“It was a list.”

“Exactly. That means they ordered cookie jars in the following shapes—trash can, turtle, teddy bear, roller skates. Who typed this list? Sabrina. Who has to make projects as part of her job? Sabrina. Who loves turtles? Sabrina. Remember the big turtle in the reading room at the library?” She tapped on the glass of the window in the direction of the reading room. “Sabrina said the kids went through her things, so she made something to hide things in. She made a turtle cookie jar. And she wouldn’t have had that with her on the night she died. It was back in the bunk. And now . . .”

She flipped back through the photos again, finding the images of the room in Allison’s house. She turned the tablet back toward Nate triumphantly.

“Right there,” she said, pointing at the large turtle figure on one of the shelves. “What does that look like to you?”

“A turtle,” he said. “Possibly a turtle cookie jar.”

“Give me the bike key.”

“I’m coming with you,” he said.

“You hate coming with me on stuff like this.”

“I know,” he said. “And I know you. This is what you do. It’s your move.”

“I have to do it. It’s part of the job.”

“You love that shit, though.”

Stevie did not reply to this because she did, in fact, love that shit.

“You know I love you too, right?” she said.

“Tell it to my grieving family when you get me killed,” he replied, reaching for his wallet. “Let’s pay and go before I change my mind.”

24

THE DAY WAS FADING FAST. BY THE TIME THEY DRIFTED INTO ALLISON’S driveway, there was little light left, and she and Nate were sweating and heaving.

“When . . . we . . . get in . . . there,” Nate said between breaths, “I . . . am drinking . . . whatever . . . is in . . . the fridge. Don’t care. Maybe it’s . . . stealing. Don’t care.”

Stevie nodded heavily.

“We should probably hide the bikes,” she said.

“Why? There’s no one around.”

“In case anyone comes by. Because it’s still . . .”

She decided to omit the words breaking and entering. Nate regarded his friend with a look that walked the line between weariness and terror. They rolled the bikes into the trees and set them on their sides, then walked the rest of the way up the dark lane and into Allison’s driveway.

“She could have a doorcam or something,” Nate said in a low voice.

“Well, she’s not monitoring it now,” Stevie replied.

Even though there was no one around, it seemed like a bad idea to go through the front door. There was a side one, which was a bit more private. Stevie guided Nate in that direction as she dug around in her bag and pulled out the nitrile gloves.