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"He’s a good, good boy. Happier on his own, I think. A true loner. Did he do something, Miss King?"

Vi sighed. The stench of fish flowed into the living room from the kitchen.

"Thing is, we aren’t sure yet. We lifted Luther’s fingerprints from a crime scene, so we’d just like to talk with him and—"

"What sort of crime scene?" Maxine asked.

"That’s uh…I’m not allowed to divulge that at this point. So where did you see him last?"

"Here," Maxine said. "It was Christmas Eve and we hadn’t heard from him in a while, but that wasn’t so strange. After he quit school, we never saw much of him." The old woman brushed a wisp of white hair from her cheek, which still rested against her husband’s chest. "Rufus and I were in the kitchen peeling shrimp. We always have a special supper on Christmas Eve. I heard logs shifting in the fireplace, rushed out here, and there was my boy, standing by the hearth, poking the fire. He asked me, ‘All right if I spend Christmas with you, Mama?’"

Maxine smiled, her eyes gone heartsick, swallowing as if she had a lump in her throat.

"He left the next morning," Rufus said. "We haven’t heard from him since. Sometimes, I think he’s dead."

"No, he isn’t dead, Sweet-Sweet. Luther just doesn’t reckon time the way we do. I think seven years to him don’t mean a hill of beans. He’ll come home again when it pleases him. That’s just his way."

"Did Luther have any close friends in Ocracoke?"

"Luther was never interested in making friends. Like I said, he’s a loner."

"No, Beautiful, remember Scottie?"

"Manning?"

"No, Claude and Helen’s boy."

"Who’s this?" Vi asked.

"Fellow named Scottie Myers. A real local. Lives over on Back Road. Used to be a fisherman when you could make a living at it. I think he waits tables at Howard’s now. He and Luther are the same age. When they were in high school the two of them used to go crabbing with Claude on the weekends."

"I don’t think they were that good of friends, Rufus."

"Well, I’m just trying to help Miss King. I mean, is that helpful to you?"

"Oh, absolutely. Now you said he worked at Howard’s? What’s that?"

"It’s a pub on Twelve where all the locals go. And a fair number of tourists, too. Bring your appetite." He spread his thumb and index finger an inch apart. "The fried oysters are yea big."

"Sweet-Sweet, I’m tired," Maxine whined.

"Miss, I don’t know if you have more questions but maybe we could finish this—"

"I could come back tomorrow."

"It’d have to be later in the afternoon," Maxine said. "After five o’clock."

"That’s fine." Vi smiled. "Well, look, ya’ll have been so helpful. I know this wasn’t easy."

Rufus said, "Our pleasure."

Vi came to her feet and lifted her purse.

"Ya’ll have one of the most interesting homes I think I’ve ever seen. When was it built?"

"Eighteen-seventeen," Rufus said. "One of the oldest structures on the island. You can see the lighthouse and the sea from the cupola."

Vi slipped her purse over her shoulder.

"Would I be imposing to ask for a tour of this magnificent house?"

"Perhaps another time, Miss King," Maxine said. "I was on my way to a nap when you knocked."

Rufus kissed his wife’s forehead and struggled to his feet.

"Let me walk you to your car," he said. "I’d give you the tour myself but I’m breading four flounders in the kitchen, and they’re liable to spoil on me if I keep dillydallying."

As Vi opened the door of the Jeep and tossed her purse into the passenger seat, Rufus said, "Miss King, I just wanted to thank you."

"What for?"

Rufus leaned against the dirty Jeep.

A raindrop splattered on Vi’s cheek.

"Not telling my wife the nature of the crime scene. Maxine isn’t well. She didn’t need to hear about it, and I’m grateful to you. You said you’re from Davidson, North Carolina?"

"Yessir."

"I know why you’re here. Did my boy…he kill that family?"

Vi shut the door, reached out, touched Rufus’s arm.

"Mr. Kite, we really don’t know at this juncture. That’s the truth." Rufus nodded, patted her hand. "But would it surprise you if he had?"

The old man exhaled a soft whimper.

"Come