It’s the same look I saw in the hospital and on her first day back at school after Mayfield Lodge.

She wasn’t happy then, and she isn’t happy in the image her new family has chosen to show the world. Next to her, Bernie’s mom has the same smile, while her stepdad looks straight-lipped and serious.

I don’t understand what’s happening, and when Jamie comes in, he sees what I’m staring at and says, “Isn’t she in your class?”

I nod, unable to speak. None of this makes sense.

Bernie left Doveton after her mom married her boyfriend. She moved to Harmony. She moved here.

But that still doesn’t explain Clara’s phone call.

I think back to our walk, when Bernie talked about her little sister—her half sister.

“What now?” Jamie asks, but the room is spinning, and I can’t reply.

Part of me wants to stay until Bernie comes home, to find out what the hell is going on, but we shouldn’t be here. And yet I can’t shake the feeling that something’s not right.

“We should check upstairs,” I say, and as we walk into the hall, a noise behind us makes me jump, and I swear we’ve been caught.

Jamie’s eyes go wide with terror, then just as quickly, he sniffs and smiles.

He reaches down and picks up an air freshener, whispers, “Motion sensor,” and then, after another deep breath, “Bali sandalwood and jasmine.” I stare at him, and he says, “My mom loves these things.”

I should smile, because this is typical Jamie, making light of dark situations, but my heart is pounding, and I can’t get the image of Bernie out of my head.

He sniffs again, then he walks upstairs, and I follow.

Clara’s bedroom looks a lot like mine, her parents’ is neat and tidy, and the third room, Bernie’s, is almost empty. I know it’s hers, because her schoolbooks are on the floor. One small dresser stands in the corner and an unmade bed, but nothing else.

While Jamie goes into her parents’ bedroom, I head straight for Clara’s, doing my best to put Bernie out of my mind.

I open Clara’s desk drawers and her bedside table, but there’s no diary, no laptop, nowhere that a name could be written in secret.

I think back to when I was ten, trying to figure out where I would bury something so big. But there’s nothing here.

When I’ve looked everywhere, I go back to Bernie’s room. I can’t help myself. If Clara knows something, maybe her sister does too. That’s when I notice Bernie’s bedroom door. There are dents on the outside, the wood caved in and splintered.

“Jamie,” I say, “I think we should leave.”