She’d spent hours, days wondering. Was it the aftershock of that terrible night? The accumulation of the man’s moods? Or that she wasn’t programmed to live a calm, normal life?

I wouldn’t trade the life I lead for anything. Look at most of the rest of the world-the walking dead. They’re nothing but dead bodies, Brynn. Sitting around, upset, angry about something they saw on TV doesn’t mean a single thing to them personally…

She thought back to that night after she and Graham had returned from the hospital after Anna had been shot. What he’d said to her.

Oh, Graham, you’re right. So right. But I do owe my son. I owe him big. I put him in a situation where he actually used a weapon to try to save his mother, when I should have taken him out of that household years before.

And then I left after everything got better, I took Joey away from a man who moved heaven and earth to turn his life around.

How can I help but spoil the boy, protect him? And hope for his forgiveness?

Touching her jaw, she now climbed onto the porch of the Feldmans’ house. The scene had been released but a State Police lockbox was still on the door. She worked the combination, took the key and stepped inside. The place smelled of sweet cleanser and fireplace smoke, lured out by the damp air.

She saw bullet holes-from Hart’s, from Lewis’s shotgun, from Michelle’s, from Brynn’s own weapon as well. In the kitchen the floor had been scrubbed clean. Not a trace of blood remained. There were companies that did this, cleaning up after crimes and accidental deaths. Brynn had always thought that would be a good murder-mystery novel: a killer who works for one of those companies and cleans the scene so completely the police can’t find any clues.

In the kitchen she saw a half dozen battered cookbooks, several of which she herself owned. She pulled down an old Joy of Cooking. She opened it up to the page where the red ribbon marked a recipe. Chicken fricassee. She laughed. She’d made this very dish. In the corner was written in pencil, 2 hours. And the words Vermouth instead.

Brynn put the book back.

She wondered what would happen to the house now.

Abandoned for another generation, she supposed. Who’d want to be up here anyway? Imposing, harsh woods, no grocery stores or restaurants nearby and that lake cold and dark, like an old bullet hole.

But then she cut all of these reflections loose, pushed them away, just like she and Michelle had shoved the canoe into the black stream and gone on their urgent way.

With a glance at where the bodies had lain-where she had almost joined them in death-Brynn returned to the living room.

“WE HAVE TO LEAVE.”

“Okay,” Joey replied to his mother and trooped down the stairs, wearing an Old West costume that Anna had made. Man, that woman knew her way around Singer sewing machines, Brynn thought. Always had. Some people are born to the skill.

Brynn had spent the past several days in Milwaukee and Kenosha, running down leads, some successful and some not. But she’d made a point of returning in time that evening to get to Joey’s pageant.

Brynn called, “Mom, are you okay in there?”

From the family room Anna said, “I’m fine. Joey, I wish I could come. But I’ll come to your party when school’s over. I’ll be fine by then. Who’re you playing?”

“I’m this frontier scout. I lead people over the mountains.”

“It’s not about the Donner party, is it?” Anna asked.

“What’s that?” Joey wondered aloud. “Like the Democrats?”

“In a way.”

“Mother,” Brynn scoffed.

Hobbling into the doorway Anna said, “Turn around… My, look at that. You look like Alan Ladd.”

“Who?”

“A famous actor.”

“Like Johnny Depp?” the boy asked.

“Heaven help us.”

Joey wrinkled his face. “I don’t want to put that makeup on. It’s all greasy.”

Brynn said, “You have to wear it onstage. People can see you better. Besides, it makes you look so handsome.”

He gave an exaggerated sigh.

Anna said, “Honey, I think Graham might like to go.”

“Yeah,” the boy said fast. “Mom, can he?”

“I don’t know,” Brynn said uncertainly, angry that her mother had-tactically, it seemed-asked this in front of Joey.

Her mother held her eye and gave her one of her patented ironclad smiles. “Oh, give him a call. What can it hurt?”

Brynn didn’t know the answer to that. And therefore she didn’t want to ask him.

“He’d like the show, Mom. Come on.”

“It’s short notice.”

“In which case he’ll say he has other plans, thank you very much for the invitation. Or he’ll say yes.”

She glanced back. Anna had been supportive emotionally after the breakup, but hadn’t offered any opinion about it. Brynn assumed she was being her typical uninvolved self. But she wondered now if the pleasant smile-the smile of a spokeswoman for AARP on a television ad-hid a carefully planned strategy about her daughter’s life.

“I’d rather not,” Brynn said evenly.

“Ah.” The smile faltered.

“Mom,” Joey said. He was angry.

Her mother’s eyes slipped, for a split second, to her grandson. And she said nothing else.

Joey muttered, “I don’t know why he moved out. All the way over to Hendricks Hills.”

“How’d you know he was there?” Graham had just moved into a new rental yesterday.

“He told me.”

“You talked to him?”

“He called.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“He called me,” the boy said defiantly. “To say hi, you know.”

Brynn wasn’t sure how to react to this. “He didn’t leave a message?”

“Naw.” He tugged at his costume. “Why’d he move there?”

“It’s a nice neighborhood.”

“I mean why’d he move at all?”

“I told you. We had a different way of seeing things.”

Joey didn’t know what that meant but neither did Brynn. “Well, can’t he come to the play?”

“No, honey.” She smiled. “Not this time. Maybe later.”

The boy walked to the window and gazed outside. He seemed disappointed. Brynn frowned. “What’s that?”

“I thought maybe he was here.”

“Why?”

“You know, he comes by sometimes.”

“He does? To see you?”

“No. He just sits outside for a while then drives off. I saw him at school too. He was parked outside after class.”

Brynn kept her voice steady as she asked, “You’re sure it was Graham?”

“I guess. I couldn’t see him real good. He had sunglasses on. But it had to be him. Who else would it be?”

Looking at her mother, who was clearly surprised at this news. “But it might not have been him.”

Joey shrugged. “He had dark hair. And he was big like Graham.”

“What kind of car was he in?”

“I don’t know. Something kind of blue. Looked neat. Like a sports car. Dark blue. I couldn’t see too good. When he called he told me they never found his truck so he got a new one. I figured that was it. What’s wrong, Mom?”

“Nothing.” She smiled.

“Come on. Can’t you call him?”

“Not today, honey. I’ll call him later.” Brynn scanned the empty road for a moment. Then turned and, smiling again-one of her mother’s stoic smiles-said, “Hey, Mom, you are looking better. Maybe you should come to the play after all.”

Anna was going to scold-she’d been after Brynn to let her come to the play all along-but she caught on. “Love to.”

Brynn continued, “We’ll go to T.G.I. Friday’s after. I’ll help you throw something on. I’ll be there in a minute.” She walked to the front door, locked it and went upstairs.

She opened the lockbox and clipped her holster containing the Glock to the back of her skirt waistband, pulled on a jacket.

Staring out the window at the empty road in front of the house, she called Tom Dahl.

“Need a favor. Fast.”

“Sure, Brynn. You okay?”

“I don’t know.”

“Go on.”

“Graham. I need to know what cars are registered in his name. Everything. Even the company cars.”