“Good, because now that I’ve gotten over the surprise of it all, I can’t tell you how excited I am.” Her gaze wanders to the items spread across the island, and she laughs. “Clearly I’m excited. Though I hope all these gifts didn’t scare you off, because when all of this—” she sweeps a hand in the general direction of the lake “—dies down, I’d really love to throw you a shower. At the club, maybe, or a restaurant in town. Up to you.”

I bristle a little at the this—murder is so darn inconvenient—but I’m not about to slap the hand extending an olive branch. I give her my brightest, happiest smile. “I’d love that, Diana. Thank you.”

23

On the day Katherine Marie Keller drowned, the woman who four years later still haunts this town and my marriage, I had just clocked in at The Daily Bread diner in town. It was an hour before opening time, and we were gathered around a table by the window for our morning meeting, a run-through of specials and instructions that our manager Leonard always started with prayer. He’d just flipped to the appropriate page in his Bible when sirens sounded on the other side of the glass—too many of them whizzing by. Police. Ambulance. Rescue squad. Leonard made us hold hands and pray, loud and long, for whatever God’s creature they were dashing off to save.

The lunch shift was in full swing when the news reached the diner. People shaking their heads and whispering, holding hands and saying prayers for the poor, lost soul. Katherine was dead before they pulled her out of the water.

I wasn’t the only person in Lake Crosby who found it suspicious an experienced swimmer would drown in a lake she swam in every day. Those treks to Waterfall Cove and back were how Katherine stayed fit, her workouts so regular that the boaters knew to watch out for her. One of them, a fisherman, spotted her on her way back, a brunette in a crimson bathing suit executing the perfect butterfly. Strong. Powerful. Two hundred yards from home.

The mountain came alive with questions. How does a perfectly healthy woman drown in water she swims in every day? Did she run out of breath? Get a cramp? And why did she have fresh bruises on her right ankle?

That last one is what keeps Sam awake at night still. Four small round bruises just above her foot, plus one larger one by her heel. Fingerprints, Sam claims, though the medical examiner never went that far. The ME documented the bruises, but she didn’t find much else. No alcohol or drugs in her blood, no other injuries. Nothing to give anyone reason to think Katherine’s death was anything other than a tragic accident. The case was closed before it was even opened.