“Troubled young people are my stock-in-trade, and Alicia was indeed very troubled, and very lost, and I like to think I have been instrumental in bringing her safely back to you. She loves you very much, you know.”

The quiet power of the man. That overwhelming sense of his goodness: so plausible, so gentle, so hard to counter, even for a cynic like me.

“Thank you,” I said. “For everything.” Did my words sound cynical? I didn’t know. Bror seemed to accept that I was sincere.

“And finally I may accept your thanks. You are truly welcome, Cal Curtis. Now, follow.”

At the sink he tipped coffee from a mortar into the filter, used his index finger to loosen the last of the grounds, examined the mortar closely.

He turned to me, and his eyes seemed to see my very soul. “You are not at peace, my friend,” he said.

I thought of the gray sworl in the footage from Garden Island. I thought of the door ajar in the hall. I thought of Vee and Licia bickering and quarreling and fighting as they had always fought, when Licia was so clearly changed. So tempting to confront him, to accuse him outright. I know.

“Ask me anything you like.”

Seven frames. The bottom left of the picture. Eight frames, perhaps. Blink and you miss it.

He narrowed his eyes. “What is troubling you?”

I said, “Were you ever on Garden Island?”

The slightest shake of the head.

His gaze was even. His smile was sincere. “Why do you ask?” His arm on mine, warmth flowing from him.

“Just my looping paranoia,” I said.

He laughed. “Ah, the curse of the agile mind. Here’s a crazy idea. Will you not have dinner with us tonight?”

And from the hall the sound of bare feet scuffing across flagstones. Milla, dressed all in gray, her hair again drawn into a tight bun. She saw me, looked meekly down at her feet. As if we had never met.

I said, “Good to see you again, Milla.”

She glanced up at me, glanced at Bror, then looked away.

“Six rabbits from the refrigerator,” said Bror. “Please skin them and joint them and have them ready for eight-thirty.”

“Of course.” She walked to the workbench by the sink. From a drawer underneath she took a long-bladed knife.

Bror turned to me. “Will you join us?”

“That’s kind.”

I must have frowned.

“You’re concerned about logistics.” He smiled.

I took a deep breath. “I am.”

“You will drive home, collect your family, and return. I shall have Milla make up beds. You may then choose whether or not to overnight with us. Milla is an excellent cook. We will talk then, I hope, about things which we have alluded to but never quite spoken of. At the worst, you get a wonderful meal. At best, perhaps I can bring you all some peace. Go and call your extraordinary wife.”