“Hello!” I called as I neared the men.

Ethan stood when he saw me. Smiling, he moved forward, his hands on my arms as he planted a kiss on my cheek. “Good to see you,” he said.

Mr. Chapman was getting to his feet. It appeared to be a struggle for him.

“Don’t get up,” I said, walking toward him. He was already standing, though, and he took the hand I offered in both of his, his smile warm and kind. His fingers trembled as he held my hand. He seemed so much older than my mother. I understood why Ethan had wanted to protect him from Ned’s letter and the resulting investigation.

“Little Julie Bauer,” Mr. Chapman said. “How good to see you. You’ve grown into a handsome woman. Hasn’t she, Ethan?”

Ethan grinned at me. “Extremely handsome,” he said. He dragged a chair through the sand and set it behind me. “Have a seat,” he said.

“It’s good to see you, too, Mr. Chapman,” I said as I sat down, and the elderly man lowered himself once more onto his chair. “I was very sorry to hear about Ned,” I added.

“Thank you,” he said with a nod. He was wearing sunglasses in dated, horn-rimmed frames and I wondered how long he had owned them.

“How was the drive?” Ethan asked. He was still standing, leaning against the back of his chair, arms folded across his chest. He had on his jeans and a navy-blue polo shirt, Chapman Joinery stitched in red across the pocket. He looked terrific.

“No problem at all,” I said. “I brought sandwiches and left them in the kitchen.”

“Great,” Ethan said. “You hungry, Dad?” He raised his voice a little when he spoke to his father, and I guessed the elderly man was hard-of-hearing.

“Sure.” Mr. Chapman nodded.

“Shall I get them?” I started to stand up, but Ethan put his hand on my shoulder.

“Stay here with Dad,” he said. He took our drink orders and left me alone with his father.

“Well, Julie.” Mr. Chapman folded his hands across his belt buckle. He looked relaxed now that he was not having to exert himself physically. “You’ve made quite a name for yourself, haven’t you?”

“Oh, a bit,” I said, smiling. I shifted my chair a few inches in the sand, ostensibly so that I could see Mr. Chapman better, but I really wanted to keep an eye on the two unsupervised boys in the pool next door.

“I see your books at the library and always tell the librarian, ‘I knew that author when she was just a little girl,’” he said.

“Thank you.”

“I bet you don’t know it, but I remember you the best of your siblings,” he said.

“Really?” I was surprised. “How come?”

“Because you—” he pointed one long, slightly gnarled finger at me “—you had the most spunk of the three of you,” he said.

“You think so?” I asked. I thought that Isabel had had the most spunk of the three of us, but I wasn’t prepared to dive into the subject of my older sister.

“Oh, yes,” he said. “And you were the smart one, too.You always had a book in your hands and you weren’t afraid of anyone or anything.You went over there—” he waved his hand toward the opposite side of the canal “—with the blacks and befriended them. Who else would do something like that? No one living on this side of the canal, that’s for sure,” he said, answering his own rhetorical question.

“I got in a lot of trouble for it,” I said. The boys next door were riding on a big, blow-up alligator, and they yelped with glee as they splashed water out of the pool with the wake they created.

“You tried to figure things out for yourself and I liked that about you,” Mr. Chapman said. “I know that was hard to do in your family, but you weren’t the sort to simply accept your parents’ values without questioning them first.”

I’d had no idea he had been observing me so keenly when I was a child, and although I couldn’t help but enjoy the compliments, I knew my “spunk” had turned out to be more of a liability than an asset.

“My parents were very conservative,” I said. I reached down to slide off my sandals, then dug my toes into the warm sand.

“Especially your father,” Mr. Chapman agreed. “And you were willing to buck him, weren’t you? You were a lot like your mother that way.”

My mother never bucked my father, as far as I knew, but I didn’t bother to say that. This conversation was social, and I didn’t need to delve into my family’s dynamics with him.

“I always forget that you and Mom were friends when you were kids,” I said. The sun was hot on my arms. I’d put on sunscreen before leaving the house, but I would have to borrow more from Ethan if we sat out here much longer.

“Yes, we were good buddies, just like you and Ethan were,” he said. “It’s nice you two are back to being friends again.” He looked out at the canal. Not a single boat had passed by us since I’d sat down. “I’d like to be friendly with your mother again,” he said, “but she doesn’t even want to talk to me.”

I hesitated, not sure what to say. “You know, Mr. Chapman,” I began, “it’s just that anyone from those days reminds her of a very difficult time for our family.” Well, there. We were into the subject now, and it was my own doing.

“Yes,” he said. “I realize that. Have the police spoken with her yet?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

“It must be very hard for your family to have this opened up again,” he said.

“Well, and yours, too,” I said.

A fishing boat, loaded with men and gear, glided north through the water in front of us, probably headed for the inlet. We watched it in silence for a moment.

“Do you think Ned killed your sister?” Mr. Chapman asked, and I was taken aback by the directness of the question.

I looked toward my old yard again. The boys were quieter now, their heads bobbing below the edge of the pool where I couldn’t see them, then popping up again. They were probably playing the “who can hold his breath the longest” game. I hated that game. I’d forbidden Shannon ever to play it, a rule I’m sure she broke many times when I was not around. What kid wouldn’t?

“I don’t know what to think, Mr. Chapman,” I said. “I can’t imagine what else he might have meant in that letter to the police.”

He licked his dry, chapped lips. His face looked gaunt to me and I wondered if he were ill, although Ethan had denied that.

“I think Ned’s letter may be one of those things we’ll never be able to figure out,” he said.

“Could Ned have slipped away during the time you said you and he were together that night?” I asked, trying not to sound accusatory.

Mr. Chapman looked disappointed that I’d asked the question and didn’t respond. He licked his lips again, looking out at the water.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I’m just trying to puzzle it out.”

“He was with me at midnight,” he said. “That I know for certain. And that’s when you said…it happened.”

“Well, I was never completely sure of the exact time,” I said.

“Ned was with me out here,” Mr. Chapman said. “We were watching a meteor shower. And then he went to bed. It had to have been long after midnight by that time. Besides, what possible motive did he have? He adored your sister.”

I couldn’t tell him my suspicions about his son’s relationship with Pamela Durant. I would have to trust that the truth would come out in time.

“I guess you’re right,” I said.

I was relieved to hear the screen door bang shut as Ethan walked into the yard, and I stood quickly to help him. He was balancing three full glasses, stacked plastic plates and the sandwiches on a tray. I handed Mr. Chapman his glass of cream soda.

“I remember how you used to zip around the canal in your little runabout,” he said, as Ethan and I sat down and began to eat. “Back and forth, between here and the bay.”

“That’s as far as I was allowed to go,” I said.

“I bet you grew into a hellion of a teenager,” Mr. Chapman said. He did not seem to be hungry. He had not touched his sandwich.

“Well,” I said, “I really didn’t. After Isabel died, I became a lot more afraid of things.”

Mr. Chapman looked saddened by that news. “That’s a shame,” he said.

“She won’t even go in the boat,” Ethan said.

“No?” Mr. Chapman inquired. “Oh, you should. I’m leaving after lunch and I think the two of you should take a ride. It’s a beautiful day, not at all crowded on the water.”

“How about it?” Ethan raised his eyebrows at me.

“No, thanks,” I said. Next door, the boys climbed out of the pool and ran into the house, and I was relieved to be able to give up my self-imposed lifeguarding.

“You’ve got yourself labeled again, don’t you?” Mr. Chapman said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I mean, you used to call yourself ‘the Nancy Drew Girl,’” he said. “‘The Adventure Girl.’ Now you’re ‘the Scared Girl.’ You don’t have to stay that way, you know.”

“He has a point,” Ethan said.

It was strange the effect Mr. Chapman’s few simple words had on me. You don’t have to stay that way.

“Maybe I’ll go,” I said, not quite ready to commit to the possibility but suddenly ready to consider it.

Mr. Chapman left right after lunch, and Ethan and I stood in the front yard, watching him drive away.

“You ready for that boat ride?” Ethan asked, putting his arm around me.

I made a face that clearly said I don’t think so.

“How did you feel when you were a kid and went out in your boat?” he asked.

I thought about it for a minute. “Free,” I said. “Until that last night. That changed everything.”

He used his arm to turn me around and we headed through his side yard toward the dock. “That was 1962,” he said. “It’s a new century now. Come on.”

I let myself be led to the edge of the dock. Ethan began to untie the boat from the hooks on the bulkhead. I watched, remembering how my runabout’s damp, fibrous rope used to feel in my fingers. Grandpop had taught me many different knots. I bet I still remembered them all.