“It’s a lovely place—trees, water, mountains. Or maybe they’re officially hills. It’s New Hampshire, so they’re probably mountains. I wasn’t taking in much of the scenery. Among other things, it was unseasonably hot. Not that there are reliable seasons anymore. It’s one of those old family estates Grammy or Gammy or Bammy bought back in the good old days, when you could have indentured servants and didn’t have to pay taxes. I’m sure the acreage is haunted by the ghosts of people who died keeping the Wade family in firewood and ice.” Maybe she was beginning to sound unappreciative and resentful of Caroline, who had, after all, been lovely in every possible way. Considering what had happened, she couldn’t even utter Caroline’s name. “Still,” she said, “an impressive place in its self-reverential way.” She brushed some lint off her skirt and adjusted her wristwatch. “We came back a day early.”

The head tilted just a fraction more to the right. “Oh?”

“Dale was involved in some business crisis back in Boston. He was completely preoccupied, and we felt we were in the way.”

“Both you and Thomas felt you were in the way.”

It was one of those annoying statements that was really a question, a prod in a particular direction, not asking for information directly, but restating what she’d said in the hopes that she’d stumble along and reveal more than she’d intended to reveal. After all these years, she knew every one of Berman’s tricks, the inflections and wordings he used to prompt her. Somehow, she still fell for them; before she could stop herself, she was saying, “Yes, we had a family discussion and we agreed we were in the way, with all the phone calls and his bad mood and whatever was going on behind the scenes.”

“You and Thomas discussed it and were in agreement.” He was nodding, not necessarily an indication that he believed her.

“Yes. And then we left.”