“Hey, what’s wrong?” Steve asked as he turned back to her.

“Oh, it’s just this whole mess with Cole and that conversation with Rhea and then—” The words shot out like a breath Barbara had been holding. Steve came back over and rested a firm hand on her shoulder. “And then just now, when Hannah picked him up from Will’s house, Cole was hysterical. He even had this—I don’t know, this episode right here.” She gestured to the kitchen floor, the scene of the crime. “It was horrible. Just awful, Steve. There is something wrong, really wrong. For all we know, he was abused over there. Molested.”

“Molested?” Steve pulled his chin in. “Where’d that come from?”

“When kids start acting out, sometimes it’s because something has been done to them. Between that woman and her boyfriends and her older son and whoever—”

“Wait, what woman are you talking about?”

“Stella! Come on, Steve, I’ve been telling you. Have you not even been listening?” This was their son they were talking about. Steve needed to pull it together and pay attention. The rest of town would just have to get in line.

“Hold on and back up,” Steve said firmly, sitting across from Barbara. At least he seemed focused. “Cole had a bad day. I get that, but everyone’s entitled to one of those, right?”

“But that’s not—”

He held up a hand, silencing her. “One thing at a time. Do you have any proof that’s not all this is? That this isn’t going to be like Hannah with the bridges? You remember that? One day out of nowhere, we can’t drive anywhere over water without her screaming her head off. Screaming, in case you’ve forgotten. Then one day she’s fine again. You have proof that this isn’t just like that?”

Barbara stared into Steve’s clear bright blue eyes. There was so much feeling in them, so much caring. Sometimes it aggravated her that Steve was more emotional than she was; always it mystified her. He certainly hadn’t gotten his overactive heart from his mother. A widow who died of breast cancer, Wanda was always cold as a corpse. And yet there was Steve, all mushy under that hard masculine exterior. God love him—and Barbara did, every last ounce of him—but Steve could be too trusting and too generous in general. Still, his being so emotional did make it seem like he understood things Barbara didn’t. And right then she needed to believe he was right. Steve stood up and came around behind Barbara, putting a hand on her neck and kneading the knots at the base of her skull. Slowly, her shoulders lowered.

“You’re right, I guess,” she said, letting her eyes slide closed.

This could be just like Hannah with the bridges. Barbara had forgotten all about that. At Cole’s age, Hannah was always having an episode about one thing or another. She was still high-maintenance, but she was well within the range of normal for a teenager. Maybe none of this was as serious as Barbara was letting herself believe. Maybe she did need to calm down. She tried to focus on Steve’s fingers on her neck, the sensation of her muscles unraveling.

“Wait, what’s that?” Steve asked, the sleepy warmth suddenly gone from his voice. When Barbara opened her eyes, he was staring at her open laptop. “Find him. Before he finds you?”

She’d forgotten all about the Reader comments. Steve hardly needed another thing to worry about. And now she’d lose him again to the investigation. He’d be gone for the rest of the night without ever leaving the house.

“Someone trying to make some stupid point,” Barbara said. It was so obvious to her now that the message was not some well-calculated threat. It was a stupid prank. She really was letting herself get too wound up about everything. “You know this town: God knows what their point is, but you can be sure they think they have one.”

“What is it?” Steve’s voice was sharp as he stepped closer to the computer. “Where is it from?”

“Oh, they’re comments on the articles from the Reader,” she said. “You know how people love to comment on there. They find a way to go at each other about the annual Turkey Trot.”

“Great, just what I need, somebody causing a panic.” He shook his head in disgust. “Are there other comments like that?”

“Not that I’ve noticed, but I haven’t had the chance to get through them all.” Barbara dragged her finger across the touchpad, scrolling down. “Can’t you just contact the Reader and make them take it down or trace the email or something?”

He shook his head. “First Amendment. They’re not actually threatening anybody, and you have a constitutional right to be a jerk. Besides, the Reader isn’t going to crack open its computer records to the police, not for something like this.” He ran a finger down the screen, blowing out some air. “Dammit. I looked at the articles. There was nothing to them. These people really can make a damn mountain out of a molehill.”

“They’re just worried,” Barbara offered because it felt like Steve was talking about her. And that part was understandable. “It makes them feel better to yammer on about it. Like they’re in control of something.”

“Wait, stop.” Steve tapped the screen.

Another Ridgedale murder?? Barbara had known as soon as they found the baby near the Essex Bridge that Simon Barton’s death would come up eventually. But she was surprised it had happened so soon.

I don’t care how long ago it was, that seems like a crazy coincidence.

“Seems this Molly Sanderson is just dying to make something out of nothing,” Barbara said.

“I think the problem is she really believes what happened to Simon is something,” Steve said quietly.

“Well, tell her it’s not.”

“I did.” His eyes were on the computer screen.

“Then tell her again and make her listen, Steve,” Barbara snapped. She wasn’t going to tolerate some reporter adding to their troubles by bringing up something upsetting from years ago. “You are the chief of police. Who is she?”

“Actually, you know her, or she knows you,” he said. “They just moved here last fall. Her daughter is in Cole’s class.”

“You’re kidding me.” Ella’s mother, it must be. Ella was the only new child in the class. Barbara had exchanged niceties with her mother, but that was it. Molly was friends with Stella, and that was all Barbara needed to know to get her to steer clear. “Well, this is a hell of a way for her to make new friends.”

Steve stayed quiet. He’d been staring at the computer longer than it could have taken for him to read the rest of the comments. The muscle in his jaw had lifted like a walnut. “Print those out for me, will you?” His voice was so low it didn’t sound like his.

“You weren’t even a police officer back then,” Barbara said. Because there he went again, responsible for everyone and everything. He probably felt like he should have kept Simon from getting so drunk that night. Steve had never been much of a drinker himself. “We were all upset about what happened to Simon. But whatever should have or could have been done at the time—it really has nothing to do with you.”

She did realize that might be easier for her to say. Barbara had been way on the other side of the woods that night, near the circle of logs where the girls hung out, at least the ones who weren’t off hooking up with boys in the wet leaves. The logs were the only place they could sit without getting filthy. The boys, meanwhile, were always taking off into the woods to play something they called “drunk obstacle,” seeing who could scramble the fastest over a pitch-black course of branches and logs. Dumb high school jocks: Everything’s got to be a competition. Steve had never wanted to talk about the details of that night—it upset him too much—but he and some of the other boys had seen Simon slip.

Steve nodded. “Just print them out, okay?” He straightened up and headed for the steps. “What I really need now is to wash that creek off me. I’ve got it coming out of my pores.”