’t spend time with Camilla in the city like Jasper did, but Bebe wished she had come to the island earlier, and was adamant that we suppress her affair. Flynn visited Camilla when he first got to Tern, too. Now that she was dying, it seemed to me they were both trying awfully hard to stay on their nana’s good side.

“Jasper’s gone, Bebe,” Miles said evenly. “It’s all going to come out eventually. It always does.”

As I reached into my pocket to grab my phone, I hoped to God he was right.

SEVENTEEN

Gone. That word means something different to me than to most. That’s partly because of my job. Homicide victims are gone forever. I’ll never know them, and I can’t change that; all I can do is try to keep the same thing from happening to someone else. Death is fast and finite. A hawk plucks a pigeon from the sky in a flurry of feathers. One goes while the other stays behind, wearing a shit-eating grin.

There’s more to it, though, because I was gone, too. As far as my family, the media, even the police were concerned, I was as gone as gone can be. The only difference between me and other victims is that I came back.