By Monday morning my head was still spinning from what I heard the day before. Henry Prescott and Mary whispering in the dark. The tense voices. The way Henry kept insisting that Harry could not find out anything. That alone had been terrifying enough. But the look on Mary’s face when she had slipped back into the house afterward still haunted me. She acted as if nothing had happened. She even hummed while placing her purse on the hallway table. It was the kind of humming a person used when ...