As Ethan started to pour her a cup of water, Emma turned away—and saw Sutton’s ghost looking back at her. She nearly jumped out of her chair.

But then she looked again—and of course it wasn’t Sutton’s ghost. It was Emma’s reflection, haunted and pale in the glass of the window that looked out into the dark night. Her hair was tangled, her face smeared with tears.

Ethan handed her the water. It was in a keepsake glass printed with a picture of Miss Piggy on a motorcycle. “There’s more,” Emma said. “Ethan, Garrett was in the canyon that night. I saw the file for the murder case while Quinlan was out of the room. His car was in the parking lot.”

His eyes widened. “You’re sure it was his?”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “And this afternoon, before I went to the cops, I went to his house.”

Ethan sputtered, spitting out the mouthful he’d just sipped. “You what?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you first,” she said quickly, “but I’m done playing the game by Garrett’s rules. It’s time to go on the offensive. Anyway, I talked to Louisa. She said that he came home really upset the night Sutton died, that he was out of control. And Ethan . . . he has a prescription for Valium.” She dropped her voice again. “That’s what was in Nisha’s bloodstream when she died.”

My mind flashed back to the look of rage on Garrett’s face, that night in the canyon. I knew why he’d killed me—he was in a jealous rage after he caught me with Thayer. But Nisha’s death seemed less of a heat-of-the-moment act; drugging her and pushing her in the pool would have required deliberation and planning. What made him decide she needed to die?

A worried frown creased Ethan’s brow. “You shouldn’t have gone to his house. He’s been warning you to stop looking for answers. What’s he going to do when his mom or his sister tell him you were there?”

Emma smacked her palm on the table in frustration. “Ethan, what else can he do to me? I’m already wanted for Sutton’s murder. If I can’t prove that he killed her soon, I’m going to jail . . . and he’ll walk free. I can’t let that happen.”

“I know,” he said, rubbing his face roughly with his hands. “I just hate that you took a risk like that.” He stared down into his water glass. “Everything points to Garrett, doesn’t it?”

Emma nodded. All of the pieces fit—and from what she’d seen of Garrett’s temper, it was easy to believe that he was capable of murder. “But I still don’t have anything to take to the cops.”