For Bell it was different. For him, the reports about Simon’s arrest were just a horrifying, drawn-out description of his father’s death. He knew all the facts, and they’d worn a groove in him, but they didn’t bring back what he’d lost.

“Do you want to stay out in the truck for this interview?” Emma’s tone is cautious.

“Not this time,” Bell says grimly. He takes the turn past the Walgreens to get them where they need to go.

“Travis. Can you run through this?”

He rolls his lips between his teeth. “Let’s hope so.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Chesterfield Clinic is in an affluent area of sprawling Virginia hillside, with lots of pretty trees. The clinic is more like an expensive health spa, Emma thinks, with chalet-type bungalows, each set in its own garden. The mental health care of the privileged few.

Bell cuts the engine in the parking lot. “Why’s Kristin Gutmunsson living in a place like this anyway?”

“I don’t know exactly. Her lawyer said she needed peace and quiet, after the court case. God knows if Simon were my brother, I’d want some peace and quiet, too.”

They sign in at a genteel reception office and ask for Kristin’s location. It’s sunny back out on the manicured lawns. At the correct bungalow porch, they smooth their clothes, knock. Emma notes the potted geraniums, the unobtrusive lock on the outside of the door. Chesterfield is another asylum, just a nicer-looking one.

They have permission to visit, and they were told Kristin’s expecting them. Yet she still seems surprised when they enter in answer to her call.

She is sitting on a high-sided white couch with too many throw cushions, reading a book in the light-filled, open living room of the bungalow. Her gaze darts over them, settles on Emma.

“Miss Gutmunsson,” Emma starts, “my name is Emma Lewis and this is Travis Bell. We’re with the FBI. We’ve come to talk with you about your brother, Simon.”

Kristin breaks into a smile and puts her book aside, claps her hands.

“I thought they said Emmett.” Her smile is wide and artless. “When they explained you were coming, I thought they said Emmett, not Emma. But you’re lovely! Oh goodness.”

Kristin Gutmunsson’s resemblance to her twin is striking. She has the same gifts of good breeding, the poise and length of bone. She’s barefoot, in a simple cream linen shift that likely cost about as much as a small car. Her hair is ice-white and hangs down in long tassels that remind Emma of Spanish moss—which makes her think of chiggers. Then she feels bad, as if her thought associations are dishonorable. Better to note the rest of the girl’s features without judgment: the bee-stung lips, blue eyes, high cheekbones, aristocratic nose covered with a smattering of pale freckles, the only ordinary thing about her.

Bell shifts on his feet, uneasy. Emma realizes it’s more than the connection to his father’s case. It’s because Kristin is beautiful. Some men find beauty discomforting, and Emma’s not sure why.