"I know who he is, Boswell." Lonny stood up slowly, rolling his shoulders. "It's not hard to figure out. Reece sold his soul to Nicholson to get even with anyone who had anything to do with his brother's death. He wanted revenge. He's setting us up and rubbing his hands together as Nicholson hauls us off to jail. Reece Whelan is my wolf. My thistle. Who's yours?"

Lonny watched me, his brows arching up.

"Don't you get it?" he said. "These murders are a set-up. It's about revenge. Someone's sold his soul to get even with you. Whoever it is, he's close. He's close enough to know you, to watch you. Maybe even someone you trust. He's setting you up for a reason. It's personal." Lonny shook his head while I struggled with his theory.

Lonny handed me a card, empty except for a number. "Call me when you figure it out."

42.

The bell jangled and Bao looked up from the coffee station. "D-Day, huh?" he said over his shoulder as he dumped out

the cold grounds, consolidated the half-empty pots, and set them back on the warmers with a mindless rhythm. My Twinkies sat beside the register, on top of today's paper.

D-Day. More than any other Friday, today felt like an ambush. The last Friday of the school year. I'd either won the scholarship or I hadn't. There was either an ad in that paper, or there wasn't. It was only the certain knowledge of either that awaited me. And the twisty feeling in my gut told me that I probably didn't want to know the answer to either one.

"You just missed Anh," he grumbled. "Her country club boyfriend just picked her up. She wanted to get to school early and see who won the scholarship. I'll be surprised if she pulled it off with all the time she's spending with that guy. I told her a million times, she needs to focus if she wants to win. Eliminate distractions." He shook his head, wiping loose grounds from the counter. "I've given up too much to make sure she has a good future. If she's not careful, she'll end up squeezing out rich babies and dressing them in twin sets, and serving tea and crumpets to his buddies on the ninth green. She belongs in medical school."

"Med school? She's afraid of blood."

"She needs to get over it."

Bao swiped hard circles over the counter with his rag, then

slung it over his shoulder. It had never occured to me that Bao may want something different for Anh than she wanted for herself. "Hey, you going to prom tonight? Maybe we can double with my sister. Then I can keep an eye on Fowler. I don't like the way he looks at her."

"They haven't canceled prom yet? I thought the school canceled all the after-school activities because of the . . . you know . . ." I gesticulated with my hands, unable to say the M word. ". . . funerals and weird stuff going on."

"No, they just moved it. It's going to be in the gymnasium at school instead of some fancy hotel in Old Town. Twice as many chaperones, a few of the city's finest, and no after-party. No way they'd cancel prom. West River not having prom would be like you not eating Twinkies."

Without a word, I swapped out the Twinkies for a box of donut holes. Bao laughed and shook his head. I counted out a few small bills and left them on the counter, told Bao to keep the change, and turned to go.

"Hey, Boswell," he called as I held open the door. "I'd wish you luck, but you and I both know luck has nothing to do with it." I looked over my shoulder. Bao studied me over the handle of his mop. He wasn't smiling.

I stepped away from the heavy silence deeply uneasy, and the bells jarred my nerves when the door pulled itself closed behind me.

It all boils down to motive.

Of everyone I knew, Anh probably had more motive than anyone. She wanted this scholarship as badly as I did, and needed it almost as much. It had been a close race to the end of the semester. Close enough to put a strain on our friendship. But not close enough to change the fact that she couldn't stand the sight of blood and would never inflict violence on another living thing. But Bao . . . I wasn't so sure.

He was fiercely protective of her. And every bit as smart. Smart enough to manipulate me with these kinds of clues. He knew I read the personals. He had motive and opportunity. And he'd said himself, luck had nothing to do with it.

But the person behind all this had a darker motive. Murdering four people just to frame me? Taking his time and taking pleasure in it, like it was all a big game? No, it couldn't be Bao.

I walked to the end of the strip mall and with a cautious glance over my shoulder, turned into the alley. Flipping open the paper, I thumbed through the sections and tossed everything but the Missed Connections in the Dumpster. Squatting behind it, I spread the pages on the asphalt.

I read the first line of each ad until I found the one I was looking for. It oozed a cold confidence and read like a chilling invitation. A horrifying secret waiting to be revealed.

Some cats don't dance.

Respite in a box, a toxic paradox.

Dead or alive when you find him?

Congratulations, Anh Bui topped the bulletin board in big red letters. Nearly Boswell and Thomas J. Wiles had been printed in small black font, tight on her heels at second and third place. Almost, but not quite good enough.

Anh's face glowed with a wide grin she tried to smooth when I walked in the room. But it was like trying to hold down the roller shades in my bedroom. The harder you pulled, the more they wanted to curl right back up. Her eyes squinted wet and shiny, her future bright with possibilities.

"I'm sorry," she said, her apology bouncing off me. I told myself it didn't matter as students lined up to congratulate her. I didn't need a scholarship anymore. The envelope from my father was a reassuring weight inside my backpack. I smiled at Anh and tried to make myself happy for her.

I didn't bother to look for Jeremy after class. The air in the hall was thick, at odds with the pink prom posters that covered the walls. I waded through with my head down. Conversations quieted as I walked by. They should have been talking about the colors of their dresses and how they'd wear their hair. Instead they were talking about me.

I lifted my head just in time to see Emily Reinnert standing in front of her open locker. A surge of hope propelled me toward her, but her face didn't mirror any recognition. She shut her locker and started to walk away.

"Emily, wait!" I called, not caring who stared. She stopped to let me catch up, but wouldn't look at me.

"You're back." I felt foolish for stating the obvious, but I didn't know what else to say. She was here, and alive, the only person who might remember something. I wanted to ask her all the same questions Posie couldn't answer. I glanced at her forearm, curious about the blue number I'd only heard about. The fading remains of a dark mark lingered, visible under her unbuttoned long sleeve. It looked like a bruise. The kind that I'd seen under Jeremy's sleeves. Carefully placed. Easy to conceal. She hugged her arms around herself and took a step back.

"I came back for finals," she said quietly with quick anxious looks around, a changed Emily from the confident cheerleader I'd tutored.

Vince and Emily have been fighting a lot.

Ever since Jeremy showed TJ that picture of Emily and Vince together. Vince was at the game. Vince was at the amusement park. Vince was on the list.

"Emily, what happened to your arm? Who did this to you?" Her face paled. "I'm not supposed to talk to you." "Says who?"

"The police." She walked briskly out the front doors, where a flashing blue light caught my attention.