We reached the front gate. There were two lion heads on either side. Uncle Myron had already called Angelica Wyatt, Ema’s mom, so the gate was open. We drove through and up the long hill toward the estate.

“The cause of death is still unknown,” Uncle Myron said.

“But he was murdered, right?”

“I don’t think so.”

In front of us, the huge baronial mansion started to come into view.

“Wait, you said someone buried him in the woods.”

“Yes.”

“So how could it not be murder?” I asked.

He didn’t reply. Or maybe I didn’t wait long enough for the answer. We’d arrived. I said, “Stay here,” and hopped out of the car. Before I knocked on the door, Angelica Wyatt opened it. I hesitated for a moment. It is odd what star power does to a person. I had only met her in person a couple of times, so seeing her in the flesh, after so many years on the screen, still felt surreal.

Angelica Wyatt crossed her arms and blocked the door. “What’s going on?”

“I need to talk to Ema.”

“What happened with you two?”

“Nothing. If I could just—”

“She’s been crying since she got home.”

That slowed me down a second. “She’s been crying?”

“All night. She won’t say a word to me or Niles. She just”—Angelica Wyatt started welling up too—“cries.”

“Does she know . . . ?”

“Know what?”

“Please, I just need to talk to her. Where is she?”

“The basement.”

I didn’t hesitate now. I knew the way. I ran past her, nearly slipping on the Italian marble floor. I ran toward the kitchen, veered right, found the basement door. I didn’t bother knocking. I opened it and started down the stairs.

“Ema?”

The room was dark. There were faint lights above the Angelica Wyatt movie posters. I couldn’t see much with it. But I could hear the cries.

Ema was sitting on a beanbag chair. I started toward her, but she put her hand up. “Don’t.” She looked up and met my eye. The tears were still on her face. She didn’t bother to wipe them away. Gone was the heavy makeup, the black lipstick, the temporary tattoos. Ema looked so young right now. She looked young and vulnerable and really, in a way I don’t think I ever fully noticed before, pretty.

“I need to tell you something,” I said.

“Go ahead. Tell me from there.”

I took a deep breath. I had never delivered devastating news like this. I wasn’t sure of the protocol, but the fact that she was already sobbing made me rush it. “It’s Buck,” I said. “He’s dead.”

I wasn’t sure what I expected. I figured that she’d start sobbing again. But that wasn’t what happened. Instead she stood and said, “Thanks for letting me know.”

I waited.

“That’s it?”