Julia maneuvered her Infiniti south through the heavy traffic on Route 86. She too had a hangover. After the wine and liqueurs, Dana had made her an espresso and had laced it with Benedictine. Rocco had moved to an overstuffed chair in the living room and had passed into almost catatonic sleep. Robbie and Nicco had fallen asleep on the sofa; Jenny and Jason had gone to their rooms; Todd, now beside her in the passenger seat, had stayed at the table. He too was in pain. They barely spoke.
It was 8:20. The sun had been burning the mist from the lake for nearly an hour but had made little progress. At the Village of South Lake Julia glanced across, past Todd, toward the private cove where Rod Nightingale’s cottage overlooked the brush and the beach. In their reds, yellows, oranges, and many
