Karl Snow rubbed his face with both hands. “Suzze wanted to know about Alista’s death.”

Myron waited for him to say more. When he didn’t, he asked, “What did she want to know?”

“She wanted to know if Gabriel Wire killed my daughter.”

“What did you say?”

“I told her that after meeting privately with Mr. Wire, I no longer believed that he was culpable. I told her that, in the end, it was a tragic accident and that I was satisfied with that result. I also told her that the settlement is confidential, so that was really all I could say.”

Myron just stared at him. Karl Snow had said it all in a practiced monotone. Myron waited for Snow to meet his eye. He didn’t. Instead Snow shook his head and said softly, “I can’t believe she’s dead.”

Myron didn’t know whether he was talking about Suzze or Alista. Karl Snow blinked, looked off toward Kimberly. The sight seemed to give him strength. “Have you ever lost a child, Mr. Bolitar?”

“No.”

“I’ll spare you the clichés. In fact, I’ll spare you altogether. I know how people view me: the unfeeling father who took a big payday in exchange for letting his daughter’s killer go free.”

“And that wasn’t the case?”

“Sometimes you have to love a child privately. And sometimes you have to grieve privately.”

Myron was not sure what that meant, so he waited.

“Eat some of the ice cream,” Karl said, “or Kimberly will notice. That girl has eyes in the back of her head.”

Myron reached for the spoon and tried the whipped cream with the first layer of what looked like cookies ’n’ cream. Manna.

“Good?”

“Manna,” Myron said.

He smiled again, but there was no joy in it. “Kimberly invented the Melter.”

“She’s a genius.”

“She’s a good daughter. And she loves this place. I messed up with Alista. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“Is that what you told Suzze?”

“In part. I tried to make her understand my position at the time.”

“Which was?”