“Hey, let me get that.” Gabriel jumps in, relieving me of my box, which he adds to the small tower in the corner. It’s all my belongings, plus some of my mom’s. Mementos and other items that don’t deserve to spend a single second more in that house.

“If only I had a girlfriend who liked me enough to help me with physical labor,” Bronte says with dramatic projection, so that it reaches Amber downstairs. She appears a moment later at the bottom of the steps, a stack of pizza boxes in hand.

“Instead, you have a girlfriend who lovingly feeds you,” Amber says, rubbing her back as we all file to the kitchen to eat. “Even if you do like pineapple on your pizza.”

“It’s a family thing,” Gabriel chimes in, loading three slices onto a paper plate.

Amber joins me in raiding the pepperoni box and says in a stage whisper, “What are we going to do with them?” and I feel that familiar and frightening heady rush. That Gabriel is considered mine.

Don’t trust it, screams the part of me still reeling from everything with Ben. But the other part of me—the part I’m trying to listen to more these days—thinks maybe I deserve some small slice of happiness right now. And Gabriel makes me happy.

“I’m going to take some boxes to the main house,” I say, picking up a cheese and a supreme labeled with Suzanne’s name.

“Pizza’s here!” I call out, sliding them onto the kitchen island in Maura’s house. No—I stop and correct myself—this is my house now, too.

The rumble of voices reaches me, and I follow it to Maura’s office, where I find Suzanne lying spread-eagled on the floor. “Fuck my fucking back,” she groans.

Behind Maura’s desk, Reama chuckles, but she doesn’t miss a beat as she keeps riffling through a pile of paper.

“Pizza’s in the kitchen,” I say. “Uncover anything interesting?”

“Some travel itineraries from the nineties that might help,” Reama says. She’s in town indefinitely on a sabbatical from work. Says the FBI won’t officially sanction an investigation on Maura, but she’s determined to coerce them into it. I’ve given her full access to all of Maura’s things, in case it helps. “Thank God she was a pack rat.”

I’m drawn to the towering shelves, the hundreds of books spanning four decades. The legacy everyone’s always droning on about. Turns out it’s a legacy of death and destruction. A puzzle I’ve inherited. But I’ve got Reama, Suzanne, and all my friends on my team.

Reama appears at my side, yellow legal pad in hand. “I have the master spreadsheet on my home computer, tracking my suspicions and work over the years, but I started a priority list, if you want to look.”