It was nearly nine thirty that night when Regan arrived at Alexa Castillo’s house northeast of downtown, on a pine-lined street filled with small, well-maintained, single-story homes that were built in the early seventies. Jessie had lived not far from here when she first moved to Flagstaff with her mom; it was walking distance to their middle school for Jessie. Regan had lived too far out of town, so the bus had been her only option.

Even though the teacher didn’t have an online presence, Regan knew how to locate almost anyone, so a few public database searches and some logical guesses gave her Alexa’s address.

The lights were on, and Regan suspected that Alexa’s daughter would be asleep, so now was the best time to talk to her.

She knocked on the door. The small porch was filled with potted plants, blossoms just now peeking out as winter was fading into spring. The rain had slowed, intermittent drops falling lightly to the earth. But it was cold, and she would have really enjoyed being home with the fire going.

But she needed answers, and Alexa Castillo had them.

A man answered. Early thirties, clean-cut, Hispanic. “May I help you?”

“I’m looking for Alexa Castillo. I’m Regan Merritt. I talked to her at her school earlier today.”

His face darkened. “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“I have new information. Tell her it’s about Adele Overton.”

He closed the door. Two minutes later, he opened it. “Bella is sleeping. Do not raise your voice. And if you upset Alexa, you’ll need to leave, understood?”

“Of course. And you are?”

“Mateo Sandoval. Her boyfriend.”

He led her into the kitchen, where Alexa was sitting at a small round table, her head in her hands. She looked up at Regan, tears in her eyes. “I listened to the podcast. I’m scared.”

Mateo sat down next to her, put his arm around her. “I’m not leaving you, baby. It’s going to be okay. You don’t want her here, she goes.”

“I should never have written that letter.”

Regan took a seat across from them. The kitchen was clean but cluttered, filled with cheerfully colorful dishes and tile work. The refrigerator door couldn’t be seen through all the artwork attached to it with alphabet letter magnets.

“The anonymous letter where you witnessed the argument between Candace and Taylor.”

She nodded. “Except I wasn’t there. I heard about it, knew about it, but I wasn’t there. I just thought I could do something.”

“Was Kimberly Foster there?”

“Yes. I thought after I wrote it that someone would talk to Kim. I don’t know, but I think she would have told the truth. I mean, she has a lot to lose, but at the same time, I don’t think she would lie. But I don’t know.”