Page 17 of Nantucket Gala

This was something Henry knew for sure. Francis Bianchi had faded into obscurity after the allegations.

But if he hadn’t committed murder, why had he let his career fade away?

Why hadn’t Sophia gone to Paris with him?

“You’ve opened up a can of worms, haven’t you?” Greta laughed.

“It seems that way.”

Henry could feel his grandmother’s smile through the phone.

“I’m proud of you, Henry,” Greta said.

“All I did was eat Chinese food,” Henry said.

Greta let out a cry of alarm. “She bought you Chinese food for Christmas dinner? What a travesty.” Greta laughed and laughed. “I should have paid attention to Sophia back then. It’s clear she always had a bit of magic up her sleeves.”

“I don’t think she’s run out of that magic,” Henry said.

“It sounds like you want to see her again?”

Henry wasn’t sure. Maybe he did. Perhaps he wanted to continue to study her—if only for his own creative gain.

“I enjoyed our conversation,” Henry said.

He did not say that it was the first invigorating conversation he’d had in months.

Soon after, Julia stole the phone from Greta to pester Henry about his Christmas Day.

“Did you eat enough?” she asked. “Do you want me to send you anything? We have so many Christmas cookies. I don’t know how we’ll get through them.”

“There are so many of you there,” Henry reminded her. “They’ll be gone by New Year’s Eve.”

In response, Julia sent him a photograph of more Christmas cookies than he’d ever seen at once: stacks of Tupperware, baking trays, bowls of frosting, flour like snow on the counter.

“I need you to understand the gravity of the situation,” Julia said. “We’re buried under baked goods.”

“Please come help, Henry!” Anna cried as she passed by the phone.

Henry’s heart spasmed. All he wanted was to burrow into the warmth of his grandparents’ home and listen to the steady conversations around him. All he wanted was to eat four cookies and let himself fall asleep and sing karaoke with Grandpa Bernard and hold his sister’s baby.

But after he was passed from his mother to his sister Rachel to his sister Anna to his cousin Danny to his aunt Ella, Henry finally found a way to jump off the phone. “Love you!” he called into the speaker, then pressed END. He gasped for breath. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding it.

Alone, Henry lay on his stomach and searched the internet for clues about Francis Bianchi, Sophia Bianchi, and the alleged murder. But the only initial articles he found had trashy headlines like “This Top American Director was Forced Out of the Country for This Strange Reason!” or “You’ll Never Believe Where Francis Bianchi Ended Up!” None of the articles were hard-hitting or based on research. And when he tried to find out who Francis Bianchi was said to have murdered, he found only a few grainy photographs of Francis and a woman who looked to be Sophia.

After nearly two hours of searching, Henry put his phone away, rolled over, and looked at the ceiling.

What he’d learned thus far was very little.

But he now knew where the alleged murder had taken place.

Nantucket Island.

It was remarkable.

At the Nantucket Gala in June 1985, a young woman had died. Her name was Natalie Masterson. She was rumored to be the next big Hollywood star. But she never got the acclaim shesought. She left Nantucket in a body bag. Francis left on a top secret plane to Paris.

Where was Sophia during all this?

---