Winnie tried to sort through her questions before someone came in. Her head wasn’t right; she needed to remember this later. “Who sent the email?” Winnie asked.

Shelly shook her head, but for a moment Winnie saw doubt in her sister’s eyes. “I just know what Mike tells me.” Winnie didn’t particularly like her brother-in-law Mike Stallwart, but he didn’t know that. She’d asked him for a few favors over the years, and he’d been nice enough to never mention it to anyone in the family. This time it involved more than just Winnie so of course Mike was telling them everything.

Winnie ignored the question. “Was she married…? What about the husband?”

“She was. He told the police that she’d been depressed on and off since her daughter’s death and had even contacted a medium…” Shelly paused to let that sink in. “Her daughter was homeless, and last she heard from her she was in Seattle and pregnant in early 2007.”

Winnie nodded slowly but her hands were shaking even as they were locked in an embrace. “So why would she think Sam was her daughter’s kid? Sam was born in 2008.”

Shelly shrugged. “Terry obviously didn’t know that when she showed up.”

“So Samuel knows I’m his mom, right?”

“Of course,” Shelly said. “They’re saying it was a terrible coincidence that Terry came on the same night Dakota…” Winnie shook her head vigorously. She didn’t want to hear any more about Dakota.

“Anyway,” Shelly said quietly. “They’re investigating. I’m sure they’ll do what police do.”

Winnie didn’t want to know what that meant. Whoever that person was, they’d known enough to get Terry Russel involved. She shifted the subject to Manda, wanting to think more on that later. Shelly’s face soured at the mention of Dakota’s wife.

“She’s angry. She’s blaming us—all of us,” she added, glancing at Winnie. “She says he’s always been mentally ill and we knew it and enabled him.” Shelly spat this out with laughter in her voice, and Winnie felt herself get so hot under the thin hospital sheet she had to close her eyes to keep from yelling. “Dakota was normal until he met her. She’s the one who—”

“My God, stop it. I was there, Shelly. What Manda is saying is true. It may not be solely our fault, but we ignored what was right in front of our faces. I bought pot from him, for God’s sake.”

Shelly’s head jerked up at that. “Marijuana doesn’t make someone a murderer,” she said tightly.

“No, it doesn’t, but the fact that he hid everything from his wife and children, the fact that he shot Nigel and tried to kill me—I think that all points to the fucking fact that he was sick!”