“Okay,” he said, hurrying to keep up. “You have to edit the truth. Just a little bit. If either of you says the wrong thing, Bree could end up in jail.”

“I’m a goddamn lawyer,” Trey said, irritated. “I know not to incriminate my wife.”

Marshall persevered. “Don’t outclever yourself, Trey. Lawyers are used to talking. Don’t. Avoid details and definitive answers, even yes and no, if you can. Say, ‘I think so’ and ‘I’m not sure’ and ‘I’m so upset it’s hard to think.’ Only talk about the things you witnessed personally. It’s fine to say, ‘I was still in Chicago, then.’ Meanwhile, Bree, you have to tell them that Coral was at the party. That Coral herself poisoned Spencer. You saw her there, okay?”

“Okay,” I said. I would do whatever he said, but right now I just cared about seeing her, being sure. I was a little turned around, though. The woods all looked the same. I had to trust the angle of the slope to lead me back.

Marshall said, “She looked different, tell them. Black dress, makeup, a dark wig. That will explain why other guests don’t recognize her from her photos. Although with that description a few people might say they saw her. I think it’s likely, even. Eyewitness accounts are trash, and people like to feel important. Other than that, tell the truth. Tell them about seeing her, twice, and how she snatched Robert from the school. All you have to change are her instructions on the phone. Say she told you to get Spencer to the Orchid Center, where she would be waiting to confront him. The office log should show her trying to get that appointment earlier. Say you got him to the Orchid Center, introduced them, and then left, just as instructed. Do you understand?”

We came out of the trees by the gold mine. I hurried between the boxes this time, not wanting to be slowed by that loose soil. “I understand.”

He kept talking anyway. “Don’t mention the pills. You introduced Spence to her, and then you left them alone, because your instructions were to go straight home and wait for Robert. Everything else, you tell the truth.”

“Jesus,” Trey said. “Everything?”

“Yes,” Marshall said. “Our trip to Gadsden, Bree’s email, your story. The fewer lies we tell, the better.”

“Jesus,” Trey said again. “If the press—”

Marshall ignored him. “Bree? You could go to prison. Are you listening?”

“I got it,” I said, and I did. I’d almost reached the collapsed side of the carousel. I started running, hurrying around to the front.

There was something like a heap of crumpled laundry, gray and brown and orange, on the platform. It was mostly in shade. It was very, very still.

I ran toward it, saying, “Stay here,” over my shoulder.

Trey said, “The hell I will!”

I snapped, “Don’t bring Robert near her!”