My search having turned up nothing substantial, I stand at the living room window, debating whether or not to give up and go back to the boathouse. That’s when I notice them, three black birds, the very same kind I found on my verandah, hopping around the base of the feeder, pecking at fallen birdseed.

Moving back to Willa’s room, I go right to the window. There’s a lock at the top and it looks as though it’s secured, but when I give the window a push, it pops open easily, providing a very convenient mode of escape. Was Willa my tormentor?

There’s the sound of a boat approaching, so I quickly shut the window and rush out of the stone cottage. I’m there in time to greet Ezra as he pulls up to the dock. He looks pale, all of the life drained right out of him. Other people’s deaths will do that to you.

“Everything go okay?” I ask, even though I know nothing is okay for him right now. He gives me a weak smile and a nod, then busies himself tying up the boat.

Upstairs, I pour Ezra a cup of coffee. “You look like you could use this,” I say, passing it to him.

“That bad, huh?” He tries a laugh, but it comes out more like a grunt.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Ezra?” I ask, wishing I could make the pain that’s sitting in his eyes disappear.

“You could tell me why my mother was really at Avril Island last night.” His words catch me off guard. “I remember hearing you tell the firefighters that you were taking care of my mom, but I don’t really understand why you’d take her to Avril Island or why you’d be the one taking care of her, since it’s Judy’s job. And the really strange part is that the fire department told me today that they found my tin boat on the other side of the island.” He sighs deeply and runs a hand through his hair. “So you see why I’m confused? I mean, what the hell were my mother and my boat doing at Avril Island last night?”

“That’s your boat, the tin tippy?”

He nods, eyeing me with suspicion.

I don’t need any more proof than that. Willa was the one sneaking around Avril Island, leaving dead birds in her wake and record players on. She was the one I chased that night, the one who escaped in the tin boat.

“She was the one trying to scare me off the island,” I say, as the understanding dawns on me.

“Who was the one?” he asks in frustration.