Then the sirens had killed him, gutting him like a fish and leaving him to rot as they danced and sang and tore up his home looking for valuables. The worst part of it was that he gladly would’ve given them anything they wanted, and not because they were sirens who put a spell on him, but because Bernie wanted to help everyone.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” Brian said, his own voice thick with tears. “I know how fond of him you were.”

Harper put her hand to her mouth as silent tears slid down her cheeks. With the image of his body burning in her mind, she realized she had to form a response. Her father didn’t know that she’d already found out Bernie was dead, and he couldn’t know.

“How…” Harper croaked, barely able to force the word out around the lump in her throat.

“They’re not sure yet,” Brian said, but he lowered his eyes when he said it.

Harper had a feeling that the police had told him more than he was sharing with her, and for a split second she hated them for that. Brian didn’t need to know the details of it. Everyone should be spared that gruesome image if they could be.

“They found his house ransacked,” Brian went on. “They think it was some kind of robbery gone wrong.”

Harper wondered if there was any truth to that. Had the sirens gone to steal from him, and he’d been a casualty? Or had his murder been their primary goal, and the robbery an afterthought?

“He had a doctor’s appointment in town yesterday, and when he didn’t show up, the doctor sent the police out on a well-being check,” Brian said. “With a man of Bernie’s age living alone, the doctor was being cautious. But nobody ever expected to find him murdered.”

“Do they have any suspects yet?” Harper heard herself asking. Her hands were trembling, so she put them on her knees, squeezing them to keep the quaking at bay.

“Not yet,” Brian admitted. “But they’re looking.” He paused. “They think it might have been the same person who’s been killing those boys.”

Harper nodded numbly, knowing for a fact that the same monsters who had killed Luke Benfield and the two other teenage boys had also killed Bernie.

“At least you just spent time with Bernie,” her father said, trying to change the subject and put a brighter spin on everything somehow.

It had only been on Saturday, a few days before, that Harper and Brian had spent the afternoon on Bernie’s Island, catching up with him and checking out his garden. She knew she should’ve found some comfort in that, a warm last memory with an old friend, but there was no comfort for her.

“I know this is a lot to take,” Brian said. “Are you holding up okay?”

“Yeah,” Harper said unconvincingly.