Brianna turned, her mouth drawn down into an ugly scowl. Something seemed to snap in her. It was as if a light turned off overhead. Shadows seemed to fill the hollows of her eyes and nose and mouth, like black ink spilled over her face. For that instant, Carrie looked at Brianna and saw a skull staring back.

“Why can’t you do as you’re told, Carrie?” she said, in a voice far colder than Carrie had ever heard from her.

Carrie stepped back. “Jesus. What the hell is wrong with you?”

But just like that, Brianna was fine again. Normal. Another fresh-faced young girl in Middleton. Whatever shadows had covered her face a moment earlier were gone. She rolled her eyes at Carrie. “God,” she said. “No wonder you have no friends. You can never go along with anything.”

She spun on one heel and walked away from Carrie. Carrie looked around the hallway, wondering if anyone else saw what she did.

Nobody would look at her. She was more than unpopular. She didn’t exist anymore.

One good thing her parents did was buy her a car. It was only a Geo Metro, true, and looked more like a plastic Easter egg with wheels than actual transportation, but despite its 3-cylinder engine, she still managed to break speed limits all over town. She wasn’t above abusing her privileges as the chief’s daughter to get out of tickets. She had important work to do.

After school, she drove straight to the place where Goodson was staying. He’d set up camp at a motel just past the city limits, where the Middleton Police Department’s jurisdiction was supposed to end. It was a run-down, slapped-together structure, two floors of cheap rooms in a horseshoe shape around the parking lot. Some of the guys on the football team called it the No-Tell Motel and swore they’d had sex with actual hookers out there.

Goodson’s room was on the first floor, and the door was covered with laminated posters and stickers, all reading MIDDLETON SALES FORCE! in the same extreme font as the T-shirts.

She knocked. He opened the door, wearing only a towel around his waist.

“I didn’t know this place had room service,” he said, and gave her what he must have thought was a charming grin.

“Wow,” Carrie said. “You always greet high school girls like this? Because that would not surprise me, honestly.”

The oily smile vanished. “I was going to take a shower. You interrupted me.”

“There’s this new invention you might have heard of. It’s called pants. Most people put them on before answering the door.”

“Maybe I was afraid you’d break it down. You’re the police chief’s daughter, right? The one who won’t sell. I hear you’re some kind of junior Sherlock Holmes.”

“Compared to me, Sherlock Holmes is a rank fucking amateur.”