He got up, wondering who the hell would be calling him on his old home phone. He hadn't given the number to the detectives, nor to Qurban.

He hesitated a moment. What if it was Barclay? What if he'd somehow figured out where they were hiding? It wasn't likely, but he'd been surprised far too many times this past week to allow Barclay the upper hand now.

The women at the table watched him. He tried to make his voice sound as unafraid as possible.

"Hello," he said.

"Smartypants!" came the baritone voice on the tinny receiver.

"Who is this?"

"It's your old pal," the guy said, and Martin placed the voice with the name.

"Sinjin?"

"You got it, buddy. Man, all these years later I still remember your phone number. Isn't that a thing? It's like when you haven't heard a song in thirty years and you start singing along like it was just on the radio the other day."

"Yeah, that is weird."

Sheila gave him a quizzical look. He shrugged.

"So what's up, Sinjin?"

"Ah, well remember youse said yesterday you'd love to come over, meet the wife? I figured today was as good as any for a lobster and clambake. It's a Barrows Bay tradition, the way we welcome back old friends and new friends to the island." He paused, let the offer hang a moment. "Unless you're too busy to hang out with an old pal, that is."

The thought of spending the afternoon with Sinjin and his wife, reminiscing about things the two of them might have done when they were four-year-olds, sounded like his idea of hell. But as much as he didn't want to stick around Barrows Bay any longer than necessary, news of passing on a lobster and clambake—especially if it was a tradition—would spread like wildfire on the island. Soon he'd be recognized not for being a local celebrity but as someone who'd lived too long in the big city. Gotten too big for his britches. Thought he was too good for a New England clambake.

He lowered his voice and turned from the watchful eyes at the table. "Nadine won't be there, will she?"

His mother tutted. Sheila snickered.

"Nadine?" Sinjin sighed. "Christ, I thought you mighta heard. I guess, why would you? Doubt even anyone knows you're here but me and the wife."

"Heard what, Sinjin?"

"Nadine died last night, Marty."

"Cops said she got trampled by deer, you believe that?" Sinjin said, exhaling a cinnamon bun-scented cloud.

They stood on the back deck of the St. Johns' house, the covered barbeque and patio set like ghosts of summer under cream-colored tarps. Patches of snow lay on the brown lawn, where Sinjin had piled everything he'd shoveled off the deck throughout the winter.

"Old Joe Neely found her bike all mangled-up in this big buck's antlers, swears it was a twenty-pointer if it was anything. Cops took the damn thing, anyhow. Bet you anything they're having venison tonight down at the cop shop." He took another thoughtful pull on the vape. "Weirdest thing I ever heard of, though," he said on exhale. "You ever hear something like that happening? Such a shame, too. She had a rough life, Marty. Her mom dying when we were in high school, then her dad a while back with the cancer. I think she musta had bi-polar or something, the way she talked sometimes. Anyways, Laura and me feel really awful about it, you know? But what can you do? Circle of life, right?"