“Okay,” I said. I would do whatever he said, but right now I just cared about seeing her, being sure. I was a little turned around, though. The woods all looked the same. I had to trust the angle of the slope to lead me back.

Marshall said, “She looked different, tell them. Black dress, makeup, a dark wig. That will explain why other guests don’t recognize her from her photos. Although with that description a few people might say they saw her. I think it’s likely, even. Eyewitness accounts are trash, and people like to feel important. Other than that, tell the truth. Tell them about seeing her, twice, and how she snatched Robert from the school. All you have to change are her instructions on the phone. Say she told you to get Spencer to the Orchid Center, where she would be waiting to confront him. The office log should show her trying to get that appointment earlier. Say you got him to the Orchid Center, introduced them, and then left, just as instructed. Do you understand?”

We came out of the trees by the gold mine. I hurried between the boxes this time, not wanting to be slowed by that loose soil. “I understand.”

He kept talking anyway. “Don’t mention the pills. You introduced Spence to her, and then you left them alone, because your instructions were to go straight home and wait for Robert. Everything else, you tell the truth.”

“Jesus,” Trey said. “Everything?”

“Yes,” Marshall said. “Our trip to Gadsden, Bree’s email, your story. The fewer lies we tell, the better.”

“Jesus,” Trey said again. “If the press—”

Marshall ignored him. “Bree? You could go to prison. Are you listening?”

“I got it,” I said, and I did. I’d almost reached the collapsed side of the carousel. I started running, hurrying around to the front.

There was something like a heap of crumpled laundry, gray and brown and orange, on the platform. It was mostly in shade. It was very, very still.

I ran toward it, saying, “Stay here,” over my shoulder.

Trey said, “The hell I will!”

I snapped, “Don’t bring Robert near her!”

That made Trey stop. It was Marshall who trailed me, all the way to the edge. I stepped up onto the carousel’s tilted floor, and the heap resolved itself into her form.

“Bree!” my husband called, a warning tone.

“I have to,” I said. I went closer.

She lay coiled on her side by the felled lion with his paint-peeled rose wreath, and her body had that heavy stillness that only comes to the dead. One arm was hooked around his pole, the hand a gnarled bird’s claw, clutching nothing. Her mouth hung slack, her cheek resting in a pool of bloody foam that was already drying. Her face was red, and her gold-brown eyes were shiny and open and empty.

I was filled with such a savage joy then. I wanted to scream until my raw throat gave out entirely. I wanted to kick at her corpse and beat her helpless stillness with my hands. I did none of this. I only looked down, my chest heaving. Looked closer.

Her dress had come up as she flailed. Her naked legs were pale, mottled with age spots and thick veins. One foot had kicked out far enough to be in sunlight, which lit up a floss of thin hairs on her shin. She wore old-fashioned cotton drawers. They were white, with small pink flowers, like a child might wear.

All the violence left me. This lifeless shape had once owned the raspy voice I’d obeyed. This lifeless shape had once owned me. She was truly gone, and if there was a hell, then she was writhing in it, trapped in an eternal rage at the sight of my son and my husband standing together near the edge of the woods, whole.

I hoped God was more merciful than that. I didn’t want her ghostly eyes watching from any kind of beyond. I hoped she was in a quiet darkness. I hoped she was at last at peace.

The sirens were close, now. I reached out and pulled her dress down, gently, covering her underwear and the sad, wattled flesh of her thighs, hanging loose from her frail bones.

“Don’t touch her,” Marshall said, too late.

“Bree,” Trey said again, and this time I got up and went to wait with him.

Marshall stuck by me, talking. “You know what to tell them?” I nodded. “Short sentences. Answer only what they ask. It’s good to cry and ask for breaks. It’s good to say ‘I’m not sure’ and ‘I’m so upset and tired’ and that it’s all a blur.”

I turned to him. “Marshall. I got it.”

He nodded, but he looked sick with worry. His sweetness registered; he cared so much about these details. I could not, yet. I felt as if my entire body had been filled with waiting. It stretched out in front of me as far as I could see. We were on the hilltop waiting for the first responders. Once we were home, I would be waiting for Coral’s letter. And her daughter. I was waiting for Lexie most of all, even then.

In my mind she wasn’t the woman from the mug shot, with her picked, grayed skin and thin hair, middle-aged and brittle. She was the fresh-faced, pretty girl that Trey had known. I half expected her to come at us right now, screaming out of the trees, her wide-set eyes lamplit by rage.

Robert and I both had to go and get checked out at the hospital. Everyone was so kind to me. We were the victims after all. A policeman talked to me there, but just a little. A few questions. There would be more later. By then I’d have a lawyer with me. Trey had called to put Leticia Marks, Gabrielle’s friend, on retainer. He’d called his family, too, and his father was mobilizing a fleet of lawyers and publicists. The Cabbats had a vested interest in keeping details out of the press. This distant flurry of activity mattered little to me in the moment, and yet I thought that one day I’d be grateful for it.

Trey was the one who called my mother. She brought the girls home, and he sat them down and told them all an extremely expurgated version of the weekend, while I sat quiet, Robert in my lap, my daughters pressing in close against my sides.

That night Leticia sat by me in my own great room as I gave my statement to the police. Marshall had already given his. I stuck to his story, truthful about all things except that one, my answers short and broken. It was easy to follow his instructions, because I could not stop crying.

The whole time Lexie Pine was a blur of motion that kept catching in the corner of my eye. I felt her breath in every breeze that touched my neck. I heard the whisper of her feet in every hallway.

After Leticia and the cops left, I couldn’t sleep. I lay in our big bed staring at the window. The drapes were open, the way Trey liked them, because once the lights were off, I needed to see out. Lexie Pine had Peyton’s house keys. Or at least no one had found them up at Funtime. Trey had already called a locksmith, who was going to redo all our doors, even our back gate, tomorrow morning. As for tonight I hoped Lexie Pine had not yet learned that her mother’s business was unfinished, but I had to see for myself that she was not standing in her mother’s old footprints, bending my basil plants to press her nose against our glass.