Then an awful shocked silence.

“Get out,” I said to a dazed Kyle. “Get out. Get out.”

I had a horrifying picture in my mind of the SUV’s occupant walking toward us, guns in hand, led by the warning woman: I told you to go home.

We were all hanging upside down by our seat belts; the top of the car was crushed. Kyle swept the shattered glass still in the passenger-side window and eased out, then helped me. Pavel was cradling his arm, but he still helped Feliks, who was choking and coughing, his face bloodied from a cut caused by flying glass. Kyle eased me out onto the snowy grass and then leaned in and helped Danielle. She pulled herself free, shrugged off his hand, and staggered a few feet, then vomited into the snow.

“They drove us off the road!” I screamed.

“It was an accident,” Danielle said, glancing back at me. “He was weaving on the road before he reached us.” Then she was sick again. I heard police sirens. Pavel clutched his arm, and I realized it was broken.

Kyle and I leaned against each other. Someone just tried to kill us. Why was this happening?

30

Iris

The Winding Creek Neighbors House looks more like an extra-large home at the far edge of the park than a community center—inside there was a venue for parties, a library upstairs filled with leftovers and castoffs from the neighborhood’s shelves. There was a pool outside, with race lanes for the neighborhood swim team. Iris had been here for birthday parties, graduation events, even a wedding reception.

Danielle had been found dead on a bench on the opposite side of the park. People had to pass where she was found to get here tonight. Tonight was for the neighborhood to gather to discuss Danielle’s murder, to plan what they should do. Normally gatherings here are lively and fun, the crowd relaxed and mingling. Now it’s lots of crossed arms, furrowed brows, small groups whispering, and suspicious glances exchanged—she guesses there will be different agendas at play. When people want change in their neighborhood, chaos is an opportunity. Iris sits down in the front row of chairs, ignoring the coffee and cookies volunteers have placed on the back table. Refreshments are fine when the discussion is funding the pool repairs, but not for murder, she thinks.

Kyle’s not here. He’s stayed home. She told him it was a bad idea not to appear, and he told her he wasn’t up for the hysteria. She gets the feeling he doesn’t really want to be around people. Or answer questions about why his face is bruised and battered. Julia went out, too, probably to go be with Ned, who is not here. Neither is Peter. This isn’t a place for kids tonight, anyway. When she left the house, Grant was curled up on his bed, staring at the ceiling.