At the sound of her name, George looked over at us and the new girl. She waved as she walked over to join us.

“I’m Riley,” said the girl. She smiled, and I could see that she had slightly buck teeth and that her nose was dotted with freckles. “I’ve been waiting for this exhibit to open for months. Are you guys staying in town?”

“Yes,” said Bess, smiling back at her. “At the Elder Root Inn.” Leave it to Bess to be unfailingly polite, even when I knew she was dying to ask me what was really going on.

“Oh, me too!” said Riley. “It’s just so exciting to meet other fans.”

“Nancy’s the fan,” said George, who had come up to stand on my right side. “Not me or Bess.”

Riley looked between us, clearly confused again, since I had just told her we were all fans of DeSantos’s work. Before I could get our story straight, George continued on.

“I just don’t understand why anyone would continue to use a film camera when digital exists,” she said. She looked pointedly at what was hanging from Riley’s neck.

“George!” said Bess, but luckily, Riley only laughed.

“You’d be surprised how different they are,” she said. “I’d be happy to show you. But of course, DeSantos shot using only film, and his work speaks for itself. Right, Nancy?”

“Of course,” I said, a little sheepishly.

“I think his series on Copper Canyon would have been impossible to capture with digital,” said Riley. “And those are probably some of my favorite pieces. What about you? What’s your favorite DeSantos photograph?”

“Um—uh—well—” I stammered. Riley, Bess, and George were all looking at me, but really, I couldn’t have named a single DeSantos photograph if I wanted to.

Just at that moment, a single, piercing scream turned our attention down the street. As I looked in the direction from which it had come, I saw what seemed to be some kind of commotion in front of a large brick building. A sign on it clearly read THE CARLISLE MUSEUM—the same museum that was hosting the photographs of Christopher DeSantos.

CHAPTER TWO The Second Victim

I LOOKED QUICKLY AT BESS and George before we all took off, jogging down the street and in the direction of whoever had screamed. We made it to the museum before I realized that Riley had tagged along as well.

We weren’t the only ones to hear the scream and wonder what was happening. A few people who appeared as though they had been walking past the museum had stopped to check on the sudden sound. There was also a park nearby, and I could see a few people lifting up the hoods of their raincoats or readjusting their umbrellas so they could see what was happening as they walked through.

There were two women standing on the museum’s front steps. One of them looked as though she was maybe a year or two older than me. She had light brown hair that was parted in the middle and hung straight down. Her hand was covering her mouth, and she was crying. It must have been she who had screamed. I watched as she began gesturing at anyone who was nearby.