Kate would always remember the summer after eighth grade as one of the best times of her life. Every weekday, she rushed through her morning chores without complaint and babysat her brother until three o’clock, when her mom came home from running errands and volunteering on the 4-H council. After that, Kate was free. Weekends were, for the most part, her own.

She and Tully rode their bikes all over the valley and spent hours inner-tubing down the Pilchuck River. In the late afternoons, they stretched out on tiny towels, wearing neon-colored crocheted bikinis, their skin slick with a mixture of baby oil and iodine, listening to Top 40 music on the transistor radio they never left behind. They talked about everything: fashion, music, boys, the war and what was still going on over there, what it would be like to be a reporting duo, movies. Nothing was off-limits; no question couldn’t be volleyed over the net. Now it was late August and they were in Kate’s bedroom, packing makeup for their trip to the fair. As usual, Kate had to change clothes and put on makeup after she left the house. If she wanted to look cool, anyway. Her mom still thought she was too young for everything. “You got your tube top?” Tully asked.

“Got it.”

Grinning at their own brilliant plan, they headed downstairs, where Dad was sitting on the sofa, watching television.

“We’re going to the fair now,” Kate said, thankful that her mother wasn’t here. Mom would notice the bag that was too big for the county fair. Her X-ray vision would probably see through the macramé exterior to the clothes, shoes, and makeup within.

“Be careful, you two,” he said without looking up.

It was what he always said now, ever since girls had started disappearing in Seattle. The news was calling the killer “Ted” these days because some girl at Lake Sammamish State Park had actually gotten away and given a description and his first name to the police. Girls all across the state were terrified. You couldn’t see a yellow VW bug without worrying that it was Ted’s car.

“We’ll be super careful,” Tully said, smiling. She loved it when Kate’s parents worried about them.

Kate crossed the room to kiss her dad goodbye. He curled an arm around her and handed her a ten-dollar bill. “Have fun.”

“Thanks, Daddy.”

She and Tully headed down the driveway, swinging their bags beside them.

“Do you think Kenny Markson will be at the fair?” Kate asked.

“You worry too much about boys.”

Kate bumped her friend, hip to hip. “He has a crush on you.”

“Big whoop. I’m taller.”

Suddenly Tully stopped.

“Jeez, Tully, be a spaz, why don’tcha? I almost fell over—”

“Oh, no,” Tully whispered.

“What’s the matter?”

Then she noticed the police car parked in Tully’s driveway.

Tully grabbed Kate’s hand and practically dragged her down the driveway, across the street, and to the front door, which stood open.

A policeman was waiting for them in the living room.