“Get him in here!” Commodore’s voice boomed.

The doctor nodded and backed out of the room.

Commodore’s stare, harder than granite, landed on me. “I wasn’t supposed to outlive my son.”

My mother looked up, her face contorted in anguish. “It should’ve been you. He said you called him back to the office. That’s why he’s dead!”

Commodore’s brows swept together. “What the hell are you talking about?”

My mother’s finger jutted out, shaking in the air as she pointed at Commodore. “He left tonight, in the middle of that storm, because you couldn’t wait for some report until tomorrow. This is your fault.”

Commodore’s face showed nothing but confusion, and that told me exactly what I needed to know. My father wasn’t working tonight. There was no report.

He’d lied to my mother. Again.

Before Commodore could respond, the doctor returned with a man wearing damp clothing. “This is Mr. Ainsley, a volunteer firefighter. He—”

Commodore stood. “Let the man speak. I want to hear him tell us what happened. Not you.”

The doctor’s mouth snapped shut and he stepped back.

“I’m so sorry to you all for your loss.” Mr. Ainsley removed his hat, and his gaze drifted to my mother. “Ma’am.”

“Tell us something,” my mother screeched, and I was afraid she was going to scare him out of the room.

Ainsley nodded. “I was heading home from picking up a buddy at the bar, and noticed the guardrail was out on the bridge. In that rain, I figured it’d be all too easy to lose control and for a car to go off.”

“Which bridge?” I asked, because I’d driven over the bridge that was closest to Whitney’s parents’ house on my way from the cabin, and I didn’t see anything.

“Downtown. Bridge Street.”

I nodded, and he continued.

“I parked and got out and looked over the side, and I saw a woman on the bank. She wasn’t moving. I called 911, grabbed my bag, and climbed down. That’s when I saw the cars. Both of them were caught up on the rocks. One was upside down.”

“Jesus Christ,” Commodore whispered, bowing his head.

“I went to the woman because she was the only victim I saw at first.”

“At first?”

Ainsley nodded. “I checked her pulse. Nothing. She wasn’t breathing either. I tried CPR, but she was unresponsive. I stayed with her until the EMTs showed up. When fire and rescue came, we waded out into the river. That’s when we found the others.”

My stomach rolled as I pictured the scene he painted.

“My son would’ve been driving a Mercedes,” Commodore said, his voice rough.

“Yes, sir. That’s who I saw next. I’m sorry to say that . . .” He trailed off and looked at my mother. “You sure you all want to hear this?”

“Just tell us,” Commodore said. “We need to know.”

Ainsley glanced at my mother again, and his voice dropped low, almost like he was hoping she wouldn’t hear. “Mr. Riscoff was underwater in the passenger seat when we found him.”