“It’s been just awful. Maggie, she was”—the school principal looked at the ceiling, searching for the right word—“she was “decent. A kind girl whose family had been through so much but she still was positive, a bright light. She was admitted to MIT, and was so excited.…”

Keller nodded. Mrs. Flowers wore a flowing blouse with a chunky wood necklace. Her office at Naperville High School was filled with photos of her with students. Knickknacks from travel, a lot from African countries by the looks of them. Keller could imagine her greeting the students every morning. The kind of woman who saw promise in everyone, underpaid and overworked, but delighted to be there. The twins were years away from high school, but they should be so lucky.

“I’d like to talk with some of Maggie’s friends,” Keller said.

Flowers’s expression tightened while she considered whether to allow her students to talk to the FBI without notifying their parents. But she picked up a phone and asked someone to call Harper Bennett to the office.

A few minutes later a pretty young woman appeared in the doorway. Eyes wide, she approached apprehensively, as if concerned she was in trouble for something.

“Harper, please come in,” the principal said.

Harper Bennett had green eyes and stylish brown hair with chestnut highlights. Keller was surprised at her outfit. She wore what looked like flannel pajama bottoms, white tube socks with sports sandals, and a sweatshirt that said BOULDER.

“This is Agent Keller with the FBI.”

Harper’s eyes got even wider.

“She has questions about Maggie. I know this is a hard time, but we hoped you could help.”

Harper nodded, and took a seat next to Keller’s in front of the principal’s desk.

When Principal Flowers showed no intention of leaving, Keller said, “Is there a conference room or somewhere Harper and I could—”

“Oh,” the principal said. She paused, then said, “Harper, you’re okay with me stepping out?”

Harper nodded again, and the principal hesitantly left the office.

Keller gave the young woman a sympathetic smile. “First off,” Keller said, “I’m really sorry about your friend.”

Harper’s face reddened, and she tucked her legs under her.

“I have some questions, if you don’t mind?”

“Sure, but, like, I don’t understand. They said it was, like, a freak accident. And you’re the FBI, and I don’t get—”

“I know you must have a lot of questions. The FBI often gets involved when an American dies in a foreign country. Even for accidents.” Not totally true, but no need to get into it. Keller still didn’t have confirmation that there’d been foul play. And it didn’t matter. The deputy director, and the president himself, wanted to get to the bottom of the death of the Pines—so murder, accident, or whatever—that was what Keller needed to do.

Harper looked at her skeptically, but nodded for Keller to continue.

“You and Maggie were close friends?”

“Best friends,” Harper corrected, swallowing hard. “Since she moved here in sixth grade.”

“When’s the last time you saw her?”

“Like, in person? Or online or—”

“Let’s start with in person,” Keller said. The kids were different now. When Keller was a girl, it was the landline telephone, meeting at the mall or roller rink. Now they stayed connected through tiny screens.

Harper looked at the floor. “We went to a party a couple days before she went on her trip.”

“Was this a birthday party or a school party—or a party party?”

“Party party,” Harper said. “A kid from school, his parents were out of town.”

Keller’s smile said, No big deal, I was a teenager once. “How was Maggie? I mean, did she seem like herself?”

“She didn’t want to go.” Harper’s voice broke and tears spilled from her eyes. “I made her and then she was, like, nearly assaulted and it’s all my fault and, like, the last time she saw me, she was upset and I should’ve—”

“It’s okay,” Keller broke in, reaching for Harper’s hand. The girl was gulping for air, her face blotchy. “It’s all right,” Keller continued. “You did nothing wrong.” She moved closer, giving Harper time to collect herself.

Harper dragged the sleeve of her sweatshirt across her face, wiping the tears.

“I know it’s hard,” Keller said, finally, “but can you tell me what happened the night of the party? Just tell it from the beginning, leave nothing out.”

And Harper told her. That Maggie’s mom was out of town. That she’d lied to her dad, who had a thing against parties. That Maggie was going there to see a boy. That she and the boy slipped away, and Maggie ran out of the party crying and upset. That Harper and a friend drove Maggie home.

And then came the cyberbullying. That explained the messages.

“Did you see her after that night?”

Harper shook her head. “She shut down the sites about her brother and said she needed a break from social media, from her phone.”

“Was that unusual?”

“She wasn’t a big phone person. But she lived for the sites about her brother. You saw the show, right?”

Keller nodded. Her chest tightened with the idea of the girl from the documentary—the pugnacious investigator helping her father—escaping the party after God knows what happened with the boy.

“When you saw the messages and that she’d shut down the sites, did you reach out to her?”

“Of course. She was my best friend. And there was no fucking way I was going to let those fucking—” Harper stopped herself. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I told her I was there for her.”

“And what did Maggie say?”

“She said they were going to Mexico for spring break. That she was okay and just needed to get away.”

“Did you know her family was planning to go on a trip?”

“Not until after the party. She said her dad decided at the last minute.”

“Did she text you from Mexico?”

Harper shook her head.

Keller decided that Harper had calmed down enough to return to questions about the party. “Did you tell anyone—your parents or a teacher or anyone—about what had happened at the party?”

“She didn’t want her dad to know. She said he didn’t … She made me promise.”

“Who’s the boy?” Keller asked. She wanted to shake the name out of Harper, but she needed to be patient.

“Eric Hutchinson,” Harper said. “He’s telling people he didn’t do anything, that she just freaked out and kicked him in the balls for no reason, but that’s not Mags.”

All the kids knew something had happened, but not one had talked to an adult.

“Anything else you can remember about the party? Or anything unusual about Maggie before she left for Mexico?”

Harper chewed on her lower lip. “There is one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“After we heard about the accident, Toby Lee came to find me. He said Mags had asked him for help before she left for Mexico.”

“Toby’s a classmate?”

“Yeah. He said she was trying to track down someone’s phone. Toby’s a computer guy.”

Tracking a phone? That was unusual. “Did he help her?”

“I think so. He can give you the details. But he thought it was weird.”

Keller wanted to shout, So why didn’t either of you tell anyone? But such was the teenage brain.

Keller thanked Harper for her help, asked her not to tell anyone what they’d discussed, and sent her back to class.

Alone for a moment, Keller felt her jaw clench as she realized that one of the last experiences a seventeen-year-old girl had on this planet was an upsetting incident with a boy. Harper said his name was Eric Hutchinson. Keller checked her watch. She needed to talk to Toby Lee about this phone-tracking business. But there was no way she was going to let what happened at that party die with Maggie Pine.

The principal returned to the office.

“I’d like to speak with Toby Lee,” Keller said. “But first, bring me Eric Hutchinson.”

CHAPTER 34

Eric sat up straight, arms folded, a scowl on his handsome face. He wore a shirt that had a picture of crossing lacrosse sticks and read EAST COAST DYES. His father—a ruddy-faced man with the build of a former athlete—sat next to him in a similar pose, chewing gum and glowering at Keller.

When Eric had been called down to the office, he’d refused to speak to Keller without his father there. A wise move, all things considered. It was always the affluent, the well-educated, who lawyered up—or in this case, parented up. They’d been exposed to lawyers, or studied Miranda in their AP Government classes, or had been schooled by America’s biggest educator on police procedure and the Bill of Rights, Law & Order.