“I don’t know,” she said.

He waited.

She sighed. “Do you remember that time when we were in fifth grade, and I slept over? We were watching a movie, I can’t remember what, and I suddenly got this weird feeling like I needed to get home and check on my dad? Your mom drove me home and we found him on the kitchen floor—he’d slipped and fallen and was out cold. Thank goodness it ended up not being a serious injury. Anyway, it’s like that. I just know something’s wrong.”

Brandon was quiet a moment. “Okay,” he said finally. “We’ll need to call in some reinforcements. Ah, I know.” He snapped his fingers. “I’ll recruit Dillon.”

Genevieve frowned. “Who?”

“Dillon Palmer.”

“That guy you used to hang out with in middle school? The one who wore shorts in subzero weather and started you on that Block Story game?”

Brandon laughed. “I can’t believe you actually remembered someone by details other than their favorite flavor of ice cream.”

“Mocha chocolate chip,” she said promptly. “What about him?”

“He’s a computer genius, that’s what. If I asked him to, he could probably break into Pinewood High’s staff directory and get you the address.”

Genevieve’s eyes widened. “Would you ask him?”

“No.” He rolled his eyes and reached again for his backpack. “I was just suggesting it for fun.”

That night, as Genevieve sat on her bed studying for a calculus test, her phone buzzed with an incoming call from a blocked number. Must be the hacker extraordinaire, she thought, and tapped the screen.

“Hey,” Genevieve said.

“You owe me.”

She smiled. “Let me guess. You want your payment in ice cream, specifically mocha chocolate chip in a dipped cone.”

“A month’s worth, at least.”

Now Genevieve began to laugh. He sounded the same as when he was a scraggly preteen in seventh grade. It was the next year he’d gotten sick with mono, and afterward he’d never returned to in-person school, having adjusted so well to online classes. “How have you been, Dillon? I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Yeah, I don’t really like leaving the house,” he said. She could hear the rapid-fire clicking of his keyboard as he typed and wondered if he was joking. “The human race is an abomination. Surely you know this. You work in customer service.”

“Serving ice cream though,” Genevieve said amiably. She grabbed a pillow and hugged it into her lap. “Ice cream brings out the best in people.”

“Woefully optimistic, as usual,” he said. “Although I suppose you do have a point.”

She laughed. “Listen, I really appreciate this, Dillon. Was it hard getting into the⁠—”

“Shh! Don’t say it,” Dillon hissed. “No, it wasn’t difficult. Give me a little credit, please. Did you get the file?”

“Hang on.” Genevieve opened her laptop and waited for the screen to load—an image of downtown Pinewood at sunset—and then she clicked into her browser and brought up her email. The file was there.

“Got it,” she said.

“Good. Now print it, delete it, and clear your browser.”

“You mean the message isn’t programmed to self-destruct?” she joked.

“Funny,” he said.

Genevieve clicked print and winced as her ancient Canon PIXMA thunked into life. She rose and padded over to the corner of her room where the noisy machine was spitting out paper. “You know, you could have just texted the info.” Genevieve yanked the sheets off the paper tray and flipped through to the Ls.

“Yeah, well, in this case, a phone call’s better.”

“Nothing in writing, eh?” Genevieve said distractedly as her eyes scanned the listings. Her heart fell. There was no listing yet for Miss Love, which Genevieve supposed made sense, seeing as how she was brand new to the roster.

She turned to the next page and zeroed in on the Ps. Sure enough, there was Eloise Pierce, at the top of the third page.

“Notice anything strange?” Dillon asked.

Genevieve was staring at Ms. Pierce’s information, her mind racing. The address was fewer than three blocks from her house! The substitute lived in the Sunrise apartments off Bryant Lane, a fifty-five plus complex behind Haley Park. Genevieve glanced at the time; it was only eight thirty p.m. She realized Dillon had asked her a question.

“Yeah, hey, I really really appreciate the file, and I’ll expect you at Sweet Dreams tomorrow for a triple scoop,” Genevieve said in a rush, “but right now I have to go.”

“But—”

“Sorry, bye!” Genevieve ended the call, grabbed her jacket, and headed out the door.

CHAPTER SIX

A GRIM DISCOVERY

Sunrise senior apartments were small units in a pair of nondescript three-story buildings painted in various shades of brown. The buildings formed an L shape—number 124 was in the center of the complex on ground level. Genevieve pulled up and cut the engine, then sat for a moment staring at the apartment with a sudden sense of foreboding. It was so dark, so quiet. Too quiet.

All of her apprehensions from the past several days descended on her at once, like a shadow over the moon. Unnerved, Genevieve hastily stepped out of the car, and then remembered she had told no one she was coming here. She pulled out her phone to text Brandon, then decided against it. It was getting late. She didn’t know what to say. And anyway, she was just being silly. With fresh resolve, Genevieve walked briskly up to apartment number 124.

She rapped her knuckles softly on the door, but somehow knew there would be no answer. “Ms. Pierce?” she said, and the sound of her voice in the stillness of the night spooked her further.

This is ridiculous, she thought. Get a hold of yourself.

She knocked again, firmly. “Ms. Pierce, it’s Genevieve Winterland, your student at Pinewood High. Please, open up. I would like to apologize for yesterday.”

Nothing. Genevieve took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She looked around, hardly believing what she was about to do. Then she grasped the doorknob and turned it. Locked. Of course it’s locked. The woman obviously lives alone, do you think she’d just leave her front door unlocked, even in a safe little town like Pinewood?

Not so safe lately, according to my dad, she thought, and then pushed the thought away. Before she could change her mind, she withdrew her wallet from her purse and found an expired gift card. She slipped the card between the door frame and the jamb, wiggled it down the strike plate, and heard the latch give way with a snap.

Genevieve froze, suddenly sure that someone was watching her. She glanced to the side and thought she saw movement in a window across the lot.

It didn’t matter now; she pushed open the door, her throat locked in suspense, and entered the house.

“Ms. Pierce?” she called. Her voice came out as a squeak. All the lights were off, the room she stood in too dark to see anything but shapes of furniture—a sofa, a rocking chair. Genevieve checked the wall for a switch, but before she had a chance to flick it on, the room flooded with light.

For a moment she was disoriented, until she heard the grinding sound of tires turning on pavement. She’d been standing near the front window and the headlights temporarily blinded her. Her mouth dry, heart pounding, she darted aside then flattened herself against the wall. The car idled a moment, and then the engine cut off smoothly and the world, and Genevieve, were once again left in darkness.