Luke coughs, and Amber gives Natalie the side-eye. It’s not so much we as only Natalie. But no one calls her on it.

Ben doesn’t take the bait, anyway. He zeroes in on Luke instead. “You owe her an apology.”

Normally the chivalrous-hero routine would get on my nerves, but right in this moment, I’m grateful for Ben’s defense. Charmed that he is protecting me.

Luke spreads his arms in a contrite gesture, and I signal an acceptance. I’m fun! I can hang!

“I’m sorry,” Luke says with a boyish grin that makes it hard to hold anything against him for too long. “And, look, I’ll make it up to you. Tomorrow. Seaview’s premier murder tour, on me. By yours truly, and Ben here. Meet in Seaview Square at two p.m.”

It’s an unusual peace offering, but I am curious about Luke’s enterprising business. And I have nothing else to do on a Saturday.

It’s not because Ben will be there. I look at his eyes, bright with interest. Dimples threatening to appear on his cheeks.

Nope. Not because of Ben at all.

“Sounds good.”

Ben and Luke launch into an elaborate fist bump/handshake thing, complete with a full-body spin and hip bump. The kind of thing prepubescent boys come up with and don’t outgrow.

Natalie combines a cringe with an eye roll. “God, I can’t stand you two.” The delivery is pitch-perfect ice bitch, but my gut twinges at the note of sadness right under the surface. Then quick as I sense it, it’s gone again. And Natalie’s beckoning to me to follow her.

“Come on, Cecelia, I’ll drive you home. Because I’m a nice person, and you can take a joke, unlike some people.” She flips Ben off, then corrals me to the door, leaving me no choice. I will benefit from her hospitality, whether I like it or not. I remember what Amber said earlier. It’s easier to defer to Natalie.

“It takes three minutes to strangle a person.”

So begins the murder tour of my new hometown, based on my grandmother’s books. I insist, Luke had said. Free for you, he said. Ben will be there, he said.

Yeah, I knew he’d be here, but I thought as a ticket taker or something. Not as the maestro of murder facts. He’s not done. And he’s milking it.

“It’s intimate. Brutal. This town lives with that legacy. One of our own, perverse enough to choke the life out of a beautiful homecoming queen.”

Ben paces before a towering bronze statue at the center of the town green. We’re about a ten-minute walk from the school, and his audience, a crowd of about a dozen, are rapt. Then there’s me, horrified. Though on the plus side: free town walking tour.