“My parents wouldn’t let me come over by myself,” Zoe said. “They drove me over.” She gazed outside through Heather’s window. From her position on the bed, she could only see the blue sky and the foliage of a nearby tree. It seemed so peaceful.

Heather shook her head. “I hope this blows over fast,” she said. “I don’t want my parents looking over my shoulder at everything I’m doing.”

Zoe nodded distractedly, but she had a feeling it wouldn’t blow over anytime soon.

Her bicycle wheel whined in complaint as she pressed the handbrake. She stopped on the side of White Pond Road Bridge, lungs burning from exertion. The only reason her mother had let her ride her bike to school that morning was because she had been late for work, and Zoe had promised she would ride with Heather and then straight back home after school. And she had meant to do just that.

But she hadn’t.

Every time she’d seen Carrie in the hallway at school, there was a lump in her throat, guilt and shame flooding her. She felt as if Carrie could tell Zoe had pictured her naked and dead by the water. When Carrie had smiled at her during gym class, Zoe’s face had flushed, and she’d quickly looked away, trembling. The image had lingered at the back of her mind, threatening to return at any given moment. Finally, Zoe had decided that if she went to the bridge to look at the place, she could clear the horrid picture from her thoughts.

She got off the bike and paced down the grassy edge of the Assabet River, just up to the calm water. Green algae floated on the river surface, rising and falling on small, almost imperceptible waves. Was this where they had found the body?

She knew the body had been slightly submerged in the water—or at least that was what everyone at school said. Other rumors were whispered endlessly. Someone told Zoe that the girl had been raped before she died. Someone else said she had been tortured, that her face was bruised and swollen. Her hands were bound behind her back. She had been sliced with a knife. Each rumor made Zoe feel weak, scared, helpless.

She knew who the victim was now. Her name was Beth Hartley. She had been a secretary for a local accountant, twenty-one years old. Zoe had seen a photo of her in the newspaper that morning. The face seemed familiar. Had Zoe ever seen her walking down the street? Having her hair cut? Grabbing a pizza? She probably had. Maynard was a small town. The paper didn’t give any other details but mentioned that an investigation was underway.

Now that she was here, the sun reflecting on the water, fragments of light making the surface shine, it seemed almost impossible. Zoe couldn’t imagine the body in the water anymore, not even when she tried. It was so bizarre, so alien.

Still, the fear wouldn’t let go . . . and amid the fear, something else. Agitation. Thrill.

Something rustled in the leaves behind her, and she whirled around, her pulse racing. There was nothing there. A bird, perhaps? She shivered, even though it was a relatively warm day.

Trying to break the spell, she picked up a rock from the ground and hurled it into the water. It hit the surface, creating circular eddies that widened and faded, the green algae moving away from the spot the rock had hit. She got back on her bicycle and rode home.

Rod Glover, their neighbor, was in his front yard, tending the garden, his white shirt soaked in sweat. As she got off the bicycle, he stood up and waved at her, shears in hand. They were her mother’s shears, which Rod always borrowed.

“Hey, Zoe.” He smiled and wiped his forehead. His brownish-red skater haircut was a bit messy, but his bright, cheerful smile and happy eyes made up for it. Although he was about ten years older than her, he was easygoing and fun to talk to. He had a goofy sense of humor and a knack for imitating celebrities and people around town.

“Hey.” She smiled back. “How are you?”

“Can’t complain. Coming home from school?”

“Yeah . . .” She hesitated, feeling the need to talk to someone. “I went by White Pond Road Bridge.”

“Not exactly on the way, is it?” he said, leaning against the fence.

“I just wanted . . . that’s where they found the girl, you know?”

He nodded. “Yup, I heard.”

“It’s terrible, what happened to her,” Zoe said.

Rod nodded. “It is,” he said. “So . . . looking forward to tonight?”

She looked at him, perplexed. “What’s tonight?”

“Uh . . . hello? It’s Buffy night, remember?”

Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Rod and Zoe both loved the show; they’d talk about it after every new episode ran. But the shift in discussion was jarring, and Zoe remained silent.

He changed his posture to mimic Giles, one of the series characters. His words developed Giles’s English accent. “Really, Zoe, it’s the second season; you can’t afford to be distracted. This episode is of the utmost importance.”

“I have to go,” Zoe said apologetically. She was uncomfortable with his attempt to make her laugh, considering the circumstances. No one joked these days. “See you later.”

“See ya,” Rod said.

She turned toward the door. Just before she walked inside, she glanced back. Rod grinned at her and then acted as if he were removing his imaginary glasses and cleaning them, another Giles-like move.

CHAPTER 8

Monday, July 18, 2016