“They wouldn’t answer any of my questions when I identified the body,” Mr. Mercer continued. “They said the investigation was ‘ongoing,’ whatever that means. So we’ll just have to wait for the medical examiner’s report to know for sure.” He ran his hands over his eyes violently, like he was trying to rub away the memory of what he’d seen. “When I first saw her, I was sure it was you. Even though my brain was telling me it couldn’t be, that she was too long dead and I’d just seen you this morning, I was absolutely certain it was you. She was wearing a pink hoodie I could have sworn I’d seen you in before. I’ve never been so scared.” He pulled her into a rough hug. “But you’re okay. Thank God you’re okay.”

Mrs. Mercer’s shoulders shuddered as she started to cry again. Laurel grabbed her purse and rummaged inside, coming up with a small packet of Kleenex that she handed to her mother. Emma felt her own lip tremble at the sight of her grandmother so disconsolate. She clasped her hand over her mouth to keep from letting out a sob.

“I just don’t know what to feel,” cried Mrs. Mercer. “I’m so relieved it’s not our baby. I’m so grateful for that. But Emma . . . Emma was ours too. I know we never knew her. But now we never will.”

The sight of Mrs. Mercer and Laurel crying together was the final straw. She couldn’t do it anymore. It wasn’t fair. The Mercers had a right to know that it was their baby down in the canyon. They had the right to be able to grieve Sutton.

“I have to tell you something,” she said, her voice sounding flat and distant in her ears.

“No!” I screamed, trying to somehow get Emma’s attention, make her hear my voice just once. I appreciated her motives, but she wasn’t going to accomplish anything by coming clean now. How did she plan on solving my murder from behind bars?

“I—” Emma stared out over the parking lot as she spoke, unable to meet their eyes. The sun bounced off the windshields of the cars. From where she sat she could see Sutton’s vintage Volvo, which her sister had restored with Mr. Mercer’s help.

“What is it, honey?” Mrs. Mercer asked gently. But Emma didn’t answer. She’d just seen something.

A note was tucked under the Volvo’s windshield wiper.