Avery didn’t mention that the “house” was a ten-thousand-square-foot mansion on the beach, and that it was not “gone” as much as confiscated by the government, like every other piece of property her family had owned. She also skipped the fact that her mother was dead, her father was a crook, and that her time in New York this summer had much greater repercussions than shedding light on Victoria Ford’s guilt or innocence. Just life’s little details, Avery thought as she sipped her beer. The minor things she kept to herself when meeting new people.

Their burgers arrived. Between bites, Walt asked her, “Spending every summer in Wisconsin . . . was that a drag as a kid?”

“Just the opposite. They were the best times of my life. The sailing school was well known and prestigious. Still is today. At least it is within the small, cultish group of people who want to drill the art of sailing into their children from the time they’re old enough to walk. The wait list is years long, literally. Some of my parents’ friends jumped onto the list as soon as their kids were born. No kidding. It was the only way to get a spot. That, or your parents had a lot of money and a lot of clout.”

“Your parents had that?”

Avery shrugged. “Something like that. But however they managed to get me there, those summers were special. For me and my brother. God, he loved that place.”

Memories of Christopher momentarily distracted her. After a stretch of silence, she realized Walt was staring at her, waiting for her to continue.

“It’s right on the lake. The camp. Kids from around the country went there to learn to sail. A couple kids from England, too. I used to love their accents. When I was a kid I dreamed of moving to London just so I could talk like them. It was strange, the friends I made. We’d see each other only in the summers and never talk for the rest of the year. But as soon as the school year ended, all I wanted to do was get to Sister Bay. And when my sailing friends and I reunited each summer, it was like we were never apart. Camp kids have that sort of bond.”

“You stayed the entire summer?”

“Eight weeks. Every summer.”

“What, did you sleep in tents?”

Avery laughed. “You’re not a camp kid, are you?”

Walt shook his head. “My summers consisted of baseball in the streets of Queens. Sending me off to camp would have been like a prison sentence.”

“Only camp kids understand. No, we did not sleep in tents. We stayed in cabins, complete with bathrooms and even toilets. Yes, Wisconsin has such luxuries as running water and indoor plumbing.”

Walt opened his palms. “I’m not ripping on Wisconsin. I just don’t know anything about summer camps.”