“So you think West may have had something to do with my dad’s disappearance?”

She holds both hands up in an exaggerated shrug. “What do I know? I’m just the neighbor. Just telling you what I saw is all. Don’t have any more to go on than that.”

“Does Ezra know that you saw his dad leave that night?”

She nods. “It was a sore spot for a long time between us. Me going to the police with it. He got over it though, eventually. Was a right angry kid for a long time and made sure everybody knew it.” She gives her head a shake and chuckles. “He even went out to your place after you all left and spray-painted some nastiness across the side of the cottage, chucked a couple rocks through some windows. Police caught him, though, made him paint over the graffiti, and Willa paid to have the windows replaced.”

More details about back then that Ezra neglected to tell me. I’m starting to wonder how truthful he’s actually been with me. Is there nobody in this town I can really trust? Is there anyone who doesn’t have some reason to hate my family?

“So you see,” Judy unfortunately continues, “why I find it surprising that Ezra has become such good friends with you? Or you with him, for that matter, if you’re suspecting his dad might have caused your dad harm.”

“I guess we both just decided to leave the past in the past,” I say, before draining the last of my beer. I hold up the empty bottle. “Thanks for this, Judy. I certainly needed it.”

“My pleasure. Come on back for more later if you want. I’ll be here.” She starts the process of lighting another cigarette.

“Thanks, Judy, that’s kind of you,” I say, getting up out of my chair.

“Kindness is all you have these days,” she says. “Some people round here weren’t happy to hear that a Bennett had returned, but you didn’t have nothing to do with what happened back then, so I say give you a chance.” She leans back in her chair and narrows her eyes at me. “Now, if it was your mother turning up, well, that would be a different story. I’d certainly have some comeuppance to bestow on that woman.”

“Understandable,” I say, thinking she’d have to get in line. I give a last wave and head toward Ezra’s yard.

Halfway to the boathouse, my phone rings. It’s a local number that I don’t recognize, but I answer it anyway, thinking it might be Ezra from a landline. Before leaving, he told me that reception would be spotty where he was going.

It’s not Ezra; it’s animal control. Apparently, he gave them my name and number when he took one of the dead birds in for examination.