“B-b-b-b-ad,” she said again. “Bad Daddy. Bad Daddy!”

It took a second for Anne to understand, but then the pieces snapped into place. Swallowed by the black background, with just her face standing out, Milo Bordain must have reminded her of the man who had attacked her mother. Darren Bordain was a prime suspect. He was the spitting image of his mother.

“Bad Daddy! Bad Daddy!”

Milo frowned sharply as Haley began to wail and shriek, only succeeding in making herself look more menacing.

“Haley!” she snapped. “Stop that!”

Before Anne could react, she took the girl by the upper arms and gave her a shake.

“Haley! Stop it! Stop it right now!”

Anne bolted forward and scooped Haley into her arms, ignoring the pain of her own injuries as she pulled the little girl tight against her. She wanted to knock Milo Bordain on her ass.

“Don’t frighten her more!” Anne snapped.

“She knows me, for heaven’s sake!” Bordain snapped back. “She’s being ridiculous!”

“She’s four!” Anne shot back.

Haley cried harder.

“What have you been putting in her head?”

“Nothing!”

“Cal Dixon and your husband are trying to frame my son—”

“That’s absurd! They’re trying to get to the truth—whatever it might be.”

“Darren did not kill Marissa.”

Anne walked away from her and the argument, cradling Haley’s head against her shoulder. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re okay.”

Haley cried and twisted in her arms. “No!!”

“Maybe we should just go,” Anne said. She turned back toward Milo Bordain. “We should just go. This isn’t a good day for anyone. We can come back another day.”

“No!” Milo said, instantly contrite. “No, please don’t go. I’m so sorry I lost my temper. I’m just beside myself with everything that’s gone on this week.

“Don’t go. I have a picnic lunch all ready,” she said. “We’ll go down by the reservoir. Haley, don’t you want to go for a ride in the golf cart?”

Haley looked up at her. They were out of the shadows of the barn now. The apparition that had frightened her was gone, replaced by a person she had known her whole life.

“Should we go for a ride in the golf cart?” Bordain said, forcing a smile.

Still unhappy and out of sorts, the little girl put her head back down on Anne’s shoulder and murmured, “Mommy Anne ...”

The muscles in Milo Bordain’s square jaw tightened against her annoyance at Haley’s name for Anne.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Anne said. “Do you want to go for a ride and have a picnic?”

“The cart is right over here,” Bordain said, leading the way.

The golf cart, like everything else to do with Milo Bordain, was decked out elaborately, made to look like a Mercedes-Benz with the big logo on the front.