“Because we need to know how much time the killer had,” I settle for, pushing against the mist-turned-drizzle, rounding the athletic center, and pausing to orient myself relative to the main school building. We’re on the rear end of the tennis courts, and if Natalie took the long way around them she would have avoided the view of food-truck lines and the security officer. I check my phone for the time before moving on. City-trained, I’m an aggressive walker on my best day, but I take it slower—one, because of the rain, which has turned the grassy path around the back of the property a muddy slip risk, and two, because Natalie was in heels.

“Four minutes,” I confirm as we reach the old pool door, the one I’d found ajar on my quest for a free bathroom. We huddle under the slant of the school roof to save ourselves from the downpour, and I do some mental calculations. I was stuck in the bottleneck in the stands for a good four minutes, then it took me five to get to the bathroom. That gives Natalie’s killer a tiny window—six minutes?

A chill runs down my spine. The murderer was there with me, or close by. Maybe even finishing Natalie off while I used the restroom.

“What are you thinking?” Ben asks.

“That it takes three minutes to strangle someone,” I say darkly.

Ben tests the door handle. And it opens.

“Shall we complete the circuit?” Ben steps into the pool building, but I hesitate on the threshold. She’s in there. I can see her already against the dark of my eyelids. Floating. Ben’s right. We should follow Natalie’s trail to the very end. We owe it to her.

I step inside and am enveloped in darkness. Ben locates the switch so we don’t stumble into the pool. And…it’s just a room with a pool. Empty.

Ben walks the perimeter of the water while I keep to the doorway. I try to imagine Natalie coming here for a hookup. It’s not an ideal place for it. The bleachers are metal and it smells of chlorine. And the bathroom is, well, the bathroom. Why here?

Convinced there’s nothing left to learn, I move back outside.

And I find a bouquet of flowers set beside the door. A crowd of golden marigolds and peach roses, with a card, dead center, screaming with a message:

FORGIVE ME

Natalie’s killer was here.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“Ben!” I shout, but already I’m running to the edge of the building, eyes desperately scanning the path for the culprit. By the time Ben catches up to me, I’m at the base of the stairs to the parking lot. “Look!” I brandish the flowers. “It’s them. The person who killed Natalie left flowers for her. They had to have just been here!”