Confusion ripples across Luke’s face. “Morgan? Why would I tell her everything?”

“Isn’t she your girlfriend? You were hooking up with her during halftime, right?”

He tenses up, and I enjoy it very much. Let Luke be cowed by me. Serves him right after all his theatrics. “Thanks for the ride. See you later.”

School is almost normal, save for the announcement that deputies and the grief counselor will once more be available in the library. No sheriff, though. Has he moved on to stronger leads? I long to know what they are. Is he on to Grace, too? I’m restless all morning, but it isn’t until lunch that it strikes me there are clues I can put together right now. I’m keen to avoid Luke anyway, so I skip the caf altogether, instead finding myself back in the library.

It only takes five minutes of wandering the stacks to find it: the yearbook archive. Better than waiting to go home to sneak into Maura’s office to check hers. It didn’t even occur to me last night. I pull the 1970 edition off the shelf and plop down on the floor, opening it to the homecoming spread near the front.

Caroline has a gravitational pull: dolled up in the court-processional, held all those years ago on the same chilly football field, and in the same winning photo that sits in the display case, resplendent in white. Below the group shot, in small print, is everyone’s names, left to right, consolation prizes listed in parentheses.

Maura Ellis (2nd runner-up)

Elaine Rogers (1st runner-up)

Maura was robbed, I think, as I study the first runner-up for signs of murderous intent. But she’s linked arm in arm with Maura, beaming at the camera. Seems sweet as pie. And familiar. Is that—Elaine as in Hotel Seaview Elaine? It must be.

I replace the yearbook on the shelf. Skip school or stay? I ponder, creeping close by the doors, but then Grace appears in the front office window, watching. Her eyes narrow. Surprise that I’m alive and well? Or suspicion that I might make a break for it?

Fine, I’m not that daring. After school may be better timing for a visit to Hotel Seaview anyway. Perhaps my local history buff will be on shift, as well.

He’s not. I find the front desk of Hotel Seaview staffed not by Gabriel, but by a middle-aged man so engrossed in his phone I stand there for a good minute and have to clear my throat loudly before he takes notice.

“Is Elaine here?”

His eyes narrow. “Who’s asking?”

“Jason, why are you grilling her?” Elaine appears in the office doorway. “Can’t you see she’s harmless? And gorgeous as always. Come here, dear.”