He spoke with gentle concern, and I smelled hair tonic and aftershave. I’d met him only once, on a Friday evening last year, a football game at home, halftime at the concession stand with Dana tucked against his side. He’d been pleasant then, and even now his eyes were kind. I nodded to his question, but didn’t really answer. People were watching. Not all of them, but enough.

“Listen,” he said. “I know about your brother.” He raised a hand, as if I might interrupt. “No need to speak of innocence or guilt—I’m sure you would say all the right things—but, at this moment, I’m responsible for Becky’s well-being. She’s a guest of my family. That means I must act in her interests, almost as a father. Do you understand that, son?”

“Listen, sir—”

“Please don’t sir me. I know you snuck into my daughter’s room last night. I won’t pass judgment on that alone—perhaps you felt justified, somehow—but it does speak to your character.” I felt heat in my neck, a sudden dryness in my throat. “What matters most is this: I can’t have you speaking to Becky today, not in church and not afterward, not until I return her to her own father. Do you understand?” He leaned closer, his arm along the back of the pew. “I’m not judging you, son, not on this murder business, and not on the actions of your brother, but this is a difficult thing whose full meanings are not yet known. Work with me, okay? Do the right thing, today of all days and here of all places.”

He gave my shoulders a squeeze, then slid out of the pew to rejoin his family. Becky looked my way, but I was burning too hotly to meet her eyes. Instead, I stared at the woman in front of me, at the lacquered hair and the floral dress. I thought everyone in church had heard what Dana’s father had said, and could see the shame he’d put inside me, this thing that was a flame. Pride alone kept me from leaving before the service ended, and even then, I kept my seat, watching to see who nodded or spoke or simply stared. Becky was the only one I cared about, so I rose as she entered the stream of people and found a place on my side of the aisle. Dana’s father was watching from behind, so she kept her eyes straight ahead, and said nothing at all to me, choosing instead to press her church bulletin into my hand as she passed. I waited until the church was empty, then looked down to see four fine words in Becky’s lovely hand.

Five o’clock.

The quarry.