“The date stamp shows it was the night of the party. Phones weren’t as sophisticated then, but we can tell that much.” Maggie directed a finger at the screen. “There’s Danny.” On the tiny screen, her brother was laughing before downing the contents of a red Solo cup. He wore a tank top, showing off his bulging biceps and looking like a bro with a group of boys in letterman jackets. Right before the video turned black, they saw the silhouette of a face.

“There,” Maggie said, freezing the video.

“You think it’s him? Like, the real Unknown Partygoer?” Eric asked.

“I’m not sure. But it raises more questions than it answers, because that is not Bobby Ray Hayes.” Her father had never believed the Hayes narrative. The pieces didn’t fit as perfectly as the documentary had suggested.

“Holy shit. Who sent it to you?”

“I don’t know. It was an anonymous tip.”

“What do the cops say?”

Maggie sighed. The cops couldn’t care less, particularly the Nebraska cops in charge of the investigation. As far as they were concerned, Danny Pine’s case had brought them nothing but public scorn and even death threats. One of the cops who’d interrogated Danny had committed suicide after the Netflix series aired.

“They didn’t return my calls. They never do—they say the case is closed.”

“Well, that’s”—Eric searched for the word—“it’s bullshit.”

Maggie smiled. She liked him.

“So, tonight,” Eric said, “some of us are getting together. At Flaherty’s house.”

Mike Flaherty. Another member of senior class royalty.

“You mean like a party?” Maggie asked.

“Not really,” Eric said. “Well, sorta. But maybe you could stop by. It’s the last blowout before everyone leaves for spring break.”

In the Pine home—after what happened to Charlotte—few dangers were greater than a high school house party. Maggie wasn’t sure whether it was because her father thought there was real peril or if it was just the memories it conjured.

“Maybe,” she said, surprised it had escaped her lips. The Center’s bell rang.

“Maybe,” he repeated, drawing out the word, flirtatious. He gave her a crooked smile. “If you come, we can work more on algebra.”

“Really? You do a lot of math at parties?”

“You wouldn’t want me to fail out, would you? I’d lose my scholarship,” Eric said earnestly. She’d heard that he’d been admitted to the University of Michigan on a lacrosse scholarship. The school was normally well out of reach for a C student, again proving that life was not fair.

“Maybe,” she said again, butterflies floating in her stomach.

“I’ll text you the address.” Eric grabbed his book, then strutted out.

Why was it that they all strutted?

Maggie returned to the check-in desk to help Harper close the Center. They had to finish the log and lock up the room.