"Hors d'oeuvres?"

"Oui, oui!" I said, digging in.

"Tres, um... excellent." Toby smiled shyly. "So, how's that case been coming? The strangulation? We can talk about it since Junior Officer Evi here is a.s.sisting us."

I grinned and nodded, mouth full of cheddar.

"Well," said Callie, "there hasn't been much movement, since we never recovered the shoes." She shot me a look as she said this, and I cringed inside. Sorry, sis. "And I just keep looking at the timeline and thinking... Oh, I don't know."

"What?" asked Toby.

"Something about our communication theory is weird. Why such a vague 'message?' And why reclaim the shoes after a couple months? Why not just leave a note on the body?"

Toby cleared a s.p.a.ce and ripped a sheet of paper out of the flip pad at his belt. "Let's get it all down on paper and then review everything together."

When Callie finished reciting the dates and events related to the case, this is what our timeline looked like: i July 4 a Ernest Tucker Smith murdered. Shoes stolen, taken to library locker 112 and corresponding key planted on his body by the killer.

i July 5 a Body found. Investigation opened. Cause of death determined to be strangulation.

i July 15 a Victim's ident.i.ty confirmed, no family found.

i July 27 a No significant evidence found in forensic investigation. Killer left no prints or hair.

i September 1 (?) a Unidentified subject (the killer?) requests that locker 112 be opened, and removes Smith's shoes.

i September 3 a Key's significance discovered. Shoe size and sole pattern determined from locker residue.

Toby sat back, considering everything. "Not much to go on. The killer must be experienced if he left so little evidence at the scene."

"I know. It's frustrating."

Callie ran her fingers through her hair, dragging out her elastic band and letting the golden waves fall loosely to her shoulders. Then she got up to plate the various entrees, while I ran to set the table. Toby stared at the list of dates.

"The killer takes the shoes and puts the key on the victim so that the police will follow his trail. What is he saying? That the shoes are somehow important. Symbolic, maybe."

"They did look like Ernest Tucker Smith's most prized possessions. There was shoe polish on them and everything."

Toby glanced up. "What?"

A pan banged to the floor. "Evi!"

"Oops!" I clapped my hand to my mouth, horrified at what I'd done. "I mean, um..."

Callie rushed over in her oven mitts, face white as a sheet. "Toby, I take full responsibility. I will tender my resignation effective immediately and a "

"Woah, woah, woah," Toby spread out his hands, cards falling into his lap. "I'm officially confused. Let's all take a deep breath. Callie, sit down. No one's resignation is being tendered until I'm un-confused again. I'm going to ask both of you a few questions. Evi, when and how did you see the shoes?"

I told him, as plainly as I could. He listened. His face was hard to read, but I could see that he was a compa.s.sionate person and wanted the best for me and for the investigation. Callie interrupted when I was almost done.

"The next morning I wrapped the shoes in plastic and threw them in a dumpster." She looked nervous, lying to Toby about who had trashed the shoes, but her words were clear. "I don't remember which one. They're long gone by now. I destroyed evidence, Lieutenant. You should file charges against me."

Toby sighed. He stooped to gather up his cards and stuffed them back into their box, sliding them into his front pocket like you would a pack of cigarettes. He sat for a moment, deep in thought.

"The name of your cla.s.smate, again, is...?"

"Arbor Vitae Damo da Rosa."

He nodded. "Have you considered bringing him in for questioning, Callie?"

"No, not seriously. We have literally zero evidence."

The microwave beeped. Callie got up, shoulders bowed, to take the tater tot ca.s.serole out.

"You have Evi's testimony. That's evidence. Not good evidence, but..." He glanced over and saw what must have been a stricken expression on my face. "Sorry, Ev."

"That's okay. I know."

"We could bring him in and scare him a little," said Toby. "Best case scenario, he tells us what we want to know. Worst case scenario, we're back to square one."

Callie ladled out the chicken soup, and started to bring dinner over to the table. I got up to help her. Ca.s.serole, deviled eggs, brownie bars... Wish I could have enjoyed it more. Instead my mouth was dry. Full of ash.

"No," she said. "Worst case scenario, he sues the police for wrongful imprisonment."

"He can't make that stick."

"But he can definitely make it public. And my indiscretions along with it." She sighed. "I really am prepared to resign, especially if it will help the case."

Toby shook his head. "None of what we've discussed here will leave this room."

Callie flushed, spooning some ca.s.serole onto his dish. "Doesn't that seem... wrong, somehow?"

"You didn't hurt anybody," said Toby. "You were just protecting your sister. And you're a fine officer; let's not lose sight of that. You'd be doing more harm by leaving the force."

She let out a long sigh of relief. "Thank you."

"Well, what are corrupt cops for?"

I laughed, and we ate dinner together, talking about anything and everything but murder. Toby cleaned his plate three times, and even dunked a marshmallow in his chicken soup. He rolled it around in his mouth, making experimental noises.

"You know what?" he said. "It's not the worst thing I've ever eaten. Which means it has exceeded my expectations."

"Success!" If I had to pick one word to describe Callie's eyes as she cleared Toby's dishes, it'd be 'starry.' She kept glancing back at him as she soaked the ca.s.serole and rinsed off plates and silverware to put in the dishwasher. That girl had it bad. I wasn't as sure about Toby. I got the feeling that he was fighting with himself.

But they'd come around. In their own sweet time, they'd come around.

Toby pulled out his cards again. "Anyone up for a little after dinner poker? I promise to go easy on you."

Callie scoffed. "Hey, with the a.s.sumptions!"

I swept my arm to the side grandly as if I were introducing an Academy Award Winner, or the President of the United States. "Meet Police Detective Calinda Wild," I said, "Master of the recreational gambling arts."

She took a bow. "I always used to clean out all my older relatives when I was a girl. They'd spot me five bucks, and BAM! Poor suckers never saw it coming."

"So it's experience versus youth, then?" smiled Toby.

"I didn't mean it like that!" Callie's cheeks went red and she bit her lip ruefully.

"I know, I know..." Toby chuckled.

"Anyway," said Callie, "I bet three days of paperwork I clean you and Evi out."

"Done," he said. "I can never resist a good wager."

We played for penny stakes, and sure enough, I was out of my league. I bet my cards and lost slowly, letting Callie and Toby fight it out in the big hands. They seemed to be pretty evenly matched; I could tell that Toby was pleasantly surprised.

Finally I pushed all in on a pair of jacks in a seven card stud game and went bust spectacularly to Callie's full house. Even with the rest of my money she was still a bit behind Toby, and I could tell that both of them wanted to keep playing. I decided to make a strategic exit, in the name of romance.

It was only seven o'clock, but I shouldered my backpack and made some excuse involving ma.s.sive amounts of trigonometry homework (partly true!) before marching myself upstairs and into my room.

"Don't worry, Evi. We'll catch him," Toby called after me. I didn't have to ask who he meant. "The three of us together. We'll do it."

I smiled and closed my door, resisting the strong urge to spy on them. Every few minutes I heard loud laughter drift up from downstairs a the kind that makes your eyes water and your belly weak. They were having a really good time with each other. Just kiss him already, Callie!

I tried to get serious and focus on Math.

Luckily, I have the willpower of a hundred oxen and was able to power through all of the even-numbered questions in Chapter 3 in just under an hour of brain pain. It felt like three. I heard the door close at around eight and Callie come upstairs, singing a s.n.a.t.c.h of our mother's old folk song about Auraria.

"This is my darter a-set by my side, and nair old hog drover can take her to bride..."

She sounded happy.

There was no one on Gchat, and I still needed to catch up on some sleep. So I opened my window, checked the camera setup and slid into bed with a book. The flowing narrative was like a balm after all that math. So tired. I yawned, reached over to turn off my lamp, and snuggled under the covers. The breeze tickled my forehead.

Somehow, my thoughts drifted back to Arbor. It's not easy to resist the most beautiful girl at Peaks High. G.o.d, I wanted it to be true! It couldn't be, right? Going over the facts of the murder case again made it clear that Arbor was the number one suspect. But there was just something about him that tempted me. That called me to trust him.

Maybe it was all a misunderstanding. Maybe he was innocent. Maybe he'd found the shoes in a ditch, maybe he was just messing with me, maybe, maybe, maybe...

There were b.u.t.terflies in my stomach as I drifted off.

Dreams came thick and fast, all of them loud. I don't remember anything but the shouting. Words seemed to make sense while I was dreaming them, but melted like cotton candy in my mouth when I woke up, leaving only an aftertaste. The ring of truth.

I rolled over sleepily, my body begging for just a few more minutes. My mind trying to fit the pieces of the dream together. I was missing something, wasn't I? I was missing something important...

CRACK!.

I shot up. My eyes flew open; I was fully awake in an instant. My d.a.m.n window again. I climbed out of bed and staggered to the sill, squinting, scanning the backyard down to the bluff in the pink-dyed dawn. My breath left me.

In the center of the yard lay the bodies of five black crows. Someone had set them out in a straight line. They were stiff. I could see sunlight glinting off their dead, black eyes.

All five, Evi.

"Oh, Jesus."

Then I remembered the camera. I stumbled, nearly knocking it over, and caught it. I dove with it onto my bed, furiously pressing b.u.t.tons. There were about ten more action shots of squirrels, and then...

A picture only one minute old.

The frame was blurry. I guess it had been taken right as the window dropped down, rattling everything in the room. The flash had caught the gla.s.s, drowning almost the whole shot in glare. But there was one corner of the window where I could just make out a nose. Two eyes. The unmistakable features of a human face.

Arbor's face.

I had to force myself to breathe.

I popped my knuckles about a million times on the way to school. My camera was with me, nestled into my coat pocket. Proof at least that Arbor was a creepy pervert. And inside my breaking heart, I knew that he was also a killer.

I was not wrong.

Callie dropped me off, oblivious to any change in my behavior. She was still whistling and smiling a all that complaining about spending long hours down at the station had disappeared. I could barely be happy for her, though, because I was starting to feel really scared.

Not the sort of exhilarating scared that I'd felt on the way to Denver. The "falling in love with the bad boy" scared. Because at the root of that was the a.s.sumption that I was essentially invincible. I'm young and carefree; I'm not going to get hurt. This is small stakes. All those deaths were accidents. The blackouts? Well, I've been tired. And there hasn't been another murder, not since the Fourth of July...

Oh.

It hit me as I was walking up the hill. That's what Arbor was trying to tell me. Bringing me to see Dido, making me read that gravestone. He was trying to confess. To warn me off.

Because I was next.

Now it was too late. We were entangled, somehow. I had let him in. Let him see me, let him get into my head. I knew that even if I stayed away from him, even if I had Callie tail him in her squad car from morning until night, there was nothing I could do to stop him from killing me.

So my plan was simple. Confront him with the photograph; tell him there was more where that came from. Threaten to go to the police with it if he ever tried anything. Make the biggest bluff of my life.

And then leave Stevens Peak forever.

I forced my feet forward, mentally preparing for the confrontation. I would do it right away, before Latin. As soon as I could find him in the cafeteria. I would also make it as public as possible, so that people would know if I... Well, if I ever turned up dead. Then back to the house, where I'd leave a note for Callie in the Ziploc bag in the freezer where we keep our emergency cash. A bus to Denver, and a train to wherever.

I had a hope of returning, if Arbor ever left town. But I knew I would never feel safe in my bedroom again. Callie would follow me. We could start over someplace else, change our names and become proud Ohioans or Nebraskan...ites. Or whatever.

The halls seemed close and crowded. I was still ten minutes early, but everyone was heading to the cafeteria. Good. More witnesses.

But as I walked, I became aware of a different buzz in the air. A new, tense energy. People were talking excitedly in hushed voices. Some were carrying yellow fliers. I frowned, confused. I craned my head, trying to look over a freshman's shoulder to see what was written on them, but I couldn't quite make out the words.

I didn't have to wait long to find out what was up, though, because there was Ellen barreling toward me.

"Evi Evi Evi Evi!"

She almost couldn't stop herself, nearly ran me right over. She was out of breath and frantic, holding one of the fliers.