“Hey,” I said. “The new Agatha Christie remake just came out. I bet it’s playing in St. Albans.”

Dad perked up. “I’ve been dying to see that. Smashing cast.”

“Brett loved the movies.” The way Mom cast a disapproving glance around the kitchen, I could almost picture Brett with his crooked smile and cold beer, trying to win my mother over with a dirty joke.

“Come on,” I said. “My treat.”

She closed her eyes. When she opened them, she said, “One condition. I want my own popcorn.”

I smiled. “Done and done. We’ll go to the movies,” I said.

If only the solutions to all our family problems were as simple.

SEVEN

Home. It should have wrapped around me like a hot towel from the dryer. Why couldn’t I shake the feeling that the place was full of ghosts? Everywhere I looked I saw Brett’s face, his fine, white-blond hair falling into pale Nordic eyes. It was hard to believe the chipper, crowing party boy had been reduced to dust.

By the time the anemic winter morning sunlight began to stream through my bedroom window, I was jittery and tense. I showered quickly, threw on some old jeans and a sweater, and pulled my hair into a dripping wet knob at the base of my neck. There was no one in the kitchen when I fixed my morning coffee, but my mother had left a note: she and Dad were running errands in St. Albans before dropping into a yoga class. I was glad they were trying to keep active. The movie had been a welcome diversion for all of us.

Distraction wasn’t in the cards for me today.

The drive to Maquam Bay was shorter than I’d hoped, even with the stop I made along the way. I passed a school bus full of leering little faces as I turned onto Crissy’s street. I passed Felicia’s house, too. I’d made a point of distancing myself from the Skilton family, and Crissy had tried to do the same, but even though she didn’t have much contact with her mother now, they lived steps from each other on the very same street.

Crissy’s home was a converted trailer that overlooked the water. To the west, I could just make out North Hero State Park. To the north, my cousin had an unobstructed view of the outskirts of the wildlife refuge where Brett’s body had turned from flesh, to jelly, to bone. If you took a boat across the water, like the one tied up to her dock, it would be a short trip to where the police found her father.

I hadn’t called ahead, wasn’t even sure I was going to make this trip until I found myself turning out of my parents’ driveway. I could have gone to Felicia, and would have to, eventually. The need to talk to Brett’s family was strong. My fear of what awaited me at my aunt’s house was stronger.