“He was right. The receptionist at the plant told us Brett planned on moving that Sunday. If I can reconstruct the timeline of that weekend,” I said, “we might be able to figure out who killed him.”

“Well, you know he was at the movies.”

“Brett was? You saw him there?”

“Sure. You didn’t?”

“We couldn’t find him.” I paused. Was that true? I knew that by the end of the night Abe was pretty upset. Wasn’t that because we struck out? Fucking Bram. I couldn’t tell which memories he’d contaminated. Would I have any fond ones of him at all if he hadn’t drilled them into my head? “If you saw Brett there,” I said, “he was still alive Saturday night.”

That got a headshake. “He was alive a lot longer than that. He moved to Philly, remember? Abe went to live with him.”

“See, I’m not so sure.” It was certainly the story we’d been told by our parents: Abe ran away and ended up in Philadelphia with Brett. Severed ties with his mother and sister, choosing instead to live with his dad. But apart from the letter Felicia received, nobody had heard from Brett for years.

I pushed my hands deeper into my pockets and said, “What if Abe never actually reconnected with Brett after leaving Swanton? He was sixteen, a minor. Felicia would have had to report him as a runaway, but then she got a letter from Brett saying Abe had arrived. She could breathe easy knowing he was safe.” And Abe could dissolve into the ether.

“Abe could have forged the letter,” I said, spitballing. “He had lots of birthday cards from Brett to work with.” It would explain the decades-old skeletal remains, and why Brett was never heard from again after his supposed move. “I don’t think Brett left Swanton at all. I think June 20th, 1998—the day we went to the movies—could have been the day he died.”

We stood cheek by jowl in front of my parents’ house, both of us freezing, neither making a move for the door. “Let’s say the killer knew about Brett’s plan to take off,” I said. “It’s kind of genius, really. Nobody considered Brett missing because they knew he was going to be leaving the state.”

Doug had grown quiet and seemed a little distant, but I didn’t want to lose my train of thought, so I barreled on. “If I’m right about the timeline, I’d say we can rule out the possibility of the killer being a stranger. A murder like his isn’t likely to be random. Too many major events converging. A man doesn’t quit his job, leave his family, and immediately become the victim of an indiscriminate psychopath.”

“Crissy,” said Doug.

Had he been this pale five minutes ago? His freckles were strangely bright against his skin. “What about her?” I asked.

“You said major events around the time of Brett’s disappearance. Brett quit the plant and planned to leave town, but that’s also when Crissy disappeared.”