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“You can see it from here. A sacred place, don’t you agree?”
    Again, Jane shook her head.
    He locked a hand on her arm. “Come on, we’ll do this together.”
    “Don’t make me go in there.”
    “Wouldn’t Samantha want you to be brave, Jane?”
    She sucked in a breath. “How do you know where Samantha died?” Wrenching out of his grip, she didn’t wait for an answer. Sprinting back the way they’d come, she’d gotten no more than twenty feet when, with a yelp, she stopped cold.
    The old man in the overcoat blocked her path.
    Mark shushed through the leaves to join her. “I think the better question is: How do
you
know?”
    Clean shaven now, the old man held his missing beard in one hand and a gun in the other. He shook his head slowly but didn’t say a word.
    “What’s happening?” Jane asked him. “What’s going on?”
    Mark held out his hand. “Give me the book.”
    “But … it’s all I have left of her,” she said.
    “No,” Mark said. “It’s all
we
have left of her. Give it to me.”
    Jane loosened her grip on the blue-bound copy and handed it to him.
    Mark removed his glasses, placed them in a pocket, opened the book’s front cover and read aloud: “To Laura.” The corners of his mouth tugged downward. “May life be your Wonderland, Love, Dad.”
    “I don’t know why it says that,” Jane said. “Samantha never explained that inscription.”
    “How could she?” the old man asked. “She was dead when you took it from her.” He holstered his gun beneath his coat. “And her name wasn’t Samantha. It was Laura.”
    “Who are you?” she asked.
    He opened his collar wide enough to expose the White Rabbit necklace around his neck. “I’m her father, that’s who.”
    “Samantha’s father?” Her mouth dropped open. “The police chief?”
    “Laura,” he corrected again. “And only an inspector.”
    “He tricked me into coming here.” She pointed at Mark. “He’s the one who killed her. Who else could have known where she died?”
    “Who else, indeed?” The older man asked. “But what I don’t understand is how you lured my daughter in here. She never would have come this way on her own. Never.”
    “
She
followed me. Really, she did.” Jane shook her head vehemently. “You have to believe me. I would never have hurt Samantha. She meant everything to me. Everything. I only took her book so that she’d talk to me.”
    “She followed you in here?” The old man’s voice cracked. “Because you stole her book?”
    Jane kept shaking her head. “But it turned out she wasn’t my Samantha. Samantha would never have pushed me away. She never would have said such terrible things.”
    “She
followed
you in here?” he repeated as he grabbed the book from Mark’s hands. “For this?” Dropping his head, he pinched the bridge of his nose and covered his eyes.
    “Don’t you see, there’s been a mistake.” Jane twisted between thetwo men. “It’s him. He did it.”
    Mark laid a steadying hand on the older man’s shaking shoulders. “We were afraid we’d never find who murdered Laura. But you were right,” he said to Jane. “Victims return to the scene of the crime, too. Especially when it’s their only chance to catch a killer.”
    “You’re the killer,” Jane screeched. “She must have told you how she felt about me. That’s how you knew I’d be here today.” Turning to the cop, she said, “Don’t you see? He bought that book to set me up. He’s the one you should be arresting.”
    As the older man snapped handcuffs on Jane’s wrists, Mark pulled his book from the messenger bag. He opened the front cover. “To Mark.” His voice trembled and his eyes glistened. “Stay curious as life’s adventures unfold. Love, Dad.” He waited until the older man looked up again. “I’ve had this book for a very long time, haven’t I?”
    The cop’s jaw was tight. “Long time.”
    Jane swallowed. “I don’t understand.”
    “My sister’s ritual