"As soon as Karoline was gone, Tommy made sure we took good care of her."

Dee is actually defending their actions.

"We figured out that Glenn here must be giving Libby the drug whenever he could. When he told us Karoline was dead we knew we were free, but we were still nervous about Glenn. That's why I offered to do the job of caregiver. You saw how she improved."

Her skewed logic is astonishing. Perhaps it's similar to ignoring your best friend's disintegration. Perhaps it's akin to manipulating all the people in your life for financial gain.

"You mean you were working against me? There are nothing but bitches in my life. Only Karoline..."

Glenn's ridiculous whine trails off into a weak mumble. He looks like a giant slug as he slithers further into the folds of the sofa.

Ethan moves his body slightly so that I can feel his warmth right up next to me. I want to dissolve. Disappear into his arms. Let go.

Either that or pummel the faces of these three lowlifes into bloody pulp.

"Let me get this straight," Ethan says.

He leans forward, the gun highly visible. His tone is measured and melodious. For that reason alone he sounds scary.

"Karoline found out about Anne's history. She came here and pretended to be a Johnston sister. Immediately she realized there was a lot of money in the paintings and antiques. She recruited Melody here to help with researching the family. I'm supposing she didn't have the time to do it herself. Mrs. Fischer did her bidding because Karoline offered to pay off their son's debts. As a result of the research Karoline found Glenn and began a love affair."

"They used to have CoJons hanging on their walls. They didn't even have insurance," Glenn scoffs. "Karoline dealt in art for her boss. Right away she knew their worth. Libby didn't even notice when Karoline substituted them for different prints or just left the walls blank. Slut mother didn't deserve that art."

Fortunately for both Glenn and me, Ethan moves his arm in front of me and holds me in.

"You are a bastard in more ways than one."

It's a childish retort but I feel better anyway. I have one more question that I need answered.

"Do people around here really think that I burned down Vryheid?"

Melody nods. "That was one of the theories, long ago. Karoline asked me to revive the rumors. Old superstitions kept people away from the farmhouse."

I draw in a shaky breath. Sweet Karoline. How could I have lived with this person my whole life? How could I never have known how controlling and evil she was? I am ashamed of my previous shallow existence. I was so self-satisfied that I took no notice. Never examined anyone or anything too deeply.

A loud noise at the front door interrupts my thoughts. Lots of heavy footsteps. Then suddenly a booming voice.

"Detective Byrne? Constable Miller here! Is everything all right?"

Ethan moves into the doorway, the gun at his side, talking loudly.

"I'm here, Constable Miller. Everything is under control. I confiscated a gun from the perpetrator and I have it here at my side. Just down the hall in front of you."

Three burly men and one tall thin woman all in dark uniforms follow Ethan's voice into the parlor. Behind them, Miriam looks tired and scared. She lights up when she sees me. We hover in each other's arms for a minute. Neither of us even tries to stop the tears, though I do tamp down on the sobs that want to scream out of my chest.

Things happen very quickly after that. The police constables question each of us separately, including Melody, Tommy and Glenn. They pretty much leave Dembi and Meme out of any heavy interrogation. All I remember about the officers is that they are of a size that could be intimidating but they are kind and thorough instead.

Miriam and I whip up some food for everyone at one point. Meat and cheese and bread. Soup for Meme. We sit with Dembi and our mother for a long time. All four of us are tired and numb. Miriam and I take turns holding hands with Meme, Dembi, or each other. We say very little. Rolly makes us smile with his antics.

At some point in time in the mid afternoon Ethan joins us in Meme's room. He's tired too. How could he have expected his vacation to turn into work?

"The police are reading Simpson and the Fischer's their rights. They've confessed to the crimes and will be held over in jail. A judge will decide if they get bail, I guess."

Ethan and I haven't even had a chance to talk. As if he's read my mind he asks if he can speak to me privately. Miriam smiles and tells me she'll be fine with Dembi and Meme.

I take him down the hallways to my room. We drag his suitcase, which had been left abandoned near the parlor.

As soon as I shut and lock the door of my room, we are in each other's arms. We tumble onto the bed. Without bothering to remove anything but his shorts and my underwear, we make frantic, passionate love. Two teenagers on a family sofa. We both laugh when we're done.

"Sorry, honey, that's not what I meant to do."

"That's what I meant to do," I say, pulling up my panties and snuggling into his arm. "Later we'll do it right. There are too many people in this house right now."

I help him with his shorts. Other than our flushed faces and satisfied airs, I'm sure we look normal.

"Hey listen. I found this on the floor in the parlor. I know we might have to turn it in later but I thought I'd look it over first."

Ethan pulls out Karoline's blue diary.

"In between interrogations I was able to read quite a bit of this. She wrote a lot in point form as though she couldn't be bothered to embellish. I don't think you should ever read it."

I feel sick to my stomach. How much longer would Karoline reach out from her grave to torture me? How many more betrayals might I uncover?

"I don't think I want to anyway. I don't think I can take any more. At least not right now."

"I hear you. I can't imagine what this day has been like for you. But I thought you might have some questions about Karoline. Some loose ends that you need tying up."

Reasons for her suicide, he means. To make me realize that it wasn't my fault. Except nothing in that diary will help. After the last few days immersed in my new family, I feel as though I will be plunged back into my former life if I hear any more about Karoline.

Yet there are so many questions.

"Does she explain anything? Does she say why?"

"I've skipped around and she records nearly every thought she had over her last few months."

I can hear that scribbling once again. The constant irritating sound of a pen ground onto paper. Thoughts so dark they had to be stabbed into existence.

"Karoline was a psychopath."

He's firm in his conviction, but feels he has to explain.

"In police work, you meet a lot of people with mental health problems. I've taken lots of courses. We're trained to spot psychopathic behavior because most of our criminals are psychopaths. From serial killers to corporate frauds."

"Aren't some sociopaths?"

"The thing about psychopaths is that they are organized and smart. Sociopaths aren't necessarily. Karoline planned everything. Sometimes her schemes were years in the making."

He sits up. With his head propped on one hand, he looks down at me. Strokes my arm to soften the punch of his words. I know his goal. He wants me to see Karoline's true nature so that I can put her suicide into context. Forgive myself for not curing her. She was crazy, beyond hope. He doesn't know that part of his theory is very wrong.

"She admits stealing paintings and antiques from this house. That's how she paid the mortgage on your apartment."

"What?" I have to sit up now to squeeze some breath back into my lungs.

"Her Boosha didn't give her any money. She stole the CoJons and sold them to her own boss. In her diary, she mocks him. She charges him more than anyone would pay and tells him the auction went higher than expected. Karoline literally amassed a fortune."

I won't cry. I do need to know it all. I make eye contact with Ethan, letting him know without words that I've changed my mind about hearing everything.

"What does she say about finding my family and not telling me?"

"She found them because a letter came for you from your mother's lawyer."

"Meme sent me a letter?"

"Yes. She wanted you to know that she was dying. She wanted to reconnect with you. Karoline decided to show up and pretend to be you. Of course she had no idea that Dembi and Miriam existed. She didn't know you were four years old before you left here, either. She wouldn't have expected Meme to know the difference."

"How did she make Meme cooperate with her?"

"She doesn't mention that. At least I didn't find anything. I haven't read it thoroughly though. If the explanation's not there, maybe Libby will be able to tell us someday."

I shake my head slowly. I wish I could shake the information like a kaleidoscope and come out with a different picture.

"Even before she became ill, before the cancer and the extra drugs, Meme was simple and trusting. I don't know how Karoline did it, but she either had them fooled or frightened."

I think of the threats of drowning Dembi in the river. Perhaps Meme was convinced it would happen. Maybe her brother had drowned all those years ago and his death had scarred her toddler's mind. She would be terrified by the thought of her son going into the river.

Ethan flips through the book. The writing looks like scorpions to me.

"This is how sick she was, Anne. To answer the second part of your question about why she never told you about your family. She convinced herself that she was protecting them by keeping you away. As though she bought that hogwash about you being the witch who burned Vryheid."

I lived with this woman. I loved her. I trusted her implicitly with every part of my life. How stupid am I?

"One other thing. In her research, obviously with the help of Mrs. Numbnuts out there, she stumbled across a man who just might be Cornwall Johnston the younger. The artist, that is."

"Wouldn't the art world like to know about that?"

"Wouldn't the whole world like to know?"

Dear Diary, Living in L.A., I always hear the stars moaning and groaning about their loss of privacy. But isn't that the price of fame? Don't they know that they're embracing fame as soon as they take on that role? You're up there on the screen and people start talking about you, recognizing you. That's the very definition of fame. So I think they should suck it up or quit the job.

Chapter 28.

The evening is warm and fresh. Soaked with the previous rain, the fields and forests give off a fragrance that could never be captured except by nature. Evergreen, sweet clover and flowers mix with the scent of rich soil. A soft breeze plays with our hair as we sit on the porch.

The sun disappeared in an orange ball. Overhead there's a three-quarter moon that outshines any stars. Even the cicadas are quiet, although a few crickets strive to replace their song with one of their own. Bats skim the darkness in search of mosquitoes. We hear their winged hunt and are grateful.

Miriam has lit candles all around the veranda. We've pulled out lawn chairs and pillows and snacks. Meme sits in her wheelchair with a blanket tucked around her thin knees and arms. Ethan stretches out his long legs in a worse-for-wear lounger that is nevertheless comfortable. My sister and I sit on the porch benches.

Rolly entertains Dembi by chasing an unfortunate grasshopper along the boards. Our brother is almost back to normal. He's still a bit quiet and prone to cuddling up with one of us more often than usual. But we're convinced that he'll recover faster than we will.

Meme is more alert than we've yet experienced. The doctor who replaced Thomas Fischer stopped by earlier to see her and pronounced her fine for now. We have an appointment at the hospital on Monday. He'll do a thorough examination and give us recommendations for her future care.

Miriam has a bandage around her ankle. I have a purple bruise under my eye and a red mark down my cheek. Other than that, we have no visible repercussions from our encounter.

I don't think I'll be afraid any more. Despite Glenn's efforts, no one was seriously hurt. We uncovered a lot of interesting facts. We did hand over the diary although the police officers weren't sure it would be of any use. We will all have to be formally interviewed tomorrow. For now, however, we are peacefully at home.

Over dinner and this sojourn on the porch, my family bonds with Ethan. We're all exhausted and somewhat shell-shocked, but that seems to heighten the connection. We talk about everything except Glenn, Karoline and Melody and what just happened.

In between conversations we sit in pleasant silence and think. Or at least I do. Mostly I contemplate Karoline, our life together and how the past affects my present. How it will affect my future.

I was a little girl in terrible circumstances. Even my mother, with her fierce love and simplicity, knew she had to send me away. Vera was a good choice in some respects but she nurtured my innate desire to protect myself. To insulate with distance and lack of emotion. No risk of hurt when you don't give away any piece of yourself.

Judging by the flood of emotions since Karoline died, I don't think I am a sociopath. Ice Queen Anne has mostly disappeared. I have to learn that some anger and aggression are justified as long as the actions that accompany the feelings are controlled. The real me can be sarcastic or upset or irritated. I just can't get up and walk away. I can't block out the rest of the world while I create my own universe where the sun revolves solely around me. Not if I love these people. And I most certainly do.

Was Karoline a psychopath as Ethan suspects? I guess so. She was certainly mentally ill. She carefully plotted her revenge when she thought her friends had betrayed her. Giulio with his determination to forgive me. I suppose I deceived her with Parris, but I think my sin was having a rich family who was as oblivious to that as I was to Karoline's real self. Thus her retribution included theft of both identity and wealth.

I know that I have to forgive myself. Under the canopy of moonlit comfort the thought of forgiveness is easy. Even acknowledging that I have to tell Ethan doesn't send me into hyperventilation. Instead I feel calm and relaxed. My confession will be the first step toward redemption.

When we have made love and are tucked into my farmhouse bed, however, I nearly lose my nerve. I cuddle into Ethan's arms and refuse to look at him. I can't tell him with those deep understanding eyes on mine. I ask him to listen without interruption and he does.

Dear Diary, Do you think love and hate are on the same continuum? Or is hate still tinged with a bit of love? Maybe real hate of someone is indifference. The despised someone's name or face or something they said or what they really need rarely crosses your hateful mind. You never, ever think of them or have any strong feelings about them. If you are angry with them all the time or miss their presence in a negative or positive way, maybe you still love them.

Chapter 29.

Karoline was in the kitchen when I got home from Cleveland. The apartment smelled of onions and spice. It smelled the way it used to. Alive and inviting. The dining room table was set for two with candles, our best cutlery and plates and bowls of steaming food.

Karoline came to the doorway and stared down the hall at me. Her eyes seemed larger than usual. Beadier. The smile on her face was one I recognized. Self-satisfied. In control of everything and everyone.

"Have a seat, dear friend. Supper's on the table."

For one last time I obeyed her. Despite the sarcasm and cruelty in her voice, in spite of all the information I had gathered, some part of me wanted her to be two people. One that was my Karoline, lifelong friend. The other a person who had nearly destroyed us but who could be vanquished.

We faced each other as Karoline poured us each a large glass of wine. I drank mine quickly and filled up another. I still couldn't bring myself to speak. I was engorged with rage and trauma. Choked into silence with bewilderment and pain.

Karoline chuckled at my need for alcohol as though she had won a round.

"So, Annie love, do tell me what you've discovered."