“Your family owns the Lake Ontario Inn. Your dad is Adam Crawford—one speeding ticket—and your mom is Mikayla Crawford—no traffic violations. You’re Cade. How are you holding up? No troubles from those online trolls?”

“You’re Officer Sullivan.”

He laughs, clearly enjoying this exchange. “That I am. It’s nice to finally meet you. How was Friday night? Did you get the information you needed from the Safe Haven Museum?”

I nod, wondering if Logan told him or—

“My wife, Wendy, is on the board. She made the arrangements. You do know that in exchange for the keys and full access, Logan promised to volunteer at the museum’s fundraiser, right? It would be nice if you’d join her. Wendy could use the help.”

To my relief, Professor March’s SUV turns into their driveway. Logan is right behind him in her own car. Officer Sullivan straightens. I drop my sweaty hands from the steering wheel. Officer Sullivan heads toward Professor March. I roll up the window, shut off the engine, and get out.

“You know this guy?” Officer Sullivan asks Logan. There’s humor in his voice. “He’s been waiting for you for a while.”

“Really? Everything okay?” she asks, scanning me from head to toe.

“Yeah, everything is fine.”

She swings her backpack over her shoulder and fills her hands with an extra-large pizza box and a greasy white bag balanced on top.

I take off my jacket and drape it across her shoulders. “Where’s your coat?”

“I left it at school.”

While Professor March talks with Officer Sullivan, I follow Logan to their side door. She hands me the pizza box, pulls her keys from her pocket, and lets us inside.

I want to tell Logan about Nana, but the thread I’m holding on to is so thin, I’m afraid it’ll break. So I ask, “What did Mr. Lane want?”

“That’s why you came over?”

My throat tightens. Logan scrutinizes my face and it’s obvious she knows something’s up. When it comes to guests, I’m great at putting on a cheerful mask, but with Logan it’s harder. I set the pizza on the kitchen counter and shrug. “I was worried.”

“Sorry. I know I promised to text you.” She sits at the table and fills me in on her nightmare confrontation with Mr. Lane. “He expected so much better from me. Now I’m certain I have no chance of getting the Outstanding Senior College Scholarship Award.”

Swear words explode from my mouth. I pace the kitchen, calling Mr. Bartley, Principal McNeil, and Mr. Lane every name I can think of, cursing them all.

“Wow,” Logan says. “Feel better?”

“No. Not really. Okay, maybe a little.” My lips quirk up, but my smile fades fast as I fill her in on the grocery store conversation.

“Ah, that explains so much.”

Not even close, I say to myself.