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“Oh yes,” she said, “Mrs. Wills—she phoned yesterday, actually.”

“Well, actually, that was me. The thing is, you see—Mrs. Wills died.”

The receptionist threw her hand over her mouth. “Oh no,” she said. Her eyes were open in horror and she looked genuinely shocked. “How?”

“I’m afraid it was suicide.”

“Oh no. But that’s terrible. She was such a beautiful woman—such a caring aunt. I can’t believe it. Does Zander know?”

Ana shook her head. “That’s why we’re here. We thought it would be best for him to hear it from someone who was close to Bee.”

The receptionist asked them to wait while she called a doctor, and then a few minutes later led them through to a large office on the ground floor, where a small Asian woman with a hairy mole on her cheek greeted them warmly. She was called Dr. Chan and she knew all about Belinda Wills, had first met her back in 1997 when she’d come to High Cedars to visit Zander. She was deeply, deeply upset to hear about Bee and even more shocked to hear that it was suicide. “But—why?” she asked plaintively. Zander and Belinda had, apparently, had some kind of argument about a month ago and he’d refused to see her and speak to her since. They’d tried to get Zander to talk about it in his therapy sessions but he refused to say a word. Which was, according to Dr. Chan, entirely in keeping with his personality. He was a “very difficult child.”

“So—you’re Belinda’s sister, you say?”

“Half sister, actually.”

“And Belinda was a half sister to Jo Roper—Zander’s mother. Families really are very complicated these days, aren’t they?” Dr. Chan smiled and picked up a phone. “Zander needs to know about this as soon as possible. I’ll just find out what he’s up to this morning.”

She put down the phone and smiled. “You’re in luck,” she said, “Zander’s on the grounds right now—painting. I’ll take you to him.”

They followed Dr. Chan through sunlit, wood-paneled corridors, past a gravy-scented dining room where lunch was being prepared, and out across landscaped gardens.

“He’s down by the pond,” she said, leading them down a concrete pathway into the shade of a small clump of trees. “I’ll leave you to tell Zander the news, but if the situation feels like it’s getting in any way out of control, just call out ‘Nurse’ and someone will assist you.”

“What exactly do you mean by ‘out of control’?” said Ana.

Dr. Chan stopped and turned toward them. “Zander is an orphan. Not just an orphan, but the only member of his family still alive. No brothers, sisters, grandparents. Just Zander. He had a terrible, terrible start to his life, and until Belinda tracked him down, he was truly alone. He was very resistant to Belinda at first, to the idea of having family. But, in his own, unconventional way, he grew very fond of her. She bought a house for him. Did you know that?”

They nodded.

“Yes, they spent most weekends together. And he seemed to be improving month by month. I have no idea what they argued about last month, but I’m sure that Zander imagined it was a temporary situation. He occasionally likes to punish those who try to help him. Keep people on their toes—that’s the way he tends to work. But when he learns that she’s dead, I really don’t think anyone can predict how he’ll react. He may take it in his stride. He may be very angry. Just be prepared for anything—OK?”

“OK.” Flint and Ana both nodded.

At the bottom of the path was an algae-covered pond dotted with lily pads and punctured by weeping willow tendrils. It was cool and shady. A young man in a wheelchair sat facing away from them, stirring a paint-brush into a glass jar of minty-green water.

“Zander,” called Dr. Chan.

The boy didn’t turn around, just carried on stirring his brush in the water and contemplating the view.

“Zander.”

“Yup,” he said wearily, still without turning around.

“Zander—you’ve got some visitors.”

“Yippee.” He applied his brush to a watercolor tin on his lap.

“Sorry about this,” Dr. Chan said under her breath, “it’s nothing personal, I can assure you.”

They followed her toward Zander and then stood in front of him. He was a nice-looking boy, maybe a bit small for his age, but with precise features and thick brown hair worn long around his ears and neck and tucked behind his ears. He was wearing a Teenage Fanclub T-shirt, jeans, and Reeboks. His eyes, when he looked up at them, were a very pale blue. He fixed them both with the most intense gaze Flint had ever seen.

“What is this?” said Zander, outlining a lily pad on his cartridge paper with a stroke of green paint, “a giant’s convention?”

Ana suddenly snorted. Flint looked at her. She was laughing.

“Sorry,” she said. “Sorry.”