“Hey. Anna brought me home when she picked up Norah,” she says the second she answers her phone. “She said something went down at the high school today and she saw a cop take you into the library. You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

I hesitate with the rest of it, because even though she isn’t exactly a little kid, at thirteen, Penn and I still think of her as one. But if Anna Weston hasn’t already heard what happened in the girls’ locker room, she will soon, and even if she isn’t the one to tell our matched set of eighth-grade sisters, someone will. At least if Landry hears it from me, the information will be accurate and firsthand.

“I … um … I found a baby in the locker room at school.”

“What?” Penn’s exclamation drowns out our sister’s reaction.

I hold up one “wait a minute” finger at him without turning from the window, where Landry’s still staring at me through both panes of glass and across the strip of side yard separating our property from the Westons’. “Someone left a dead baby in a duffel bag.”

“Oh my god,” Landry breathes, and I can feel Penn’s stare like the focused burn of a laser beam on the side of my face.

“Mom told me not to talk about it, because they’re investigating, but she’s pretty sure no one hurt the baby. That it just … died.”

Fact-Check Rating: Unproven. But no thirteen-year-old needs to hear that the baby I found in the locker room may have been killed and abandoned by its mother.

“So, Mom got the case?” Landry says.

Norah appears in the window next to her, pressing her white-blond head against my sister’s dark-haired one with the phone between them, trying to hear what she’s missing. Norah can’t stand being left out.

“Yeah, and she’ll probably work late,” I say. Which would be true even without the new case.

“Can I stay here, then? It’s the weekend, and Norah’s mom’s ordering pizza. She said I could stay the night.”

“Sure.” I don’t really want her here when I confront Jake again anyway. “Don’t forget to thank Mrs. Weston.”

“I won’t. ’Bye.”

Landry hangs up, and she and Norah disappear from the window.

“What the hell?” my brother says when I slide my phone into my pocket. “You found a dead baby?”

“What part of ‘Mom asked me not to talk about it’ do you not understand?”

Penn just waits. He knows I’ll spill, because Mom only meant that I shouldn’t gossip or, like, call up CNN in Jackson and give them an interview. I tell Penn just about everything, eventually, but I can’t tell him everything about this. Not yet, anyway.