Chapters (97)
- Cover
- Back Cover Text
- Praise
- Booklist
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- Seventy-Three
- Seventy-Four
- Seventy-Five
- Seventy-Six
- Seventy-Seven
- Seventy-Eight
- Seventy-Nine
- Eighty
- Eighty-One
- Eighty-Two
- Eighty-Three
- Eighty-Four
- Eighty-Five
- Eighty-Six
- Eighty-Seven
- Eighty-Eight
- Eighty-Nine
- Acknowledgments & A Personal Note
- Excerpt
Her parents’ faces were frozen in utter confused agony, piercing her. The only time she’d seen them in such pain was when Pike died.
Neighbors gawked from doors, windows and driveways.
Sloan then began advising Ned and Flo that they would be required to leave their home untouched, aided by police, in preparation for the search—but they weren’t listening. They were watching Marie.
As the car rolled away, and as if to underscore the moment, the radio in Ned’s truck began playing an Elvis Presley song. “Suspicious Minds.”
Thirty
Orange County, California
Present day
Emma guided her SUV through the Valley Meadow High School staff parking lot with a mix of relief and apprehension.
A week had passed since the book sale. The local news had run the story. She’d survived having a TV camera on her, glad it was all behind her. But she had yet to deal with Marisa. In the time after confronting her, Emma had gone by her place twice, even rang the bell, steeling herself, fingers wrapped around a can of pepper spray in her bag, in case the gun-toting boyfriend tried something. No one answered and there was no sign of Marisa’s car.
I don’t like this, Emma thought, walking across the school lot, glancing at the street, not seeing Marisa’s green Ford Focus.
Gripping her phone as she entered the school, Emma submitted “Marisa Joyce Narmore” to an online search. Emma’s previous checks of Marisa’s name had yielded nothing. What she found this time stopped her cold: the Orange County Register’s news feed had a photo of a car wreck, with the story:
Santa Ana Freeway Crash Victim Identified
Marisa Joyce Narmore, 32, of Santa Ana, was the victim in a single-vehicle crash on the I-5 freeway.
Narmore’s Ford Focus was speeding northbound, veering wildly in and out of traffic when it entered a construction zone, crashed through barriers, flipped and rolled several times, according to California Highway Patrol and Orange County coroner’s officials.
The wreck took place about 10:45 a.m. last Friday.
Narmore, a retail clerk, was also a part-time student at Orange Pacific Community College.
Emma swallowed, her back slammed against the wall as she steadied herself.
Marisa’s dead. And it happened while I was following her!
Emma’s breathing quickened.
But I stopped following her long before then. I didn’t even see her crash. How can I be implicated? I didn’t do anything wrong. Police would’ve talked to me.
Emma’s mind raced as she looked down the admin hall. She went to Greg’s office, where the assistant greeted her.
“Hi, Denise. Is Greg around? I need to see him for a second.”
“Gosh no, I’m sorry. He’s been away for almost a week. His dad passed away and he’s in Minneapolis taking care of things.”
“Oh no, I’m so sorry to hear that.”