“A girl died in a fire in both cases,” the detective says, like she doesn’t understand all the fuss. “And in both situations, Wylie was right there. Like maybe it’s her MO.”

“That’s absurd. Especially because Wylie wasn’t accused of any wrongdoing in the fire in Maine. She and Cassie were both victims, clear and simple.”

“Still, it is a coincidence. Can you explain that, Wylie?”

“Wylie, do n—”

“No,” I say, because that is the whole and complete truth. “I can’t explain it. There is nothing to explain.”

“You were in the immediate vicinity on both occasions. You were right there when both girls died. And you seriously have no idea why that might be? Because to be clear, Wylie, Teresa wasn’t just killed in the fire,” the detective goes on. “Teresa was the fire. She was at its epicenter. Just like Cassie. At least that is my understanding. Two girls—who you were angry at—died in the exact same way. Suspicious, wouldn’t you say?”

“Detective, this is ridiculous, and also unnecessarily cruel,” Rachel says. Her voice is icy. And she is furious now. Furious on my behalf.

“Angry?” I ask. “I wasn’t angry.”

“That’s not what Cassie’s father says.”

“Vince?” The more the detective talks, the more confused I am. “He said I was mad at Cassie? How would he even know? He doesn’t even live here. I wasn’t mad at Cassie.”

“But you were angry at Teresa then?”

“Enough!” Rachel smacks a palm down on the table. “That’s it. That was the last question. We were trying to be cooperative, but you are twisting her words.” She stands and motions for me to get up. “Come on, Wylie. We’re leaving.”

“Not tonight, I’m afraid,” the detective says. “We’ve got witness statements, the matches, your client’s history. Unless she’s prepared to offer an explanation right now, that’s more than enough probable cause for an arrest.”

“Arrest for what?” Rachel asks.

The detective looks squarely at me. “For murder.”

26

THE REST HAPPENS PRETTY MUCH EXACTLY THE WAY RACHEL SAYS IT WILL. THEY place me formally under arrest. They read me my rights, though they had already read them to me before I was questioned with Rachel.

Afterward, they transfer me to the closest juvenile detention facility. When I arrive, there is another reading of my rights, an inventory of my clothing and personal belongings, of which there is so little—what was left of Rachel’s cash and my mom’s wedding ring. Detached from Teresa’s necklace, which was taken for evidence, the ring spins hopelessly around the empty personal-effects bin. It makes me wonder about my mom’s photographs, and whether Riel really will keep them safe and sound.