“From Point Park? On that day?” I ask, trying to ground him. He seems very far away, like he’s in a trance. I look across the tennis court. Hoffman is sitting on the bench opposite ours. He’s on his phone checking email or texts. He senses me watching and smiles. I smile back and turn to Josh. “The afternoon Mary died? Why didn’t you tell someone? Say something?”

“Betsy told me not to say anything about that day, that she’d get in trouble.” Josh kicks the ground with the tip of his tennis shoe. “She’s afraid of you.”

Not afraid enough. “Me? I think we should be afraid of her.”

Josh swallows, shakes his head. “I loved her. I would do anything for her. I went to boarding school a few weeks later. Betsy convinced me I didn’t see anything. She told me she loved me and that we’d be together when I came back, after I graduated. But we aren’t. And I know what I saw. Despite the fact Betsy led me on all this time, texting me that she loved me, she didn’t. They were together, in the park, the afternoon Mary died. And I have some of the last texts Mary ever sent on my phone.”

“I guess those texts didn’t really help—not without the context around them.” He can provide plenty of context now, if I don’t spook him.

“I didn’t show the police. I didn’t want to get Betsy in trouble. And besides, I’m sure they downloaded Mary’s data, all her texts.” Josh looks around the tennis courts, out toward the street. I know he’s checking for his mother.

“Yes, we did see all of her texts. The ones to you didn’t mean anything at the time, I suppose. Well, I’m glad you’re finally telling the truth. It’s always good to do the right thing, no matter the consequences.” I pat his shoulder.

“I loved Betsy. I probably still do. That’s what I told the police when they interviewed me back then. And I loved Mary, too. I kept Bo a secret. I didn’t want to stir up any trouble.”

“I know.” But come on.

“Mary had it all figured out. She freaked out about Bo. I mean, he’s a teacher. It’s sort of gross.”

Mary was such a good daughter, so protective of her younger sister. “But Betsy wouldn’t listen to Mary?”

“I guess not. I’m an idiot.”

Yes, you are. I pat his back. Keep talking, idiot. So here we are. “Do you think Betsy and Bo killed Mary?”

“What? I mean, I can’t be certain of anything. I just know Bo wanted Betsy to bring Mary to him. And she did. I was there. At least for a part of it.”