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Annie was sitting in the kitchen with the same police officer who had come the night Charlie had disappeared. Standish, her

name was. Annie had sent Charlie to ride his bike around in the backyard. She couldn’t send him to his room without having

him step over Finnegan Sproule’s body, which remained at the foot of the stairs as the police continued their investigation.

Standish asked for a glass of water. Annie ran the tap, filled a glass, and then Standish suggested they both take a seat.

Standish asked, “Where did you and Charlie go today?”

“Just... driving. We’d talked about heading back to the city, but Charlie didn’t want to, so we settled on an outing.”

“Why were you thinking about going back to New York?”

Annie took a moment. “Just... Charlie misses his friends.”

“So tell me about this outing.”

“We went into Fenelon and had lunch and then kind of explored. We did that the other day, found an airport and a pick-your-own

strawberries place, and today we went in another direction.”

“When did you get home?”

“Just after four.” She bit her lip, her eyes looking up toward the ceiling. “I saw the car in the driveway and recognized

it, I said to Charlie, oh, look who’s here. He didn’t know, because he’d never seen Fin’s car, but I explained. And since

Fin wasn’t sitting on the porch or hanging around outside, I figured he must have been inside.”

“He had a key? Or had you left the house unlocked when you went out?”

“It was locked. I’m only guessing, but you should call this Candace person? The leasing agent? Fin arranged all this—setting

me and Charlie up with this place for the summer—so he might have called ahead, asked her to let him in or to leave a key

somewhere. So he could... surprise us.”

Annie thinking, He sure did that.

“And so, since the house was probably open, once Charlie was out of the car he ran in fast as he could, and...” Annie stopped,

struggling to regain her composure. She took a couple of deep breaths, and continued. “He was inside and he starting shouting

and I ran in and there he was.”

“At the bottom of the stairs. You didn’t touch him or move him.”

Annie said, “I didn’t move him. But I got down and put my hands on him and I guess I was shouting his name, but...”

“Okay, I understand.” Standish took a sip of water.

“I didn’t want Charlie to see. I told him to go back outside and I called 911. And then I came out to the porch until you

got here.”

“He didn’t call ahead? Let you know he was coming?”

Annie shook her head, glanced at the counter. “I guess he wanted to surprise us. He brought some of our favorite things. Bagels.

Some wine and pastrami in the fridge.”

“Your relationship with Mr. Sproule is a business one?”

“He’s my editor.” Annie had explained what she did for a living, that Finnegan had booked her this place as a kind of retreat

to help her unwind before starting her next project. “Oh God, there’s so many people that need to be called.”

“Was he married?”

“No,” Annie said. “No spouse, no children. But there must be other family. And everyone at the house will be devastated.”

“House?”

“The publishing house. The people he worked with. This is so horrible.” She put her head into her hands for a moment before

asking, “What do you think happened?”

“That’s what we have to determine,” Standish said. “Did he have any health problems that you know of?”

“No. I mean, maybe he did, but he didn’t share them with me. Do you think he had a heart attack?”

“That’s something the coroner will have to determine. It appears he broke his neck. And he was at the bottom of the stairs.

He might have tripped coming down them. Or maybe he did have a heart attack, or blacked out, or something, when he was at

the top of the stairs, and then when he fell he suffered an additional injury.”

“Why would he have gone upstairs?” Annie asked.

“I don’t know. I was about to ask you.”

Annie, puzzled, shook her head. “I could see him coming into the house when we weren’t here to put things here in the kitchen,

but I don’t think he’d go snooping around upstairs,”

“Maybe to use the bathroom.”

She pointed toward the rear of the house. “There’s one back there.”

“So he’d have had to go looking for it. Maybe it was easier to find one upstairs, and when he was coming back down, he tripped.”

“Or maybe...” Annie was thinking. “Maybe he brought something for Charlie. Or he put something in my studio.”

Standish put a finger in the air. “Give me a second. I’ll be right back.”

She left the kitchen. Annie could hear her exchanging words with people in the front hall. There was a commotion of some kind.

A couple of minutes later, she returned.

“They’ve moved Mr. Sproule from the house,” she said. “Why don’t we go upstairs and have a look.”

Slowly, Annie rose from her chair and followed the officer. At the foot of the stairs she stared briefly at the spot where her friend and editor had been found, and stepped over it as though he were still there. She went up the steps deliberately, hand gripped on the railing, and when she reached the top she needed a second, as if to orient herself to the house for the first time.

“I don’t see what he could have tripped on,” Annie said, looking down at the top of the steps. “There’s no carpet or anything.”

Standish nodded thoughtfully. “That’s true,” she said. “You didn’t bring a pet from New York, did you? A dog or a cat? Something

that might have darted in front of him?”

Annie shook her head.

“Any visitors to the house? Someone else who might have been here?”

“Candace was going to send a handyman around to put chains on the front and back doors.”

“Was there some concern about someone getting in?”

“For Charlie,” Annie said. “The other night? When he was sleepwalking and let himself out? I didn’t want that to happen again.

If the chain was mounted high enough, he wouldn’t be able to reach it.”

From where she stood, Standish could see the front door. “I don’t see any chain.”

“He still hasn’t shown up.” Annie sighed. “I guess he takes his time getting to these things.”

“You know his name?”

“No.”

“I can check with Candace,” Standish said. “I know where to find her. Can ask her about the key, too.” She appeared to be

thinking.

“What?” Annie asked.

“Maybe he was here when Mr. Sproule was. Maybe they had a disagreement of some kind.”

“And, what? Fin was pushed down these stairs?”

“I’m not saying that. I’d just like to talk to him, that’s all.” Standish smiled. “Just dotting the i ’s and crossing the t ’s. Show me your son’s room.”

Annie led the way, pushed the door wide open.

“You see anything out of place here? Anything that’s here now that wasn’t here before?”

Annie stepped into the room, walked about. “No.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“You said he might have left something in your studio?”

“Possibly.”

Annie went back out into the hall, making a brief comment as she passed the bathroom—“I suppose he could have come up here”—and

then entered the studio. The room was filled with light. Standish looked impressed.

“What a great place to work,” she said. She pointed to the drafting table. “That’s yours, of course.”

“Yes.”

“And that’s quite something,” Standish said.

Annie saw that she was looking at the train layout on the floor. “That’s Charlie’s setup.”

“He’s made a little town and everything.”

They both stood there, neither speaking, until Standish finally asked, “So, you see anything different in here? Something

Mr. Sproule might have left for you? Something that’s not like it was before?”

“Nothing.”

Although that wasn’t entirely true. She did see one thing, but it hardly seemed worth mentioning to the officer.

There was a break in the loop of track. Two sections had come apart from each other. If the train were to be engaged, it would derail. And the wheels of the red boxcar, the one from which Annie had imagined seeing all those spiders emerge, were off the track.

Outside, Charlie pedaled his bicycle.

He went around and around and around the backyard. Pumping his legs as hard as they would go. Lap after lap after lap. Sweat

running down his forehead and stinging his eyes. But neither that, nor the pain he felt in his calves and thighs, would slow

him down.

His mother’s friend’s accident was a terrible, terrible thing. But it was also a sign. Things were coming to a head. Charlie

had to be ready. He knew he would have to go soon.

I’m coming, Dad.