“It’s been just awful. Maggie, she was”—the school principal looked at the ceiling, searching for the right word—“she was “decent. A kind girl whose family had been through so much but she still was positive, a bright light. She was admitted to MIT, and was so excited.…”

Keller nodded. Mrs. Flowers wore a flowing blouse with a chunky wood necklace. Her office at Naperville High School was filled with photos of her with students. Knickknacks from travel, a lot from African countries by the looks of them. Keller could imagine her greeting the students every morning. The kind of woman who saw promise in everyone, underpaid and overworked, but delighted to be there. The twins were years away from high school, but they should be so lucky.

“I’d like to talk with some of Maggie’s friends,” Keller said.

Flowers’s expression tightened while she considered whether to allow her students to talk to the FBI without notifying their parents. But she picked up a phone and asked someone to call Harper Bennett to the office.

A few minutes later a pretty young woman appeared in the doorway. Eyes wide, she approached apprehensively, as if concerned she was in trouble for something.

“Harper, please come in,” the principal said.

Harper Bennett had green eyes and stylish brown hair with chestnut highlights. Keller was surprised at her outfit. She wore what looked like flannel pajama bottoms, white tube socks with sports sandals, and a sweatshirt that said BOULDER.

“This is Agent Keller with the FBI.”

Harper’s eyes got even wider.

“She has questions about Maggie. I know this is a hard time, but we hoped you could help.”

Harper nodded, and took a seat next to Keller’s in front of the principal’s desk.

When Principal Flowers showed no intention of leaving, Keller said, “Is there a conference room or somewhere Harper and I could—”

“Oh,” the principal said. She paused, then said, “Harper, you’re okay with me stepping out?”

Harper nodded again, and the principal hesitantly left the office.

Keller gave the young woman a sympathetic smile. “First off,” Keller said, “I’m really sorry about your friend.”

Harper’s face reddened, and she tucked her legs under her.

“I have some questions, if you don’t mind?”

“Sure, but, like, I don’t understand. They said it was, like, a freak accident. And you’re the FBI, and I don’t get—”

“I know you must have a lot of questions. The FBI often gets involved when an American dies in a foreign country. Even for accidents.” Not totally true, but no need to get into it. Keller still didn’t have confirmation that there’d been foul play. And it didn’t matter. The deputy director, and the president himself, wanted to get to the bottom of the death of the Pines—so murder, accident, or whatever—that was what Keller needed to do.