The rest of the Bragg contingent was made up of three nephews, the sons of Zula and Maddie’s elder brother, who had died in Korea—and two grandnieces in their thirties. Martin Bragg was a minister, Joseph an accountant, and Calvin was a physician. All three were big men, barrel shaped with high foreheads and deep-set eyes. The two women, both Calvin Bragg’s daughters, issued a long list of invitations: to dinner, church, tours of the campus and town and countryside, while their uncles hummed agreement and encouragement. Through it all Angie felt Dr. Bragg’s sharp gaze observing, weighing, and coming to conclusions. It was best to turn the tables in a situation like this, so Angie produced her brightest smile for him.

“Do you have any specific questions for us, Dr. Bragg?”

He looked not so much surprised as satisfied. “As a matter of fact,” he said, “we do.” He had the deepest voice and the most melodious southern accent, so that the overall effect was almost magical. Rivera caught her eye, and Angie knew they were wondering the same thing: whether they might be able to talk Dr. Bragg into narrating some part of the documentary. The idea was so intriguing that she almost missed what he had to say.

He was asking, “My brothers and I have been wondering, what exactly were you thinking when you named your company Tied to the Tracks? Has it got to do with the old films, or is there some deeper meaning?”

“I hope you can answer that in two sentences or less,” said his daughter Marilee. “Because once these three get to talking about books you had best hunker down for a while. And we have got to get going.”

“Now, child, we can spare a few more minutes,” said Miss Maddie. “And besides, I want to hear the answer to this, too.”

They were all looking at her, but Miss Zula’s gaze was the sharpest, and Angie had a sudden and uncomfortable flashback to school.

“Well,” she said slowly, “our view of things is that everybody finds themselves tied to the tracks at some point or another, and that’s where the story is. We tell stories.”

“Ah,” said Reverend Bragg. He sent a satisfied look to his brothers. “Didn’t I say? They’ve updated Tolstoy’s unhappy families to suit the vagaries of the digital age.”

“I didn’t hear her say anything about Tolstoy,” said Joseph, looking affronted. “You are up to your usual tricks.”

“Our Calvin,” said Martin, “is a veritable compendium of logical fallacies.”

Tony let out a hiccup of a laugh, and the three men looked at him.

“I could listen to you talk all day,” Tony said, holding out his hands. “Really. My uncles argue about baseball statistics and sausage.”