David inched closer and examined the pile. He had gotten very close, actually.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “But what actually happened?”

“What?”

“Was it three or four robbers?” he asked. “Was the car blue, black, or green? Was there a motorcycle involved?”

“The point is . . . ,” Stevie repeated.

“And which witness was this?” he asked, reaching for a paper clip. He pressed it into her palm. His hand was warm.

Had she really just seen Hayes’s body on the ground in that tunnel? She had seen the soles of a pair of shoes, his mottled skin . . .

Don’t think about that. Don’t make it real.

Something else was coming into her head instead. Well, not her head. Other parts of her. Her mind was quickly being stripped of rational thoughts. She and David were micropositioning themselves closer, an inch here, an inch there.

Was this really going to happen?

The last foot of space between them was rapidly closed up, and David pressed his lips to hers. She felt her body relax, and a warm ease fell over her. She let herself rest against the floor and David came over as well, supporting himself with an elbow. He was kissing her very gently, his lips pressing on her neck, tickling her ear, and she was kissing back harder, hungrily. He rested on the floor and she surprised herself by rolling on top of him.

Everything in her brain was saying don’t do this—it would be a mess. It was David, and there was something about him that was so off, and he lived upstairs, and someone had just died. She’d seen a body.

But that was the thing that was also pushing her forward, probably. The thing that was filling her with some weird, urgent emotion and the need to do something, anything, anything at all. She kissed the strange crook of his nose, his high forehead, and back to his mouth. They changed positions, rolling forward to the fireplace. Stevie felt her back hit her case board and knew the cardboard was probably bending a little and she didn’t care. She didn’t care if the floor opened up and swallowed her or if she was sucked up the chimney. Her hands were in his hair and he was mumbling something that she couldn’t quite make out.

“Hey.”

That was a totally different voice, and it was coming from the doorway. The two of them stopped rolling. Neither moved for a moment.

Stevie realized she was sweating and David was out of breath, his heart pulsing above hers. Stevie tipped her head back and looked at the upside-down figure of Pix.

“I think maybe you should go back to your room,” she said, not unkindly.

“Yup,” David replied, rolling off Stevie gently and standing up, his back to Pix. “Yup. I’ll do that now.”

Pix stepped out into the hall and allowed David to pass.

“You should try to get some sleep,” Pix said once David was gone. “Do you need anything?”

“Nope,” Stevie said, her voice high and strange. “I’m good. Thanks, Pix.”

“Okay. I’m just upstairs.”

Stevie remained where she was for a moment, staring up at the ceiling where a moth was helplessly slamming itself into the light. Then, very slowly and very deliberately, she struck the back of her head against the wooden floor.

* * *

FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION

INTERVIEW BETWEEN AGENT SAMUEL ARNOLD AND FLORA ROBINSON

APRIL 17, 1936, 12:45 p.m.

LOCATION: ELLINGHAM PROPERTY

SA: I’d like to go over what happened on Monday. Is that all right?

FR: Of course.

SA: You’ve been here at the Ellingham house for two weeks now? Since April fourth?

FR: Yes.

SA: You come to visit regularly?

FR: Yes.

SA: And you live in New York City. That’s how you know Mrs. Ellingham?

FR: We met nine years ago.

SA: Where did you meet?

FR: At a social occasion.

SA: What sort of social occasion, Miss Robinson?

FR: At a literary salon.

SA: A literary salon?

FR: Yes.

SA: Where was this literary salon?

FR: In New York City.

SA: Was this a drinking establishment, Miss Robinson?

FR: Why is that important?

SA: We just need to build a picture of Mrs. Ellingham’s contacts. We want to know if she might have met someone somewhere who would want to hurt her. Alcohol isn’t against the law anymore, and no one cares what happened nine years ago.

FR: I assure you, this establishment was full of the best people.

SA: Drinking establishments nine years ago were also full of criminals, Miss Robinson. By definition, they were run and supplied by criminals.

FR: Hardly the kind of criminal that . . . it was different.

SA: I understand. Let’s talk about your relationship now. You’re considered Mrs. Ellingham’s closest friend, would you say? You spend a lot of time here with them in Vermont. The staff says you are here most of the time the Ellinghams are.

FR: I think that’s fair to say, yes.

SA: There was a party at the house on Saturday the eleventh. Was that a small or a large party?

FR: A small party. The parties are very small now that the school has opened.

SA: Who was in attendance?

FR: I was, Leo was . . .

SA: Leonard Holmes Nair. The painter.

FR: Yes. Maxine Melville, the actress, and her husband, John Porter. One or two business associates of Albert’s, but they didn’t stay very long.

SA: It appears that most people left the house on Sunday. How long were you planning on staying?

FR: Until it felt like the right time to go. My invitations are open-ended.

SA: What did you do on Sunday?

FR: Albert was working, and it was raining, so we spent a good part of the day in the drawing room with Leo. He is working on a new painting.

SA: Anything else?

FR: We played with Alice for a bit. I took a long bath.

SA: And in the evening?

FR: I stayed up late talking to Iris and Leo. Maybe a bit too late. I didn’t feel well in the morning.

SA: In the morning, Mrs. Ellingham called for you to ask you to come on her car ride, is that right?

FR: Yes. She came to my room at ten. I was still in bed. I had a terrible headache. I said . . .

[Silence.]

SA: Yes?

FR: I’m sorry.

SA: Take your time.

FR: I said I didn’t feel well and she should go. If I’d gone . . .

SA: So you didn’t go on the ride because you had a headache.

FR: I wish I’d gone. I wish I’d gone.

SA: What time did you get out of bed?

FR: The maid brought me something to eat around noon. I had her draw me a bath. I spent the rest of the day in my room, reading.

SA: You went to Mrs. Ellingham’s dressing room that evening. Why?

FR: I heard something going on. I wanted to look out the window. Iris’s window faces the front garden.

SA: So do several other windows.

FR: Well, I know her room has a clear view. I just went in to look. I was upset.

SA: Isn’t it unusual to go into Mrs. Ellingham’s personal dressing room when she’s not there?

FR: I go to Iris’s dressing room regularly.

SA: Even when she’s not there?

FR: Yes. I am free to use her things.

SA: Did Mrs. Ellingham let others have such open access to her personal space?

FR: I have no idea.