Andrea’s heart stopped. Her mother. Here? But then the babysitter added, “She’s on your landline. She said she wasn’t hanging up.”

“Oh. Okay.” It had to be something unrelated—something about her father, maybe, or her brother. She sped through the kitchen and grabbed the cordless phone, which was sitting on its back on the kitchen island, the green power light glowing. “Mom?”

“Jesus Christ, Eric,” Cynthia’s voice growled down the receiver. “I can’t believe you.”

“W-What?” Andrea glanced in the doorway. Her mind thrummed at the name her mother just called her. “W-What are you talking about?” But as soon as the words came out of her mouth, she knew.

“I just got a call from some reporter saying a version of you dressed like a woman was called into questioning for assaulting the director of your preschool. What the hell have you done?”

Fifteen

Miss Stuckey.” An older officer walked briskly into Ronnie’s room and shut the door. It had taken him two hours to get here; rumor had it they had to call in backup from the next town over because the Raisin Beach PD was too small to interview three people at once. His badge read Connelly, and he seemed annoyed to be here. “How’s your head?”

“It’s . . . okay.” Ronnie touched it gently. There was a goose egg above her temple, proof that something had happened. “I really want to get home to my daughter. I didn’t see anything with Piper. Sorry.” She needed to get out of here.

“I want to get home, too.” The chair made a groaning, surrendering sound as Connelly slumped into it. “Why don’t you just go through what you did see and help the both of us?”

Ronnie was so nervous she could barely get the words out. “I was walking down the hall. I didn’t see anything or anyone—but I heard something. Thuds. And a scream. And then . . . something happened. I felt something sharp—an elbow?—at my throat. It hit me just right, and I went . . . down . . . and I must have hit my head because I lost consciousness.” She swallowed hard. She hadn’t quite allowed herself to fully grasp the terror of being assaulted.

“Next thing I know, I woke up and saw Piper. That’s it. Is she okay, by the way? No one’s told us anything.” A lump formed in her throat.

“An elbow to your throat,” the officer repeated. “You didn’t get a look at whose elbow?”

Ronnie recalled a face, all right—Jerrod’s. But she couldn’t tell the officer that. Who is Jerrod? he would ask. Oh, just the father of a little girl I stole. Who I’ve been hiding from for two years. Who I fear is lurking around every corner, about to kill me.

“Miss Stuckey?”