And my grandmother’s theory, I dare not say. But it’s like Grace sees right through me. There’s a glint of knowing in her eyes.

“I made my peace with it long ago, as best I can.” Grace tugs her sweater tighter. “Only way to keep on living in this town. And now all we can do is pray the police have improved their skills in the past fifty years, for poor Natalie’s sake.”

It all comes back to Natalie. This town and its legacy of death.

“You should get back to class,” Grace says, gently, like she’s worried about me.

Maybe she is. Maybe I should be more worried. I take one last look at Caroline. She had her whole life in front of her. Like Natalie did.

Someone killed them. Snuffed them out like candles and discarded them like trash.

Luke was with Morgan. Joe Bedecki might be innocent.

I don’t know where to go next. What to do. I’m just a stupid teenage girl hurling myself against the bitter tide of death: cold and inky black and crushing. You can’t always have closure.

But I know someone in this town is a killer, and I have to find them.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Suzanne’s Subaru idles at the curb after school, ready to ferry me the few blocks to Dr. Shelby’s.

“You all right, dear?”

For the second time today, I find Grace behind me, squinting down from the top of the stairs.

“Yeah. That’s Suzanne, my grandmother’s assistant,” I explain. “She’s driving me to therapy.”

“Oh. I didn’t recognize her car,” Grace says. “Well, I saw you walk out and wanted to check on you. I know you’ve had a hard few days. I’m glad to hear you have someone to talk to about it all. Stay safe.” And she pats me on the head like I’m a cocker spaniel. It’s an odd exchange, but I can’t deny it’s nice to have someone looking out for me.

The Subaru honks. Time to go.

Suzanne is no less smothering once I’m belted in and we roll out of the parking lot.

“Were you okay at school today? I heard the police were there.”

“It was fine,” I mumble. “They already spoke with me on Saturday, so I wasn’t called in.” I decide to skip the part where I snuck in to listen in on other interviews. Suzanne’s smarter than that, though.

“No updates for your murder board, then?”

I keep my eyes glued to the blur of houses beyond the passenger-seat window.

“It’s good, keeping your mind sharp,” she continues, undeterred by my silence. “Solving real-life crimes can be an exercise in frustration, futility. But it keeps your brain ticking. We can go over your notes when I drive you home after your session.”