I throw myself down onto Ben’s bedspread dramatically with a groan. “I wish I’d had more time to read the files. Or make copies. Or something. Do you think it would be crazy to break into the Bergens’ house? Or the school?”

“Uh, yes. But why the school?”

There’s so much to catch him up on. I tell him about the camera outside the athletic center, Suzanne’s tip about the CCTV, Luke’s alleged alibi, Morgan’s contradicting it. How I want to check if anyone followed Natalie toward the school.

“Morgan gave me a school master key,” I finish, and Ben’s eyes go wide.

I pull up onto my elbows. “We have to eliminate some lines of inquiry. We’ve got a list a mile long, thanks to Natalie’s therapy blackmail scheme, plus Mayor Bergen, plus Luke.”

“Have you talked to Amber lately? Can’t she help fill us in on her father’s leads?”

I fish my phone out of my bag and find a message from Amber. She must have texted while Ben and I were kissing. Hastily, I sit up fully and smooth down my shirt, slightly ashamed that I let hormones distract me from the task at hand. “The mayor says he was by himself on a smoke break when Natalie was killed,” I read.

Ben snorts. “Who smokes anymore? And the mayor? He’s all about his image.”

“It is convenient he happened to be alone at the critical moment. No way to prove it either way. Unless he’s on the surveillance footage.”

Ben coughs. “You should write down everything you remember from Natalie’s computer before you forget.” He hops up to fetch a notebook and pen. “I can start asking around. See if Luke will be straight with me.”

“So that’s a no to breaking and entering?”

Ben freezes. “Maybe let’s see if there’s a less illegal way to sneak into the front office tomorrow. I think we need to be careful.”

I hum with assent. Getting caught breaking and entering by an already persnickety sheriff would be bad.

I write down as many of the names as I remember from Natalie’s files, and the barest wisps of detail. The few blurry pics I was able to get on my phone help with a few. Ben identifies some of the initials that meant little to me. M. Harper is Meggy, of dad owns the local car dealership fame. G. Sawyer is Grace, the school administrative assistant.

“Her name isn’t Bedecki?”

“She got married, I guess.”

“Dr. Shelby has a lot of clients, huh?”

“Told you. It’s a one-therapist town. And everyone acts pristine and perfect, but this place has as many fucked-up people as anywhere else. Maybe more.”

“Anyone she had dirt on is a suspect,” I say, looking over the final list. “Including the sheriff, potentially.”

Ben’s brows quirk up with interest.