In fact, she should have been looking at the whole matter as a crime. She should have been thinking of plots, motives, modus operandi.

A to B to Z…

She knew instantly what was going on. So clear. All the pieces were there. She just hadn’t thought to put them together. Now she understood the truth: Her daughter was being extorted.

By Bethany and the Secrets Club…

Dance guessed that the girl, so polite on the surface, was an expert at subtle bullying—using secrets as weapons. To join the club, you had to share a secret, something embarrassing: a wet bed, stolen money, a broken vase at home, a lie to a parent or teacher, something sexual. Then Bethany and her crew would have some leverage—to get the members of the club to do what they wanted.

Maggie’s reluctance to perform was obvious now. She wasn’t going to sing “Let It Go” at all. The girls in the club had probably forced her to learn a very different song, maybe something off-color, embarrassing—maybe ridiculing Mrs. Bendix, their teacher, a wonderful woman but heavyset, a careless dresser. An easy target for juvenile cruelty.

Dance recalled that when she agreed that Maggie didn’t have to appear at the show, the girl was so relieved; Mom would back her up against the club. But comfort hadn’t lasted long. The recent call from Bethany had been an ominous reminder that whatever her mother had agreed to, Maggie was going to sing.

Or the girl’s secret would be revealed.

She was furious. Dance found her palms sweating. Those little bitches…

Her phone buzzed again. She ignored it once more.

She put her arm around Maggie’s shoulders. “Honey, let’s talk for a minute.”

“I—”

“Let’s talk.” A smile.

They walked to the back of the green room area. From here they could see one of Maggie’s classmates, Amy Grantham, performing a dance scene from the Nutcracker. She was good. Dance looked out at the audience. She saw her parents, sitting in the center, with Wes and Boling now near them, a jacket draped over the chair reserved for her.

She turned back to her daughter.

Dance had decided: Well, Maggie was not going to perform. No question. Whatever the secret was, she’d have the girl tell her now. Revealing it would defuse the girls’ power over her.

Anyway, how terrible could a ten-year-old’s indiscretion possibly be?

Another tremble of her phone.

Third time’s the charm. She’d ignored it long enough. She tugged her phone from its holster. Not a call; it was a text. From Michael O’Neil.

She read it, noting that it was in all caps.

Well. Hmm.

“What’s wrong, Mom?”

“Just a second, honey.”

She hit speed dial button number one.

Click.

“Kathryn! You saw my text?”

“I—”

“The unsub went through your Pathfinder. At the Bay View Center. We’ve got to assume he knows about Maggie’s concert. Remember those flyers you told me about? I have a team on the way. We don’t know what he has planned but you have to evacuate the school. Only, keep it quiet. Check all the exits; they’re probably wired shut or something.” This was more than Michael O’Neil usually said in a half hour. “So, you’ve got to see if maintenance has wire cutters. But it’s got to be subtle. If you can start getting people out—”