“I’ll check the records,” she heard Larry say.

He and Detective Agiter were coming up behind her. Stevie had just enough time to duck behind a golf cart.

“You have times in and out?” the detective asked.

“Yeah, the system records both. Hang on.” Larry put his phone to his ear. “Jerry? I need you to pull up a record for me. The name is Janelle Franklin. I need to know the tags on her pass on Thursday evening.”

Stevie trailed behind them at a distance as they walked to the workshop. There was a pause as Larry got his own access card out and opened the door. Once they were inside, Stevie would lose track of this conversation, and losing track of this conversation seemed like a terrible idea.

That dreamlike feeling took over her again, and she found herself creeping low toward the door, catching it before it closed. She held it open with her finger to give them a chance to move farther into the room. She pushed it open a bit more and found that they were already on the other side of the room, looking at the blue dry-ice bin.

Was she doing this? She was doing this.

She pushed the door open farther and crept inside, moving behind a standing rack of yard implements.

“Jesus,” she heard Larry say, “this thing was full. How the hell . . . yeah, Jerry. Okay. Here we go. Into the art barn at sixteen fifty. Then nothing until one twelve the next morning. Taps in here to the workshop. Yeah.”

He tucked the phone away.

“So according to Stephanie Bell,” the detective said, “Janelle Franklin’s ID goes missing during a yoga class.”

“I’ll check that against her schedule, but they have yoga classes in the art barn. That checks out to me. So someone takes the pass . . .”

“And uses it to come in here at one in the morning. We’ll need to take it and print it. This adding up to you? He comes in here, takes . . .”

This was when Stevie’s phone started ringing.

Larry and the detective looked over at the same time.

There was no point in trying to stay concealed. Stevie stood up.

“Hey,” she said.

She took a moment and glanced at the phone.

The screen read: PARENTS.

19

IT WAS A SLIGHTLY LESS KINDLY LARRY WHO ESCORTED STEVIE AWAY from the workshop.

“I know,” she said, “I’m . . .”

“Listen, Stevie,” he said. “You’re a smart kid, and I like you. Let me just be clear. You need to do exactly what I say.”

“I know. I just . . .”

“No. You know. Say you know.”

“I know,” Stevie said. “But Janelle . . .”

“So now you’re going to stay here,” he said. “In the security office. And you’re not going to talk to anyone until I say so. Okay?”

Her phone started ringing again.

“Who is that?” he said.

She held it up. Again, it said: PARENTS. He indicated that she should answer and stared at her as she did so.

“Stevie!” Both her parents were on the line and it was impossible to tell who said her name first.

“The school just called us,” her mom said. “We’re coming to get you.”

Stevie dragged a hand over her face.

“I’m fine,” Stevie said.

“Stevie, someone died.”

“Yeah, I know,” Stevie said.

“So we’re coming up and you’re coming home,” her dad said.

“Look,” Stevie said, staring at the ground in panic. “It’s horrible, but . . . it could have happened anywhere.”

“No one died at your old school.”

“That’s not true,” Stevie said. “There was a car accident in—”

“Look,” her mom said. “Your dad and I are taking the day off and we’re coming to get you. It’s only been a few days. We can get you reregistered.”

This shouldn’t have been the moment Stevie started crying. She didn’t want this to be the thing that did it. Hayes should have done it. But, as Larry explained earlier, things didn’t happen the way you wanted. She brushed a tear away with the back of her hand and tried to keep the tremble out of her voice.

“Look,” she said, “it was . . . Can we just talk about it when you’re here?”

There was a grudging agreement on this. Stevie managed to get off the phone. Larry’s expression had softened a bit from jagged rock to slightly less sharp and pointy rock.

There was a noise overhead, like the noise from the night before. Larry and Stevie looked up at the same time and saw a red and white helicopter.

“Press,” he said. “It’s out. They’ll be at the gates.”

He exhaled loudly and started walking fast.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ve got to get you back to Minerva and then handle this.”

“I lost my mind for a minute,” she said. “I was scared for Janelle. But I won’t. I promise I’ll go right back and I won’t stop on Go or collect two hundred dollars or anything. I’m sorry. You can do what you need to. You can trust me.”

Larry regarded her for a moment.

“All right,” he said. “But if I find out otherwise, you’re burnt with me. And I can check.”

She turned to walk off, to prove her word, but Larry called her back.

“Take care of yourself, Stevie,” he said. “Go be with your friends. Even if you didn’t like the guy, this is no time to be alone.”

“Who said I didn’t like the guy?” Stevie asked.

“Twenty years with the state police. I was a detective. You get a knack for these things.”

“You were a detective?” Stevie said. “Seriously?”

“Fifteen years on homicide.”

“Why did you stop?” Stevie asked.

“Because I opened too many doors and saw too many terrible things,” he said quietly. “And some of those things never leave you. Every police detective has something they carry with them, something they see when they’re trying to go to sleep at night. Twenty years is plenty. I know you are interested in being a detective, but don’t play at being one, do you understand? No sneaking around behind the police.”

“I know,” she said.

“We understand each other?”

“Yeah,” Stevie said. “I think we do.”

Stevie returned to Minerva feeling numb. Her parents would definitely be a problem, and going home was a real possibility, if Ellingham didn’t kick her out first. She looked at her building in a new light as she approached the big blue door. Maybe she was never meant to be here very long. Mistakes got made all the time. Fate had plans. . . .

No.

Stevie was not one of those people who thought fate decided for her. Fate was making choices. Fate was at least trying. The school hadn’t kicked her out yet, and her parents hadn’t taken her home yet. And something was going on. If Hayes had taken the pass, if Hayes had taken the dry ice . . . what the hell was he doing with it down in the tunnel?

She entered the common room still thinking about this. No one seemed to have moved from where she’d left them. Someone had built a fire in the fireplace, so the room was hot. The fire gave it a completely new character—the woodiness, the intimacy of it. It sounded like glass as it crackled.