“Yeah, yeah.”

Julia winked and began perusing the flowers. “Do you have any peonies, darling?”

“Yeah, in the corner there.” Ash pointed at a bucket of furled yellow and pink peonies, their petals a tight promise.

“I love peonies,” Julia said to Truman.

Ash was biting his thumbnail, and Truman had the sudden conviction that Ash ordered peonies for this very reason.

“What’s the occasion, Mom?”

“I’m having some lovely young people over for coffee tomorrow.”

“That’s nice,” Truman said as Ash said, “What? Who?”

“You remember Mallory and Jack’s son, Bradley?”

Ash nodded.

“And the McFaddens’ cousin?”

“Uh, Tania? Tori?”

“Tori, yes. They’re coming for coffee. Bradley wants to be a journalist, and he’s started writing freelance. And Tori’s a filmmaker. Well, she wants to be. They’re so interesting, and we got to talking, and I invited them over tomorrow.”

“That’s really nice, Mom. I hope you have a great time.”

“I’m sure we will,” she said breezily.

Truman watched Ash. His expression was perfectly fixed between joy and pain.

“Can I wrap those up for you?” He slid the flowers Julia had chosen from her hands. “Truman wanted to ask you something.”

“I did? Oh! Yeah. I’m trying to figure out if someone used to live on Owl Island. She would’ve been here more than twenty years ago, and she would’ve lived in Greta Russakoff’s house. She was a writer and wasn’t very friendly…maybe didn’t socialize with anyone.”

“Are you talking about Marlene Travis?” Julia’s whole face lit up. “She rented that house every summer for seven years. Had to be, oh, well, actually, she started coming two summers before Ash was born, so, twenty-eight years ago?”

Disappointment ripped through Truman to hear that it wasn’t Agatha Tark. Then a small voice that sounded very much like Charlotte said, Hey, dipshit, ever heard of a pen name?

“Marlene was my dear friend,” Julia said. “I was devastated when she stopped coming.” She chuckled. “Didn’t socialize. That’s an understatement. She couldn’t stand most people. Don’t know why she let me befriend her. Maybe I was just persistent enough.”

“Was she…um.” Truman swallowed hard. “Was she working on a book when you knew her?”

“Oh yes, she was always working on something. She would not pick up the phone or answer the door until three p.m. because she was writing. But whenever I’d ask her to read what she wrote, she said no. I asked her what her book was about, and she said it was none of my business.” Julia chuckled fondly.

“Holy crap,” Truman breathed. “Agatha Tark. Um, do you know where she went when she stopped coming to Owl Island?”