After I make my case, Teddy texts Tripp asking for the address. Tripp replies immediately. Apparently, in addition to warm and fuzzy fishing trips, the fraternity used the house on multiple occasions for parties. Getting an individual invite was considered quite the honor even though other brothers had nicer vacation properties at their disposal. The point was it belonged to Michael, and they could do whatever they wanted there. Tripp also confirms that no one’s been there since Jay’s death, and tells Teddy that if anyone asks, we didn’t get the location from him.

By the time we arrive, it’s almost dusk. I switch off the headlights and roll down my window before making a wide turn onto the gravel drive. We couldn’t have found the place without Tripp’s instructions. The address is unlisted. There’s no road sign. No mailbox. That prickle I’ve felt since the fire is back. My breath shallows and buries itself somewhere deep inside my chest. Teddy senses it, shifts toward me, but then stops himself. Outside the window, I hear the faint rumble of cars from the main road and the wind in the trees. Branches crunch under the tires. I kill the engine.

“Let’s walk from here.”

Teddy nods but says nothing as he opens the passenger door and shuts it with a faint click. Something scurries in the underbrush, and I slip the car keys in my pocket with the sinking realization that if we have to call for backup, I’ve blocked the only entrance.

We walk fifty feet or so before the lane opens into a clearing. In the light from the moon glints a brown house with wooden slat siding and a front porch that swoops over the sides. The windows are curtained, but a hazy glow slips through. Chips of paint flake off the boards, and a tangle of woody kudzu vines noses its way through the steps.

It’s colder here than in Athens, and I tug my jacket close to my skin. My father’s voice brushes my ear: You have to be careful, Marlitt. There’s a sudden gust of wind, and with it I hear Michael: You and your partner should be careful.

Pine trees shiver in the dark. Their silhouettes draw skeletal shadows across the dead grass. Somewhere in the distance a dog barks, and I can’t help but wonder how long it would take someone to go crazy alone out here.

We circle the house, crouching near the ground and careful to make as little sound as possible. When Jay was last here, the woods might still have been humming with life. Mosquitoes, bullfrogs, and cicadas buzzing and chirping. Now the woods are still, watchful.

There’s a sudden intake of breath from Teddy. And then I see it, too.

Parked under a sycamore tree is our black BMW.