Landry heads for the door into the kitchen, and on the way through the garage, she holds her hand out. For her phone. “Can I—”

“Do not finish that question.”

When the kitchen door closes behind her, I count to ten, mumbling through clenched teeth. Then I turn to the open bay door and shout into the yard. “Penn! Inside! Now!” And I follow Landry into the house.

She’s sitting on the couch with her hands in her lap. Staring at the Christmas tree. Her foot is tapping on the floor, rapidly bouncing her right knee.

“How—?”

The front door flies open, and Penn appears in the doorway. “Beckett? What’s wrong?”

“Come in and close the door.”

Penn glances from me to Landry, who won’t look at him. Then he steps inside. Jake follows him in. “Everything okay?” he asks. “Should I go?”

“You may as well stay,” I tell him. “This kind of involves you.”

So Jake closes the front door.

“What’s going on?” Penn looks nervous, probably because of how pissed I obviously am.

I hand him our sister’s phone, which hasn’t auto-locked because I keep touching the screen. “Landry and Norah are the Crimson Cryer.”

Penn looks skeptical for a second. Then he starts scrolling through the texts, while Jake reads over his shoulder, and his expression slowly morphs from disbelieving to angry. “What the hell were you thinking? How is this even possible?” He hands the phone back to me, but he’s talking to Landry. “How did you get access to all that information?”

Landry’s leg bounces even faster. There are tears in her eyes. “Okay, I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to get mad.”

“The hell I do!”

“Beckett.” Penn takes a deep breath. Then he sits on the coffee table facing Landry, and he better be playing good cop to my bad cop, because he has almost as much right to be mad about this as I do. “Landry, just tell us what happened.”

“She’s not on Twitter.” I scroll through her phone, and there’s no Twitter app. And that third-party app I caught her on the other day won’t let her post anything. “Start talking, Landry.”

She glances at me, then her gaze falls back on Penn, and I can’t really blame her. “Norah has a burner. She’s not allowed on social media, and her parents check her phone, so she got a burner a couple of months ago. Walmart has them. You just buy them off the shelf, and—”

“Get to the point,” I snap.