Mary led the way through the house and into the kitchen. It was a sad place: too clean and tidy. The only signs of a life lived—a few framed photographs showing livelier times—were from the past. It smelled musty even though every surface gleamed.

“Would you like tea?” Mary asked.

“I’d love some, but please, don’t go to any trouble.”

Carrie sat at the kitchen table, watching Mary fill the kettle, and wondered where to begin.

“You live alone?” she asked.

“Ever since Mattie died. Evelyn was nineteen. He’d left her some money, so she stayed for a few months, until her inheritance came through, and then she moved out.”

“Do you stay in touch?”

“We’re not close.”

Mary brought a teapot to the table, then added tea leaves and boiling water from the kettle. She went to the fridge for milk, and Carrie looked quickly around the room, eager to pick up whatever information she could. There was a wedding photo on the sideboard, a very young Mary Ross in a white embroidered dress, tightly holding hands with a young man wearing a suit a size too big. And one other photograph, Mary Ross and her husband, older this time, standing with a hand each on the shoulder of a dark-haired little girl. It was a formal family portrait. Carrie told herself not to read too much into the fact that the expressions on their faces looked anything but happy.

Mary poured two cups of tea, then handed one to Carrie.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

In the face of such bluntness, Carrie found herself speechless. “I . . . I’m not sure. I . . . Sorry, I feel like I might be wasting your time.”

There was a painful pause, then something loosened in Mary’s face. “You’re very young. Young to be a garda. What age are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

“The same age as Evelyn.”

“Mrs. Ross, when Evelyn was sixteen, did she make a complaint against one of her teachers?”

Mary took a breath. “If you’re a garda, then you must know all about it.”

“I only know what’s on file, which is that a complaint was made, the accused man was questioned, and then the complaint was withdrawn a couple of months later. There are a few notes that suggest what may have happened, but I really wanted to speak with you about it. Get your take.” The notes had also subtly implied that Mary Ross was a reasonable woman to deal with, which was one of the reasons that Carrie had taken the risk of coming to see her.

Mary took a sip from her tea. “And what really happened, according to those notes?”

Carrie felt herself flush. She thought briefly about trying to extract herself gracefully, then plowed on. “There was a suggestion that Evelyn may not have been telling the truth. There were inconsistencies, you see, in her account. So I thought I’d come and see you and ask you to tell me what really happened.”