“Sorry,” he says to me. “I just wanted to say hi. So great to see you here.” He’s stepped back, but there’s a tilt to his posture, like he yearns to come closer.

Even though I came here to find him, I am creeped out by Chris’s sudden appearance. Instinctively I stick my hands in my pockets so he can’t shake them this time. Ben hovers close, ready to play protector. If it weren’t so regressive, I’d find it cute.

“I’ve been so worried about you since last night.”

“Er, yes, I wanted to talk to you about that, actually.”

Chris might as well be five and just informed that I got him a pony. He steers me into White Alder, now mostly empty but for a straggler or two staying put for the break. I’m relieved others are here. The three of us sit in the back row, by the water table. Chris offers me a plastic cup, but I decline.

“You know I’m a licensed psychotherapist, Cecelia,” he says, his voice low and soothing. “What you experienced last night must have been a huge shock.”

He reminds me of Dr. Shelby for a millisecond, before transforming.

“Did you know her?” he says. “The victim? I hear her name was Natalie. How good a look did you get at the body? Anything jump out at you?”

I am caught off guard. I thought I’d be asking the questions, but Chris’s insistence has disarmed me. Suddenly, I am back to the parking lot last night. Vulnerable and scared.

“You have a lot of questions about something that’s none of your business,” Ben chimes in, saving me. “Weird that you were there at all. Cecelia says you were first on the scene last night after she screamed.”

Ben tips forward in his chair, going for a tough-guy act, but it’s diminished by the fact our chairs are all in a row. I worry he might fall out of his.

“I was. I’m just so glad I was there. Imagine if I hadn’t been, you know?” Despite his gossipy bravado, Chris radiates sincerity. I find myself able to breathe again. I don’t know what I expected. A confession? An evil laugh? I go for broke.

“Why were you there, though? You had no reason to be down by the school, or at the game at all. You’re a massive Maura fan, and then you’re right there when I discover a body that’s just like in her book. Why?”

Chris’s mouth forms an O of surprise. Ben and I tense, our two-man operation trying to predict Chris’s next move. Would he flee? Could he hurt us? Were we wrong to try and get this close?