As soon as I’d closed the door behind me, I took out my phone and dashed off an e-mail to Harmison. I didn’t know if he’d be willing to do me a favor, but given we were both working toward the same goal, it couldn’t hurt to ask. When I heard the telltale swish of the message sending, I looked up from my phone. An envelope lay in the middle of the bed, with a sticky note on top in my mom’s handwriting. Found this in the mailbox, it read.

My name was on the front, but there was no postmark or return address. I thought of Suze, all those letters we’d passed to each other in class. Was this from her? There was no bulk to the envelope, although I could feel something inside. A bead from an old necklace, maybe? It had that shape. I slid a finger under the flap, tore it open, and shook. A human tooth fell onto the blanket.

I stared at it. It was a pretty tooth, not at all like Abe’s had been. It was small, but it wasn’t a baby tooth. The root, long and bloodied, was still intact. This was a child’s molar, removed by extraction.

I bent over and braced my hands against my knees.

I’d promised Tim he could trust my instincts, that the kid would be okay. I felt sure I knew how this would go. Follow the clues and come out a winner, just like when we were kids.

Deep breaths. Keep it together. I channeled every technique Carson taught me and willed my pulse to slow as I lowered myself to the bed and reached for the envelope once more. There was a note inside, three lines this time.

Who killed Brett?

Stop wasting time.

The truth is out there.

* * *

We met at the entrance to the concession stand, where the poster for the featured movie shone glossy behind the glass. I was vibrating with excitement. The X-Files, at last. We’d watched every episode together, Abe and I, and the series tagline had become our maxim.

The truth is out there.

It was all about that night. But I was missing something, a key component of Brett’s life that would explain his movements after he left the drive-in.

In my childhood bedroom, I wrapped the tooth in a tissue and thought about our decades-old evening at the movies until my head hurt. Hours passed that way, me sitting by the window watching the daylight fade, dusk plunging me into chilly darkness as I agonized over the newest message and scoured the street below for Bram.

Eventually, I called Mac. There was a piece of Trey in Swanton, part of the child’s body inside my parents’ house, and the fear of what that meant had me so tightly coiled my own teeth throbbed. When she didn’t answer, I called Tim, but he wasn’t picking up either. After our last conversation I didn’t blame him, but I tried again two more times. Three. Who killed Brett? Not Abe, not if his note was to be believed. But he was a killer all the same.