Alice. It had mentioned Alice. By name. What about Alice, she could not recall. But Alice’s name was there.

Stevie let her eyes come back into focus and let the meditation go. The light made halos around all the objects in the room as her pupils adjusted. She tucked up her knees and, in doing so, took a better look at herself. She really did need to change. She couldn’t go on like this, grabbing clothes off the floor. Maybe a shower would jog her mind into action. She grabbed her bath caddy and dragged herself across the hall, where she slumped against the queasy salmon-colored tiles and let the water run over her, flattening her short hair to her head. She remembered meeting Ellie in the shower once. Ellie walked around proudly naked.

Ellie. Ellie, I’m sorry.

Why was she thinking that? She hadn’t hurt Ellie. All she had done was tell the truth about who wrote Hayes’s show. But Ellie was gone now. And Hayes. And Fenton. It suddenly didn’t seem to matter that she may have put together the pieces of the great Ellingham case. There was something happening right here, right now. Hayes, Ellie, and Fenton—they were linked together somehow. All were dead. Larry was afraid for her.

There was a murderer here.

She wondered if she was afraid. She asked herself the question, and it was surprisingly quiet on the subject.

She turned off the water and let herself shiver, let herself feel.

That message on the wall was someone telling her something. Someone wanted to play with her. So all right. She would play. Maybe she was anxious. Maybe she was untrained. But Stevie Bell knew one thing about herself—once she had bitten in, tasted the mystery—she would not let go. She had gotten herself to this mountain. She could do this. After all, people were doing this all the time now. Citizen detectives, working on cases online, at home, alone and in groups.

She hurried back to her room, and, despite what she had just been thinking about not picking clothes up off the floor, she picked up a pair of sweatpants from the corner of the room. These were pretty clean. Ellingham did your laundry, but you had to put it in labeled bags. Stevie had not been paying enough attention to do that. She made sure to put on an extra thick coat of deodorant. She would smell good, at least. Her hair was now finger-length, sharp blond strands, crisp as wheat. The off-the-shelf bleach was strong stuff. She messed it around with her hands until it landed in basically the right position.

Now she was focused. Now she could . . .

Her phone rang. The number was blocked.

“You were in town today.”

The voice wound around her like a snake. It warmed her and chilled her at the same time. It was so close it seemed to come from inside herself.

“Where the hell are you?” she replied.

“So we got the hellos out of the way.” Just the sound of David’s voice was all Stevie needed to conjure David in his entirety—his curling dark hair, his slightly peaked brows, his ropy, muscled arms, his tattered T-shirts and sagging Yale sweatpants, the busted-up Rolex on his wrist. This reprobate rich boy—the kind of person she thought she would never be able to stand—strange and difficult and maybe a bit self-pitying. Someone who didn’t care what the world thought. Someone funny. Someone dangerous.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she said, trying to sound even, almost bored, instead of breathless.

“On vacation,” he said. “Working on my tan. Doing that thing where you surf with a dog wearing sunglasses.”

“David,” she said. Even saying the name was hard. It exploded from her mouth. “What is happening? Why did you get yourself beaten up? Are you going to tell me?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Are you worried about me?” She could hear the smile in his voice, and it both enticed and enraged her.

“No,” she said.

“Liar. You are. You are worried about me and my beautiful face. I can understand that. The face is healing. The beating wasn’t as bad as it looked. I smeared the blood around.”

“What do you want?” she said, her heart racing. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on? Or did you call just to be a dick?”

“The second one.”

“Seriously . . .”

“Something I should have done a long time ago,” he replied. “All further questions should be sent in writing to my lawyer.”

Stevie rolled her gaze to the ceiling. To her surprise, tears were forming in her eyes. Of course he was not coming back. Her whole body flooded with feeling. He was the first person she had ever kissed and done . . . other things with. Right here on this floor.

“How did you know I was in town?” she said, coughing out the emotion. “Bathsheba?”

“I have eyes and ears everywhere. I heard about your professor too. Bad shit.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Bad shit.”

“Her house burned down?”

“She left the gas on and lit a cigarette.”

“Jesus,” he said. “A lot of bad things are happening.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

She sat on the floor next to her bed and considered what to say next. Silence pulsed between them.

“So,” she said, “what do you want? If you’re not coming back. There must be something. Unless you’re worried about me.”

“You?” he said. “Nothing ever happens to you.”

She didn’t know what that meant, if it was reassurance or an accusation.

“I’ll make you a deal,” she said. “I’ll be careful if you call me back once a day.”

“Can’t promise that,” he said.

“What, are you in the witness protection program or something? Stop screwing around.”

“I’m hanging up so it doesn’t get weird,” he said.

“Too late for—”

But he was gone. Stevie stared at her phone for a while, trying to work out what the hell had just happened, only to be startled by an alert that flashed across her phone: BLIZZARD WARNING ISSUED FOR BURLINGTON AND SURROUNDING AREA. STORM DUE TO ARRIVE IN 48 HOURS, ACCUMULATIONS UP TO 24 INCHES EXPECTED.

Stevie put her phone down and kicked it across the floor.

7

AT BREAKFAST THE NEXT MORNING, STEVIE POKED AT A FRESHLY MADE waffle as Janelle typed furiously on her computer. Vi was reading a political science textbook. Nate was consumed by a book with a dragon on the cover.

Stevie should have been reading as well; she had lit class in an hour and was supposed to have read The Great Gatsby by now. She had skimmed the first few chapters—something about a rich guy who threw parties and a neighbor who would watch him. She had anatomy later as well, and there was going to be an oral quiz on the skeletal system. Mr. Nelson would be back on the table, and Stevie was supposed to know the names of all his bones. She was six units behind in her self-based math and language work. Schoolwork loomed around behind her, like a big, dumb monster. If she didn’t turn around, maybe it wouldn’t bother her.

“I sent a school-wide message,” Janelle said, snapping her computer shut.

Stevie looked up, and syrup dripped on her hoodie as she did so.

“Huh?” she said.

“I’m doing a demonstration at eight. I’m inviting everyone.”

Indeed, even as they sat there, Stevie saw the message come through on some people’s phones and computers. Mudge, from across the room, gave her a thumbs-up.

“You know Mudge?” Stevie said.

“Sure. He wants to be an Imagineer and make automatons and robots.”

“It’s going to be so great!” Vi said. They were dressed that morning in red overalls, with a rainbow half shirt underneath. They had shaved some more from the sides of their silver-blond hair and spiked it high. Vi always looked alert and alive, like they had scored a direct hit off the electrical mains. Maybe that was why they were so good with Janelle. Both lived completely and brightly.

“Have to go,” Vi said, picking up their bag. “I’ll be late to Mandarin class.”

They kissed Janelle on the top of the head and waved to Nate and Stevie. Nate bunched up a napkin and stuck it in his empty juice glass.

“I’d better go too,” he said.

“Don’t you have a few hours before your first class?” Janelle said.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I just want to go back and enjoy having the second floor to myself for a little while before this Hunter dude shows up. Hunter. Is he rugged?”

“He studies environmental science,” Stevie replied. “He’s nice.”

“Good,” Janelle said. “David’s gone, and a nice guy who likes the environment is moving in. Sounds like a good switch to me.”

Janelle had never made it a secret that she wasn’t fond of David.

“Okay,” Vi said. “I’ll meet you over there at six and bring you dinner and . . .”

Vi’s phone pinged, and they picked it up.

“Oh my God,” they said. “Oh God.”

“What?” Janelle said.

Stevie’s stomach lurched.

Vi held out their phone, revealing a headline that had flashed across the screen: SENATOR EDWARD KING ANNOUNCES PRESIDENTIAL RUN.

“He’s running,” Vi said. “I knew it. That dick.”

Stevie had shared the secret with Janelle and Nate—they knew that David was Edward King’s son. They both looked at Stevie. Nate grabbed his tray and made a hasty exit.