Sarah had seen Melissa in the church, but there had been many strangers there that day, and she had not looked closely at her new aunt. Now Melissa impressed her. With her dark hair and eyes and white skin, she could have been Russian or Polish. There was still no trace of the island accent in her voice.

James showed them into the kitchen. He sat them at the table, as far away as possible from Melissa. She seemed well, but she did not like to be crowded and he was worried that they might provoke one of her panic attacks. He was so concerned about her that he seemed not to have considered what George might want with them. George was beginning to wonder if perhaps he should have agreed to talk to James alone. He thought it unlikely that Melissa was the murderer—she had not even been at the dance. Now he felt restrained because of her fragility. How could he speak directly about death when she seemed to have lived so little?

James spoke first.

“Old Robert’s dead,” he said gently. “ He was shot.”

“Who shot him?” Melissa asked immediately.

James looked at George for more information.

“The police don’t know,” George said. “You didn’t hear anything?”

“No. We wouldn’t do. We go to bed very early.”

“You were out shooting yesterday with the men?” George asked James.

“Yes.”

“Did you see Robert then?”

“No.”

“What time did you finish?”

“I don’t know the time exactly. When the light began to go.”

There was a silence.

“Why have you come?” Melissa asked. “You told James it was about Mary.”

“It is about Mary,” George said. “ I don’t believe that her death was an accident.”

He had spoken softly and he thought she had not heard him.

“I think that the girl was murdered,” he said.

“I heard you,” she said. “What is going on here? An old man shot and a girl murdered. What do you want from us?”

While George was talking to Melissa, Sarah was watching James. He was horrified, as if he could not believe that they could discuss a child’s death so calmly.

“You’re wrong,” he said. “No one here would commit that sort of violence. This is Kinness.”

“All the same,” George said. “I’m quite sure.”

“No. I won’t have it.” He sat down at the table next to George. “I’m the nearest thing there is to a minister here. People come to talk to me. I know them. There is no one here who would kill a child.”

Was the horror because Mary was a child, Sarah wondered, or did James care so much more about her than Robert because she was a Stennet and Robert was not?

“It would help to convince me if you would answer some questions.”

“I’ll answer any question you like, but it’ll make no difference.”