“She and her friend Riley had a girls’ night,” Nate explained. He turned to Helen. “Where’d you go, anyway?”

“Oh, you know,” Helen said, wondering how much trouble you got in for deliberately lying to the police in a situation like this. “Just out for a bite to eat and drinks.”

“So you’d been drinking?” the trooper asked.

“No,” she said. “I mean, yes, I, uh, had one glass of wine.”

He nodded.

“Any drugs?” he asked. She wondered if her eyes were still red and glossy from the pot.

“No,” she said.

The trooper and Nate were both studying her. Now Nate looked like he was doubting her, too. Like maybe she’d gotten good and wasted with Riley and then…closed all the windows and cranked open all four burners on the stove before passing out?

“So what now?” Helen asked, trying to hide her irritation. “Are you going to dust for fingerprints or something?”

“No, ma’am,” Trooper Bouchier said with a small smile. “I’ll write up a report.”

“A report?” Helen said. “That’s it?”

“Mrs. Wetherell, Mr. Wetherell—there’s no sign of a break-in, no sign of a crime,” the trooper said.

“Someone did this!” Helen said, losing all hold on her composure. “Someone came in here and turned on the gas and closed the windows! We could have died!”

“Mrs. Wetherell,” the trooper said. “It’s just as likely that it was an accident. Maybe you…bumped against the stove and didn’t even realize it. It’s a very small kitchen you’ve got here. And the windows—well, you wouldn’t be the first person in the world to do something on autopilot late at night and forget about it later, now would you? One night, after a few beers, I ate all the leftover meatloaf—wasn’t I mad the next morning when I went to make myself a sandwich for lunch? Said to my wife, ‘Where on earth did you—’ ”

Helen broke in. “Sorry, let me get this straight—you’re not going to do anything because you don’t believe us.”

“Helen—” Nate began.

“What?” she snapped. “That’s what he’s doing. Absolutely nothing.”

“I’ll write up a report,” the trooper repeated, smiling that small, amused smile again. “And of course, if there’s another incident, you be sure to let us know.”

“We appreciate it,” Nate said.

“Great,” Helen muttered. “Very helpful.”

CHAPTER 32

Olive

SEPTEMBER 10, 2015

Olive rolled over on the couch and opened her eyes. She smelled coffee. And pancakes. Her dad never made breakfast. The only one who did was…Mama!

Olive leapt off the couch and ran to the kitchen.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Riley said, smiling at her.

Olive blinked at her aunt, who stood in front of the stove, flipping pancakes on Mama’s big cast-iron griddle. She had on Mama’s pink apron.