“I thought you’d like to see this.” Her eyes glimmer at Dad as she holds out an old, faded black-and-white photograph.

“Goodness me!” says Dad, and gets out his reading spectacles. “Let me look at that.” After he’s had a good long peruse, he puts it on the table and I lean over to see. There they all are, sitting on rocks in the desert.

Dad is recognizably Dad. Corey looks like a completely different person from the tight-faced weirdo we met in Las Vegas. Raymond probably looks the same, except his graying beard is so big now, it’s hard to tell. But the person I’m focusing on is Brent. I peer more closely, trying to get a sense of this man we’re all trying to win justice for.

He has broad features. A square forehead. There’s a stubborn look to him, even in the photo. But he looks like he could be kind and wise too, just like Dad said. Then my gaze transfers to the young Rebecca, and I blink in amazement. God, she was beautiful! In the photo, she’s sitting apart from the others, her head thrown back, her hair cascading down, and her breasts almost popping out of her low-cut prairie-style dress. I can see exactly why Corey might have fallen for her. And Brent. I mean, to be honest, who wouldn’t fall for her?

Did Raymond? Did Dad?

I feel an uncomfortable little fillip in my stomach.

“Let me see!” says Mum, pulling the photo toward her, and I can see her studying Rebecca, her mouth pursed. As she lifts her gaze to the current Rebecca, her expression doesn’t change.

“So, I took the liberty of booking massages for all of you tomorrow,” says Rebecca, in her soft, mesmerizing voice. “Then maybe the hotel could organize a picnic lunch? And you must see the juniper trees while you’re here.”

“We’re not here for pleasure,” says Dad. “So we’ll have to cancel the massages.”

“You can take a few days off.” She gives him her catlike smile. “You don’t want to burn out, all of you.”

“I’m afraid we can’t.” Dad shakes his head. “We need to press on with the task.”

“You’re in Sedona, Graham. Center of relaxation. You need to kick back. Enjoy it!”

“Not really,” points out Dad. “Helping Brent is our priority. He’s the victim.”

“Victim,” mutters Rebecca, her eyes raised to heaven. She speaks so quietly I’m not sure if I actually heard it—but Dad did.

“Rebecca? What does that mean?”

“Well, really.” Her voice bursts out. “I can’t keep quiet anymore. What do you all think you’re doing? Because it’s crazy.”

“We’re trying to put things right for Dad’s old friend!” I say hotly. “That’s not crazy!”

“Put things right?” Her eyes flash at me. “You know nothing about it. If Brent was swindled, it was his own fault. Everyone knew Corey was a liar. If Brent hadn’t drank so much, maybe he would have kept his wits about him.”