A silver picture frame stood on the little wooden sideboard by the hallway.

It held a photo Walter had taken of the still water at Lake Norman three years back, before the divorce, before Spencer quit returning my calls.

Back then I believed Spencer was only trying to keep the peace with his mother.

I took him for a gentle man who hated arguments, not someone pushed along by something much worse.

“If Patricia ever finds out what we’ve got in that back room,” Helen whispered, her eyes sliding toward the silent hallway, “she’ll spend every cent she has making your life miserable.”

At eight o’clock the back bedroom was cool and dim.