They’re in the Terraces, just left my place. Asking about Ivy. Next bubble: Talking to everybody again, trying to find other people who might know something.

Trace’s emoji response—smiley face with no smile—appears.

Can somebody get in touch w Kincaid?

Tactful, Sage. Not coming out and asking me specifically, because Bree’s on here, too, and the whole thing is still so raw. I miss Bree. Think of her sitting alone in her room, right next door, yet here we are, not-talking through text when we could be dealing with this together. I think about saying I’ll find him, then think about letting Trace field it instead, when the knock at the never-used front door wipes my thoughts clean.

I go over, almost opening up until I hear another door open outside—the knock was actually at Bree’s place. I peer around our shade, watching as Faye lets a female uniformed officer inside with a languid sweep of her arm.

When it’s my turn, I’m glad Ma’s working a morning shift, because she’d probably never let me leave the house again after some of the questions Officer Donohue asks. Dad takes it easier, offering coffee, sitting with us at the kitchen table, arms folded across his chest, not showing much as Officer Donohue asks if Ivy was using drugs, if she ever talked about running away, about hurting herself, about being in trouble of any kind. Did I get a sense of what her home life was like, her relationship with her dad and stepmother? I answer mechanically—mostly, “I’m not sure,” because even though I’ve gotten a pretty good feeling for Ivy through what people have said, it’s all secondhand, passed down from a friend of a friend—and my attention sharpens as the questions move on to somebody else. Somebody unexpected. Gavin Cotswold.

Dad speaks up. “We just moved here a few weeks ago. If that kid ran away last year, then Clara never met him.”

Donohue looks at me, as if his word isn’t enough. I shrug, shake my head.

“What about Ivy’s relationship to him? Did she ever mention him? How she felt about his leaving?”

An echo of myself, rebounding: “I don’t know. Not to me.” We never got that close. Never had a chance.

After Donohue leaves us with her card and our promise that we’ll be in touch if we think of anything else, I wait at the window until the cruiser drives past, leaving the development. Then I get ready to go see Bree.