She sat upright and stretched out the kinks that had roped across her back and up her neck from sitting hunched over on the floor for too long, then stood up and moved to her desk. She glanced back at Roberto, all his concentration and efforts focused on his fingers and the keys in front of him as he began the final song. Clare sat down and shook her mouse to life, placing each of her noise-cancelling earbuds in her ears to now drown out the piano—she felt heavy, and she recognized the feeling. It was the grief come back. She found a track of music she had recently purchased, nothing from her past—she needed to wake back up to the here and now.

With two clicks of her mouse, she learned that Kaylee and Sara Smith were now Facebook friends. What’s more, Kaylee had sent Sara a direct message. She hesitated. Did Kaylee suspect it was really Clare? She envisioned some sort of horrible message: I know it’s you, Clare. Oh and by the way, so does everyone else. You’re not fooling anyone, “Sara,” so how about you cut the crap? Or are you just too famous now?

Clare sighed. Kaylee had always been a very sweet girl; it was hard to imagine this now mother of two suddenly morphing into a mean-girl bitch. She was always friends with everyone. Clare clicked open the message.

Hi Sara,

Thanks for reaching out! I see you are friends with lots of people from Cleaver High. Are you an alum? I’m sorry I don’t remember you off the top of my head, which is weird, but twenty years is a long time! But if you are an alum, and didn’t already know, I’m coordinating the class of ’98 twenty-year reunion. It will be in Casper, of course, in May. Click the link I’m adding at the bottom of this message to go to our official page—hope to see you there! Best, Kaylee Collins-Hensel

Clare clicked the link for the reunion page and sat back in her chair. Kaylee maybe didn’t know it was her, but she had to suspect. I don’t remember you off the top of my head, which is weird. Of course it was weird. They had gone to a high school with less than three hundred people in their graduating class—everyone knew everyone. If Clare Kaczanowski (a.k.a., Collins) was the only one missing, and no one really remembered Sara Smith, it didn’t take Sherlock Holmes—

Something touched her shoulder—she screamed.

Chapter 8

Simon

Two years before Clare’s death

If he was honest with himself, and he suspected that maybe he hadn’t been in a very long time, he hated living in this place.