Now there was some greenery budding and blossoming on the naked branches, signaling the land was returning to life. It struck me as unfair. My sister was dead, but the shoreline that had hidden her body was getting yet another renewal on life.

I raised my camera and snapped pictures.

When Richards had told my family about the discovery of Clare’s body, I’d excused myself and then sneaked out of the house and driven to the crime scene. When I’d arrived, the area was taped off, so I’d parked a half mile away and walked in. The riverfront land was roped off with yellow crime-scene tape, and a team of forensic technicians and uniformed officers were searching the brush and shoreline for evidence. I stood back, praying that whatever they found would somehow prove that they’d made a mistake. The body on the rocks was not Clare.

At the crime scene, I’d lingered in the cold, huddling in my jacket, when an officer had made a discovery. He’d found a black blouse with a deep-V neckline. My shirt.

I’d bought the shirt five days before Clare died. I’d taken my father’s credit card from his wallet and treated myself to a few post-Christmas treats. Dad didn’t like when he saw all the bags in my room, but as long as I wasn’t bothering him, that gave him time with Sandra.

The night of the New Year’s Eve party, I’d come into our room to find Clare looking at the top. Since she’d started dating Kurt, she’d been dressing more and more like me. I’d told her to go for it.

What if she’d not worn that blouse? What if she’d dressed as Clare and not me?

After Clare died, I was a mess and Dad could no longer ignore me. He needed to prove to himself and the world that his absentee parenting had not led to Clare’s death. The police and the neighbors were watching now, he’d said many times. I needed to be on my best behavior.

Brit had offered to drop out of college, but he wouldn’t hear of it. No sense pissing away both their lives because of Clare and me. His solution had been to ship me off to Catholic boarding school. The change of scenery didn’t help—demons do travel—and if there was trouble to be found, I located it. By summer break, I’d been expelled.

So it was just me and Mother Brit, who fell back into her role as the fussy surrogate parent. She drowned me with enough attention for two. I’d gotten pretty sick that summer, and again the doctors theorized it was grief. I’d suffered two major losses in three years, and it was no wonder my body was breaking down.