Like blood, I thought.

After the brief ceremony, my father stormed off. Watching him out of the corner of my eye, I noted that he didn’t even speak to the priest, which showed how overcome he was by burying his eldest child. I looked around for anyone I wanted to talk to and spotted Jude. She was standing at the top of one of Green-Wood’s rolling hills with another woman, and I walked up to join them. As I did, I noticed a man in the distance, watching us. He was tall and sandy haired, casually dressed in jeans and a gray shirt. He wore dark sunglasses, and I expected to see a camera in his hands, but they were jammed into his pockets. Caro wasn’t a celebrity, but she was well-enough known in New York to garner tabloid interest.

For a split second, I wondered if I knew him. There was something vaguely familiar. But he was sly and picked up on my approach without looking directly at me. He turned his back and rushed off.

On instinct, I started after him. Theo’s accusations were still reverberating in my head. No way had Caro been cheating on him. My sister wouldn’t do that.

Jude’s voice broke into my thoughts and stopped me in my tracks.

“She was going crazy, and she needed help.” Jude’s back was to me, but the breeze carried her voice over clearly. “But not the kind of help you give.”

The woman facing her was African American, tall and willowy, with graying braids coiled atop her head like a crown. But her voice was too soft for me to make out. All I heard were a few disjointed words, maybe catching every fifth one. “Don’t . . . help . . . let . . . forget . . .” It was impossible to eavesdrop properly.

“That’s not true, and you shouldn’t have encouraged her.”

I stepped closer and heard the tail end of the soft-voiced woman’s retort: “ . . . listened to her.” But my movement caught Jude’s attention, and her head swiveled my way.

“Deirdre,” Jude said, moving toward me and pulling me into an awkward side hug. “How are you doing?”

“You’re Caroline’s sister?” The other woman turned to face me, her eyes warm and curious. “It’s an honor to meet you. I know Caroline adored you.”

That brought a lump to my throat. “Thanks.”

“I’m Adinah Gerstein,” she added, drawing her hands together as if she were praying and holding them over her heart. That had become a popular way of greeting people since the pandemic, and I liked it better than I ever had a handshake. “I have to tell you how sorry I am about Caroline. She was an amazing woman.”

“I need to talk to Deirdre,” Jude said. “Would you mind excusing us?”

“Of course.” Adinah quietly backed away, giving us privacy.