I TALKED THINGS OVER with Andrew Jones when I got home after court that afternoon. I’d tried to contact Oliver Highsmith again, but so far hadn’t gotten any response. Also, there was nothing new to link Shafer to the Jane Doe murders in Washington. Shafer didn’t seem to have murdered anyone, at least locally, in the past several months.

After a dinner of chicken pot pie, salad, and rhubarb pie, Nana gave the kids the night off from their chore of doing the dishes. She asked me to stay and help, to be her “partner in grime,” as we used to call it.

“Just like the good old days, same as it ever was,” I said as I splashed soap and water onto silver and dishes in the porcelain sink that’s as old as the house.

Nana dried the kitchenware as quickly as I got it to her. Her fingers were still as nimble as her mind. “I like to think we’re older and wiser,” she chirped.

“I don’t know. I’m still the one getting dishwater hands.”

“I haven’t told you something, and I should have,” Nana said, going serious on me.

“Okay,” I said, and stopped splashing water and soap bubbles around in the sink. “Shoot.”

“What I wanted to say is that I’m proud of the way you’ve been able to handle the terrible things that have happened. Your strength and your patience have given me inspiration. And I’m not easily inspired, especially by the likes of you. I know it has had the same effect on Damon and Jannie. They don’t miss a thing.”

I leaned over the sink. I was feeling in a confessional mood. “It’s the worst stretch of my life, the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. It’s even worse than when Maria died, Nana, if that’s possible. At least back then I knew for sure she was dead. I could let myself grieve. I could finally let her go and breathe again.”

Nana came around the sink and took me in her arms, which always surprised me with their strength.

She looked me squarely in the eyes, just like she always has since I was around nine years old. She said, “Let yourself grieve for her, Alex. Let her go.”

Chapter 94

GEOFFREY SHAFER had an attractive, loving wife, and that incongruous and monstrously unfair fact bothered me a lot. I couldn’t understand it as a psychologist or as a detective.

The clever testimony of Lucy Shafer continued early the following morning and lasted just over an hour. Jane Halpern wanted the jury to hear more about Lucy’s wonderful husband.

Finally, it was Catherine Fitzgibbon’s turn. In her own way, she was as tough, and maybe as formidable, as Jules Halpern.