One: June

THERE AREN’T MANY OTHER RESULTS ONLINE about Michelle Young’s death, besides her obituary, with the details of her funeral and visitation. She was survived by her father, Rodney Young, and stepmother, Jennifer Young, along with her mother, Sylvie Mills, and two younger sisters. A memorial from St. Helena High attests to her athleticism, including her aspirations to become a champion tennis player.

I look up each member of her family but can’t locate her sisters, Carrie and Darla—maybe they’ve gotten married, changed their last names. There are too many Jennifer Youngs to take the time to parse out which one could be Michelle’s stepmother, and the only Sylvie Mills who might fit the description is apparently retired and living in Florida, according to a Facebook profile photo of a blonde woman on a beach in a sun hat.

Luckily, Rodney Young Napa churns up a valid result. He’s a winemaker in Napa, or at least he was, at Younger Brothers Winery in Oak Knoll. I click through the photos on the winery’s website. Rodney’s picture is on the About Us page, beside another, slightly taller, gray-haired man. Rodney and Richard, who must be the two brothers behind the winery name. The other photos show a quaint, well-maintained vineyard. Like our family, our wines have integrity and warmth, and are best enjoyed in the company of loved ones, the website says.

I put my phone on my lap, my eyes darting to the car windows, where sunlight streams in. I’m alone on Bev’s street—there’s nobody around, nothing surrounding me except perfectly manicured houses and gardens, and yet, I can’t shake the suspicion that I’m being watched. That somebody other than Bev knows I’m here.

I’m already so close to Napa. I could go back, make a stop at Younger Brothers and see if Rodney is there. Based on the website’s photo, he looks to be in his late sixties, around the same age as my parents. Even if he still works on-site and I find him, what would I possibly say? I need to know more about your daughter, because I think my husband died the same way she did, and neither of them was an accident.

I lower my forehead to the leather steering wheel, my frustration mounting. The more I think about it, the more threatened I feel by Andrew Smith. He hasn’t done anything to me—yet—but he has looked me up, knows where I live, and was obviously in Brooklyn to find me. But what he wants with me, I have no idea. He’s estranged from Josh for a reason—he must have done something terrible, which could explain why he was sent to boarding school. Is it possible Andrew was involved in Michelle’s death? And if that’s the case, what if he also did something to Josh?

I navigate back to the first article about Michelle and zoom in on her photo, wishing she could speak and tell me her truth. Her lips are curved mysteriously, like she’s holding in a secret. What happened to you? I silently plead.

When I scroll to the bottom of the page, I realize there’s something I missed the first time around: a comments section, which I click to expand. Multiple comments populate, ranging from mournful to rage fueled.

RIP Michelle, a beautiful soul lost too young.

What were the parents doing while a girl drowned on their property?

I’m feeling sick about this

The tragedy of young people drinking without any parental supervision. This could have been prevented.

Her boyfriend is the one who killed her. Josh Kelly. Why am I the only one who knows he pushed her in, probably held her head under? He was the last one who saw her alive. I hope he rots in hell.

The last comment makes me break into a full-body chill. That’s impossible, my brain screams, because I know Josh. I only knew him for six months, but I knew him. There wasn’t a mean bone in his body, and even reading those words feels like a betrayal.

My hand tightens around the phone. I’m nauseated, and momentarily, I’m afraid I’ll throw up.

Maybe Andrew wrote the comment, to avert the suspicion from himself?

I hover over the words, wanting more information about the person who wrote them. But the commenter is anonymous. Bev had been reluctant to part with any specific details. She could have told me about Michelle’s death herself—surely she knows all about it, having lived at the winery when it happened. Was she protecting Andrew, or Josh, or both?

My brain circles around an explanation, but all I can come up with is that while this person did not really know Josh, they definitely cared about Michelle.

My back straightens against the seat as I type a name into my GPS: Younger Brothers Winery. Michelle’s father might not even be there, and if he is, he might not want to talk.

But if the comment on that article proves anything, it’s that there was someone out there who wanted Josh dead.