“Haven’t you heard? A journalist never reveals his sources.”

“But it was a person, wasn’t it?”

I finish lighting the cigarette and take a long drag. “It was both. A wee birdie told me about a certain airplane that made its way out of Spain in May of 1937. It was up to me to figure out where it flew.”

“Was this the same birdie that told you where to find Sam’s wreckage?”

I zip my lips. “Enough about me and my birdies. I’m here, that’s all. I tracked you down, and frankly I’m surprised I was the first. It was all there, once you knew where to look. Spain to Paris to Newfoundland. Across Canada. Once the trail went cold in Vancouver, why, I just had to use my intuition.”

“And your intuition said Hawai’i?”

I held up my hand and ticked off the fingers. “It’s remote. It’s got some of the best surfing in the world. And it’s got sentimental value for you, doesn’t it? Your first flight together. Hawai’i’s where it all began.”

“My flying career, you mean.”

“Not just your flying career. You and Sam.” I reach for the ashtray, and her eyes follow me keenly. “Am I right?”

Lindquist sets down her coffee cup and rises from the chair. She walks to the edge of the lanai and holds her hand up to her brow, as if she’s looking for something out to sea. Her hair is dry now, curling softly around her ears. She sticks her other hand in her pocket and says, “You know, I never did understand why people cared more about this idea of romance between me and Sam than about the flight itself.”

“Don’t be naïve. Of course they did. Sex is what makes the world go round. The human species wouldn’t survive without it. And when one of the parties happens to be already married . . . well. You can bet those newspaper editors were rubbing their hands with glee.”

She turns and moves her hand to the side of her face, fingering the scar. “Well, they were all wrong. I wasn’t in that airplane because I was in love with Sam. I was in that airplane because I wanted to fly, and Sam was the best pilot in the world.”

I stub out the cigarette, even though it’s only half finished. “You’re fooling yourself, sister. I’ve seen the photographs of the two of you. You’re goofy for each other.”

“Of course we had feelings for each other. We had a partnership, a friendship. But he was already married. He had a family. I understood that.”

“You might have understood that,” I say, “but I don’t believe Mallory did. He was always a bit of a ladies’ man, wasn’t he? That poor wife of his.”