“A.J. and I had a couple of beers the other night and watched it start to finish at least three times.”

“You did not.”

“Okay. Six times.”

The screen door creaked shut as he headed out, laughing.

After he left, Jo checked the card tucked among the lilies.

Thank you for your willingness to save my life.

Someday I’ll make amends. Charles P. Neal.

She sighed and told herself she was glad there hadn’t been a real gun. No one had been seriously hurt that day. The rest didn’t matter.

On her drive north, Jo had tried to be optimistic and thought of the various ways that being in Black Falls would do her good. She could go for runs in the fresh, crisp northern New England air. She could watch the last of the leaves fall off the trees. Wait for the first real snow. Watch the birds migrate for warmer climates.

Listen for bats in the rafters and avoid her nearest neighbor.

She got busy unpacking before she could change her mind and load up her car again and head to Montreal or Buffalo-anywhere, she thought, that would put her more than a couple hundred yards from Elijah Cameron.

Ten minutes later, Jo was already bored with unpacking. She opened a bottle of merlot, poured herself a glass and took it outside, crossing the dirt road and heading down to the lake.

She stood on a rounded boulder and sipped her wine. The sky was almost dark now. The air was frosty, and the landscape had the stark, empty feel of November, so different from the warm spring afternoon when she’d walked among the cherry blossoms with Drew Cameron.

She hadn’t told anyone-family, friends, colleagues or, most of all, Drew Cameron’s three sons and daughter-about the strange visit two weeks before his death.

She could see him now as they’d walked along the Tidal Basin. He’d surprised her when he’d shown up at her apartment and asked her to go with him to see the cherry blossoms. He was alone-A.J. was working nonstop at the lodge, Elijah was deployed to parts unknown, Sean was in southern California making money and Rose was off with her search dogs, picking through the remains of a string of Midwestern tornadoes.