Andrea dialed Ronnie. No answer. Then she dialed Lauren. No answer there, either. Frustrated, she pulled out Miss Barnes’s class list, which she’d stashed next to the computer, and scanned the names. Most of these people she hadn’t even spoken to, but there was one name that stuck out: Jane Russell, King’s mom. Aka the owner of the huge house at the top of the Raisin Beach cliffs. If there was one person who maybe didn’t notice if some money was missing in her account, it was Jane.

The phone rang once, then twice, then a silvery voice answered. “Uh, Jane?” Andrea said, and introduced herself, laying it on thick that she was Arthur’s mom from the fours class.

“Oh, yes, Arthur!” Jane said. “King liked playing with him!” But then: “Wait, you’re Arthur’s mom?”

“Yes,” Andrea said, hurriedly. “So . . . I need you to do me a favor. I need you to look at your bank account.”

“My . . . what?” Now Jane was more guarded. “Why?”

“Please tell me if you see a charge, and then I’ll explain.”

Andrea waited, holding her breath. And then Jane told her to hold on.

•   •   •

Midday on Tuesday at Silver Swans was quiet; the only sounds were the joyful shrieks from kids playing on the jungle gym in the back. Andrea’s heart hammered as she parked, pocketed her keys, and got out of the car. Her ankles wobbled in the high heels she’d chosen to wear, and she almost considered kicking them off, but she glanced at her reflection in the car window. She’d always felt powerful in these shoes. She needed them now.

There was a buzzer to get into the offices. Andrea pressed it; she had a speech prepared in case Carson wanted an explanation for why she was here, but to her surprise, he buzzed her in right away. That was strange.

The office hallway was dark. Sun streamed down from the stairwell to the loft just as it had five days before, when she’d last been in here. For a moment, Andrea felt woozy with the memory. The neurons in her brain rearranged, and she could smell that day: that rose candle, dust, blood. She shut her eyes, putting herself in the moment, trying to figure out who was in the hallway with them.

She turned toward the end of the hall. The big camera brought in for the documentary was no longer there. She wondered where it had gone.

Carson’s door was ajar. Andrea gathered her courage and walked into the doorway where he could see her. Carson was on the phone, talking quietly, but when he noticed her, he got a strange smile on his face, murmured something into the receiver, and hung up.

“Oh!” he said—so he was expecting someone else. “Ms. Vaughan, right?” He gestured her inside. “What can I do for you?”