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computer studying websites like OpenSecrets.org and the Federal Election Commission, digging into Hastings’s campaign expenditures, only to become frustrated by the learning curve.
    “Waste of time, Skye.” There were watchdog groups who excelled in ferreting out illegal campaign contributions and understood the law far better than she did. If there were anything remotely suspicious, Hastings’s opponent would surely have uncovered it. What was she thinking?
    Skye slouched in her chair, picked up her pen, and crossed out “campaign contributions.” Tax returns? Ditto. She crossed out the second item and the third, too. His personal charitable deductions were unremarkable as well, detailing the usual donations to alma maters Harvard and University of Michigan, his church, several pro-life organizations—surprise, surprise—and then a healthy amount to the Marilyn Care Center Women’s Shelter. Dead end.
    “Come on, Skylar. Think outside the box.” She tapped the pen against her lip. Something more personal. Too bad Facebook wasn’t around when Hastings had been in college.
    “All right. Let’s go at this backwards.” She blew out a deep breath, got out a legal pad, and diagramed a long timeline. “Senator Hastings, this is your life.”
     
    * * *
     
    After weeks of diligently answering Dear Darlene letters, Skye really looked forward to this dinner with Jenny. She glanced at the car clock and decided she had time for a short visit with Faith before meeting her friend.
    Skye drove down the leaf-strewn street past houses draped in sticky white spider webs and huge spiders clinging to houses. Bleached bone skeletons dangled from trees or lay in the grass. A wide variety of silly, scary, artistic, Jack-o-Lanterns guarded porch steps, waiting for their debut just a few nights from now.
    Skye frowned and turned away from a neighbor’s display of white ghosts floating across a lawn littered with tombstones. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. The last tombstone she’d seen had been Niki’s.
    Niki had loved Halloween—not so much for the candy, but the opportunity to dress up and be something other than a sick little girl. In costume—for even just one day—she’d been normal.
    Skye knocked on the door of her sister’s plain Cape Cod-style home. Without waiting for a response, she pushed through the unlocked back door and climbed the few steps to the hallway. Skye trailed a finger along the pine bookcase Mom had refinished during her antiquing phase. She’d given it a washed green finish, but later Faith had painted chains of delicate daisies, blue bells, and baby’s breath to accent the corners.
    Skye had framed a photo of toddler Niki, cuddled with her favorite blanket and fast asleep, on the bottom shelf. Seeing those plump redbud lips and flushed chubby cheeks made Skye’s arms ache in loneliness. Was there any better feeling than the weight of a trusting, sweet baby snuggled close?
    She sighed. First Mom, then Dad, and now Niki. It wasn’t fair.
    Skye hadn’t seen Faith and Peter since the funeral, though they talked frequently on the phone. Being with them without Niki was too hard. Going from a family with a child to one without any left a painful void, and all attempts to comfort each other just felt awkward —like they were trying too hard to be okay. So Skye avoided her sister and brother-in-law. But Thanksgiving would soon be here, and she couldn’t hide anymore.
    “Hey, it’s me.” Skye called out. “Faith? Peter?”
    In the kitchen, she paused at the granite countertop long enough to read a note from Pete telling Faith that he’d run out to the grocery store.
    “Faith?” Skye moved into the family room. “I only have a little time before I have to meet Jenny.” She stopped in the doorway, smiling, when she saw her sister sleeping on the couch.
    Faith blinked and brushed straight blond hair from her eyes. As she swung her feet off the couch and arched her back in a leisurely