'No one's around,' she murmured. 'It's just us.'

Mark felt a cloud of mixed emotions. Part of him wanted to get up and leave. Part of him wanted to be angry, but he had no anger against this girl. They'd barely spoken a word to each other since the previous year, when Delia Fischer had forbidden her daughter from seeing him. The most he'd heard from Tresa was an apology by phone, and he'd told her what he felt - that she had no reason to apologize.

He really liked her. So did Hilary. She was a sweet, smart, sensitive, lonely girl. It was just complicated to realize that she'd done so much to destroy his life. She was still toxic to him, still a danger.

'I'm sorry, Tresa, I have to go,' he said.

She turned toward him urgently. Her blue eyes were frantic. She reached out her hands toward him and pulled them back. It was obvious that she was still in love with him, which made it even more important for him to walk away.

'Please. Don't go. I'm not going to cause any trouble for you.'

'What do you want?' he asked her.

Tresa stuttered. 'I don't know. I heard what happened last night. I'm so glad you guys are OK. It made me feel like - I mean, I just needed to see you, you know? With everything going on.'

'I know.'

'I told the police in Florida they were wrong. I said you could never, ever hurt Glory. Not you.'

'Thanks.'

'I'm not sure they believed me. It's like last year. No one believes me.'

'It doesn't matter.'

'You must really hate me,' Tresa said.

'I don't hate you. You shouldn't ever think that, because it's not true.' His instinct was to reach out and touch her, but he didn't. He added, 'How are you? This must be a terrible time. I'm sorry.'

'Yeah, Mom's a wreck. Me, I don't know. Sometimes I cry, and sometimes I get p.i.s.sed off at Glory.' She ducked her head and changed the subject, as if she couldn't bear to talk about her sister. 'I like coming out to the lighthouse. It's cool when there's n.o.body around.'

'Me, too.'

'Do you ever wonder what it was like?' Tresa pointed at the home attached to the lighthouse tower. 'The keeper and his wife and their kids all alone out here. I think I would have liked it.'

'It was a hard life.'

'Yeah, but you always said alone could be a good thing.'

'Sometimes, sure.'

'It would have been romantic. Sort of like you and Hilary on the island.'

She was still an idealistic teenager, and Mark liked that about Tresa. He didn't want to tell her the truth. Reality had a way of eroding romance day by day, and if you wanted to keep it, you had to cling to it with your fingernails and put on blinders to the tragedy of life.

'I really need to go,' he said.

Tresa reached out and covered his hand. Her skin was warm. 'Please, not yet.'

He gently took his hand away. 'Tresa.'

'I know.' She twisted strands of her red hair between her fingers and pulled them through her lips. She pointed at his painting. 'I like that one.'

'Thanks.'

'One of the angels, the one near the tower, she looks really, really sad.'

'I think you're right,' he said.

'I wish I could paint like that.'

'You're a writer. I wish I could write like you.'

Her face brightened. 'Really?'

'Yes. You're very talented. You have a great future.'

'Wow. That's really nice.' She stared at the bench and murmured, 'But those things I wrote about us.'

'Let's not talk about it.'

Tresa nodded and didn't look at him. 'Can I ask you something?'

'Sure.'

'You never slept with Glory, did you?'

Mark recoiled. 'No.'

'Good,' she said, looking satisfied. 'I didn't think you would, but I know how she could be. Glory had a way of getting what she wanted. She read my diary, and I thought she'd want you just because I wanted you. I'm glad you didn't.'

He wanted to steer her far away from the subject of her diary. The explicit descriptions were still vivid, erotic, and horrifying in his mind. 'Why did you never tell me about the fire?' he asked.

Tresa cringed. 'The fire? I don't know. I wanted to forget it. We all acted as if it never happened.'

'You can't forget things like that.'

'You can try,' Tresa said. 'Sometimes you just have to put on blinders, you know? Everybody lost things that day, but n.o.body ever cared what I lost. I know that sounds selfish.'

'What did you lose?' Mark asked.

'You name it. Glory was never the same. Mom kept trying to rescue her, so she forgot about me. Mr Hoffman shipped Jen out to live with his daughter in Minneapolis, so I lost my best friend. I never really had anybody again. Not until you and Hilary showed up here. Then I went and screwed that up too.' Tresa blinked and wiped tears away from her eyes.

'I'm sorry.'

'It's not your fault.'

'It must have been a bad night,' he said.

'Oh, yeah. We didn't know Glory was there until Sheriff Reich came and told us. Mom freaked. Glory was just - well, in the hospital, she was all confused, thinking it was our our house that had burned down, wanting to make sure we were all OK. She blocked it out, but my mom never forgot.' house that had burned down, wanting to make sure we were all OK. She blocked it out, but my mom never forgot.'

'And your friend Jen lost her family.'

Tresa looked away, as if the pain was fresh. 'Yeah.'

'Did she hate her father?'

'Jen? I think it was harder to lose Mr Bone the way she did. She loved him. I know that sounds crazy, but the boys sided with their mom, and she always sided with her dad.'

'Except if she'd been home, she would have been killed too,' Mark reminded her.

'No, Mr Bone would never hurt Jen,' Tresa insisted. 'He knew she was staying with us that night. He talked to my mom.'

'Harris talked to Delia?' Mark asked.

'Yes, he was over at our place all the time. I think he wanted to get away from home. You don't know what that family was like. You don't know how bad it was in their house.'

'It sounds like you knew him pretty well,' Mark said.

'Yeah, I guess.'

'Did Glory?'

'Sure.'

Mark hesitated. 'Do you think she'd know Harris if she saw him today?'

Tresa c.o.c.ked her head in confusion. 'What are you saying?' Then she almost leaped across the bench, taking Mark's shoulders. He winced at the pressure. 'Oh, my G.o.d, do you think he could have been there?'

Mark watched her hopeful blue eyes. It was as if she was looking for an answer, an explanation, anything to replace the doubt in her brain. He understood. Even Tresa wondered if he'd killed her sister. No matter how much she loved him, or how much she defended him, her heart of hearts told her that he was guilty.

'What would Glory have done if she'd seen him?' he asked.

Tresa bit her lip. 'I'm not sure. Wow, I don't know.'

'Did you you see anyone in Florida who might have been Harris Bone?' see anyone in Florida who might have been Harris Bone?'

'No, no, I would have said something. I hung out by myself a lot. I'm not sure I would have seen anybody at all.' 'OK.'

'I'm going to tell my mom. She's got it in her head that it was you, but you're right. Maybe it was Harris. Maybe he was there.'

'Don't tell Delia you saw me,' Mark advised her. 'That won't help either one of us.'

The girl nodded. 'I understand.'

'You should go, Tresa.'

'Yeah. OK.'

As if swept up by an impulse she couldn't resist, Tresa wrapped her skinny arms around Mark's chest. Her cheek and red hair rested against his face, and her body pressed against him. She held him there longer than she should have, and he had to push her away. Her face glowed with pa.s.sion.

'I can still taste your lips,' she whispered to him. 'Even after all this time.'

Chapter Twenty-Five.

At the end of the school day, Hilary drove north along County Road 42 in the Ford Taurus she'd borrowed from Terri Duecker. She'd popped Advil like candy, but her body still ached. All she wanted to do was take the ferry back to the island and slip into a hot bubble bath and stay there for about three hours.

As she neared the Northport ferry terminal, she remembered that she needed to make one stop before going home. She checked her watch and saw that she still had one more chance to cross the pa.s.sage that evening if she missed the next ferry. She turned off the highway and backtracked along Port des Morts Drive. At the end of the road, in a turnaround protected by giant evergreens, she parked outside the home of Peter Hoffman.

Hilary wasn't sure if he would talk to her. She knew the rumors about Mark and Glory had made their way through the county grapevine, and Hoffman was close to Delia Fischer. Then again, if there was anyone who had reason to hate Harris Bone and want to see him found, it was the father and grandfather of the people Harris had killed.

She got out of the Taurus and made her way down the muddy driveway. As she approached Hoffman's A-frame home, she saw an older man at work on the wide front porch. She smelled freshly cut wood, and she heard the banging of his hammer. He was on his knees, and he looked up when she reached the steps. He appeared to be nearly seventy years old, although his hair was jet black and appeared even blacker against his pale, deeply lined face. He got up slowly, favoring one leg. He wore a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up and black cargo pants with years of paint stains on the fabric. His eyes were suspicious.

'Mr Hoffman?' she asked. 'My name is-'

'I know who you are,' he interrupted her. 'What do you want, Mrs Bradley?'

'I'd like to talk to you.'

Hoffman's face tightened with discomfort. He sucked in a breath and straightened his back. He was a tall man. 'About Harris and the fire?'

'That's right.'

'There's nothing I can tell you,' he said.

'That may be true, but I'd really appreciate five minutes.'

Hoffman grunted and laid his hammer on the ledge of the front window. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the top of his toolbox and eased himself down on the front steps. Hilary sat down next to him. He unscrewed the top of the flask, and without offering her a drink, he took a long swallow. She could tell from the aroma of whiskey on his breath that he'd already been drinking before she arrived.

'I don't talk about the fire,' he said. 'You're wasting your time.'

'I understand.'

'I heard what happened to you, and I'm sorry about that, but that doesn't mean I'm going to help you.'

Hilary pulled aside the silk flap of her blouse far enough to show Hoffman the edge of the purple bruise discoloring her chest. 'This is from the accident last night. There are people around here who want to give me and my husband the death penalty, Mr Hoffman, even though Mark is guilty of nothing.'

'You believe that, do you?'

'I do.'

Hoffman took another drink. 'Trust is bulls.h.i.t.'