Ronnie moved to the desk Andrea had indicated. The drawer was locked, but the drawer under Piper’s keyboard wasn’t. Ronnie pulled it out and stared at the carefully organized paper clips, Post-its, and pens. She plunged her hand deep inside the desk, feeling the underside of the work surface. She couldn’t say how she knew she’d find a key taped there, but there it was.

A noise sounded from down the long hall. Footsteps. A murmur. Ronnie shot up. “We should leave,” she told Lauren.

“I just need another minute.” Lauren’s fingers flew. “I’m almost there.” She glanced at the key in Ronnie’s palm. “What’s that to?”

The key was small and silver and had an unusual square head. With shaking hands, Ronnie plunged it into the locked drawer’s keyhole. It opened easily. Inside were a few unmarked file folders. Ronnie lifted the top of the first one and found an Excel spreadsheet full of numbers. No names, just numbers. She inspected it closer. Were these social security numbers? She searched for her own but couldn’t find it.

An engine roared outside. A door slammed. Parents already? Ronnie wondered. But then she remembered hearing something about how the two- and three-year-olds were on an abbreviated schedule to get them used to being in school. She’d completely forgotten about this little complication.

Merry voices rose, mothers traipsing off to retrieve their kids. She thought of Piper, standing in the hallway, greeting all of them. Or maybe Piper was on her way back here to grab something . . .

“Lauren,” she warned.

Andrea had heard the parents, too. “I’m just going to . . .” Then she disappeared down the hall. Ronnie paused over the open drawer. She wanted to go with her.

“I’m in!” Lauren whispered suddenly. “I’m in her email!”

“Holy shit,” Ronnie said, staring at the emails on the screen. This felt too real suddenly. Dangerous.

Lauren clicked the mouse. “Weird. I can only see her drafts, but this one is to Carson. Not sent yet. ‘We need to figure out what to do about Jean,’ ” she read. She looked at Ronnie. “Who’s Jean? Another mom?” Gritting her teeth, she looked into the hall. “So there are others.”

And then, abruptly, she exited out of the email and stormed from the office.

“Lauren?” Ronnie straightened from what she was doing, startled. “Lauren, what are you . . . ?”

But then she heard the scream.

Ronnie’s breath froze in her chest. She fumbled with the paper she’d found, trying to shove it back into the drawer, but the paper stuck to her fingers, so she folded the thing up and jammed it into her jacket pocket. She rammed the drawer shut again, hurriedly locking it and throwing the key back into the drawer under Piper’s keyboard. She was sweating now. Her palms were slippery. Another thump. The patter of footsteps.