With the sound of wind chimes that still makes my blood run cold.

When Glory drops me back off at Whisper Cove that night, I’m desperate to find Cole. But he isn’t on the cabin steps. And I know he isn’t in bed. So I can’t figure out where he could be. Then I remember how bad he was at rehearsal. How dark. And I think I might know where to find him.

The fog is just starting to roll in, but it isn’t thick yet, so I hurry toward the farmhouse. George is leaning against the front porch railing, smoking. But if he sees me, he doesn’t act like it. And anyway, I refuse to be afraid of him. He’s a pathetic creeper. But he’s not a murderer.

At least I’m pretty sure he’s not.

I head toward the path into the woods and climb the steep hill to the Culver house. The gate at the bottom of the yard is open, and Cole is standing with his back to the edge of the cliff. His heels are hanging over the edge. And there’s nothing but churning water below him. His eyes are closed. Arms spread wide.

It’s the same way he was standing on the swim dock. Before he fell backward into the water.

I stare at him for a minute, afraid to so much as whisper his name. I don’t want to startle him. But somehow, he knows that I’m there. He opens his eyes to look at me.

“You were right,” I tell him. “Your father didn’t kill my mother. They weren’t having an affair. I don’t know what B. C. means, but it isn’t Brody Culver. I had it all wrong. He didn’t have any reason to kill her.” Cole takes a breath. Closes his eyes again. I see him sway a little on his feet, and my heart stops. “Cole,” I say. “Listen. I thought it had to be him, because I remembered you being there that night. But we were with Glory most of the summer, you and me. If you were there, it’s because she was there.”

Cole opens his eyes and blinks at me. “Glory?” I nod.

“They were in love. My mother and Glory. I can explain it all,” I tell him. “Just give me your hand. Okay?”

I reach out toward Cole, but he hesitates.

“Please, Cole,” I beg. “I need you.”

He reaches for me then, but the edge of the cliff crumbles under his heels, and he pitches backward.

“Cole!” I grab his hand and jerk hard, and he topples toward me. We’re both lying in the damp grass at the edge of the drop-off. My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure my ribs must be breaking.

We lie there—tangled together—trying to catch our breath. And when we both stop shaking, I explain about the fight I remembered. How it happened at Glory’s little house. Not on the sea porch.