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Then I gazed out the window at the snowy landscape, at the silent main house.

How did Malcolm stand it? That huge empty house, and reminders of Astrid around every corner. He had to be in hell.

I turned from the window and tried to think of what to do with the luxury of an entire day to myself. Nothing came to me.

Probably, I should think about Christmas shopping, but the very idea of Christmas left me feeling nauseous. The two people I would have most wanted to buy presents for were lost to me forever.

Instead, I started calling around again to the animal clinics, rescues, and shelters.

With the same result.

When I finally gave up, it was nearly lunch time and there was yet another message on the answering machine from Matilda Seger.

“Mr. Bredahl, I wanted to let you know theHeraldis publishing a public apology to you on Sunday along with my in-depth analysis of where the police investigation of Tom Peyton’s homicide went off the rails. I understand and respect your decision not to speak publicly about the humiliating and horrifying treatment you received from LCPD, and I can’t pretend to understand what you’ve been through, but I feel like it might be cathartic for you to share your experience. It would certainly help get the word out to people who might not yet know that you’ve been completely exonerated.”

My blood was boiling by the time I got to the end of her message. Was I supposed tocarewhat the uninformed citizens of Little Copenhagen thought now after getting it so wrong the first time?

But then… A switch seemed to flip in my brain.

If theHeraldreally was publishing an apology, if there reallywasgoing to be a serious critique of the investigation that had led to my arrest, charge and indictment, whynottake advantage of the platform Seger was offering? Why not have my say? Why not get a little payback for what I’d suffered?

Yeah, a really bad impulse. A terrible instinct.

But in that moment, it seemed—not like a great idea. I knew it wasn’t a great idea. But it seemed like the best chance I would have to set the record straight.

And, yes, perhaps inflict a little pain.

It was not like me. In my entire life I’d never looked for trouble. Never wanted conflict. Never deliberately intended to hurt anyone. And I didn’t particularlywantto hurt anyone now.

But I also didn’t care if I did.

I phoned Matilda Seger back and we agreed to meet for lunch.

Matilda was not at all what I expected.

For one thing, she was young. Younger than me, for sure. And tiny. She showed up wearing a furry white parka which had a hood with little pointy animal ears, like a fox or a cat. Maybe it was the ears or maybe it was her big blue eyes and wide blue streak in her short, silvery hair that made me think of an anime character. She did not look like a hard-hitting journalist. Or any kind of journalist.

Anyway, we got a lot of strange looks and a few whispers as we shucked our coats, scarves, and hats and settled in the back booth at How Now Cow Café.

Matilda beamed at me. “Thanks so much for agreeing to talk to me—”

The waitress appeared and Matilda ordered cocoa and a grilled cheese. I ordered a bowl of cream of chicken with wild rice soup.

The waitress stepped away and, as though we hadn’t been interrupted, Matilda finished, “I can’t tell you how sorry I am for the role my paper played in your incarceration.”

I nodded politely. Why was it so hard to speak normally to people now?

“Is it okay if I record our conversation?”

“I’d prefer that.”

“I don’t blame you.”

I figured she’d use her cell phone, but she took out a little tape recorder, set it on the table between us, and pressed record. She tested the mic while I listened to the Christmas music playing overhead.

It’s the most wonderful time of the year…

Andy Williams. Astrid had loved that retro Christmas music. Weirdly enough, so had Raleigh. And because they loved it, I loved it. Now it sounded like shrill, stupid nonsense. Cartoon sentiment.