"I'll see you later, okay?" Zoe whispered.

"Yes, dear. Of course. I love you."

"I love you, too."

"And Patrick-oh, Zoe, I loved him so."

But Zoe was gone, and Betsy O'Keefe bustled into the kitchen, her own face smeared with tears. She was a stout woman in her late forties, a registered nurse who'd moved to Goose Harbor with her widowed mother at four. Hard workers, both of them. The mother had died a few years ago. Sometimes it seemed to Olivia everyone she knew was dead.

"You've had a terrible shock," Betsy said. "Come, let's get you to bed and have you lie down a bit."

"I don't want to lie down. Betsy…" Olivia stopped. What had she meant to say? She couldn't remember. It didn't happen often, but sometimes she'd forget things. What she'd eaten for breakfast, names-she'd lose track of what she was saying. She frowned at Betsy. "I can't-"

Olivia gasped, grabbing her chest, the jolt of adrenaline and awareness-knowledge-so sudden and forceful, it hurt. Patrick in his uniform, the job he had to do-the arrest he was making-

Betsy leaped to her side. "Miss West!"

"Betsy-I know who did it."

"What, love?"

"I know who killed Patrick." Betsy was pale now, sobbing. "I-I bought a hundred and one candles for your birthday tomorrow. I hope we can fit them all on your cake. Zoe and Christina will come by-"

"Betsy-Betsy, why can't I remember?"

"Remember what, love?"

"The murderer's name. The bastard-"

"Maybe I should call the doctor."

"No, don't." Olivia's voice was firm. "I'll sit here a while and think. I'll remember. I know I will."