“So,” she began conversationally, “what do you make of all the drama at the high school?”

Tyler was scrubbing the cast-iron waffle cone maker with a wire brush. At her question, he set the brush down, turned to her, and met her gaze coolly.

“What do you mean?”

A bit defensive, she thought. Hmm.

“Of course, you must have heard about the disappearance of one teacher and the death of another.” He said nothing, and she cleared her throat. “They’re saying that the substitute, Ms. Pierce, didn’t actually kill herself. They’re saying she was murdered.”

His black eyes remained flat and uncaring. “Why would that make a difference to me? She’s dead.”

Genevieve was shocked at his callousness. “But surely you knew her? I mean, didn’t you go to Pinewood High?”

Tyler picked up the wire brush again and turned his back on her. “That was years ago. I barely remember it.”

She watched the powerful flex of his muscles as he finished scrubbing the waffle maker, a little more vigorously than was necessary, and then grabbed a wet washcloth to wipe it down. Apparently, that was all he had to say on the subject.

He had plenty of reason to get rid of both teachers.

Could the principal be telling the truth? Genevieve didn’t know for sure, but what she did know was that Tyler was lying, and that—combined with his turning away from her so rudely—made her feel a bit reckless.

“I heard you got expelled for fighting,” she said evenly.

He spun on her; the washcloth he was holding sprayed a thin arc of soapy water across her apron. “What,” he seethed, “does that have to do with anything?”

Genevieve held his gaze defiantly. “Maybe nothing. Maybe that you obviously had a real temper back then, and you still do.”

Now Tyler’s face paled in anger. He took a threatening step toward her and it took all of her self-restraint not to cower under his glowering stare. She expected him to shout at her, but instead, even more alarmingly, he spoke in a low, measured tone. “Just what,” he said, “exactly, are you implying?”

Mustering up her courage, she stepped toward him as well, closing the remaining distance between them. “Only that two teachers have been murdered in my hometown, the police don’t seem to have any leads, and I’m trying to figure out who may have had a reason to want to kill them.”

Incredibly, Tyler backed off, leaned casually against the counter, and eyed her with dark amusement. “And what, Nancy Drew, have you found?”

The sudden and complete disappearance of his anger startled her, but she maintained her composure. “That it would have to be someone strong enough to throttle a solidly built woman and then string her up with rope, and someone who hated her enough to do it in cold blood.”

Now Tyler began to laugh. “There’s your problem,” he said, resuming his work. “Narrowing down the people of Pinewood who hated Eloise Pierce enough to get rid of her.”

“So you did know her?”

“Of course I knew her. She was a miserable old crone whose sole purpose in life was making everyone else miserable.”

Again, Genevieve was stunned at his heartlessness; she was becoming more and more convinced that he did have it in him, after all.

But what could his motive be?

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she offed that other teacher, you know,” he added. “Pierce would have done anything to get that job.”

Genevieve’s blood roiled at his cruel choice of words describing the death of “that other teacher.”

“Then there would be two murderers, which doesn’t make sense,” she said haughtily. “If I were in charge of the investigation,” she added, “I’d be highly suspicious of anyone new to town, especially if they had a history of violence.”

He threw down the dish towel. “You know what? You’re unbelievable sometimes. Maybe you should stick with what you do best, which is serving up mediocre ice cream to gossipy locals in this crappy little town.”

Genevieve recoiled in shock. “Mediocre?!”

“You don’t even make your own base,” he reminded her contemptuously.

“That is completely beside the point!”

“All of this is!” he shouted back, ripping off his pink hat and slamming it on the counter. “All of it! What am I even doing here?”

His phone rang and Tyler furiously ripped it from his apron pocket, then stormed off to the back. “What?” she heard him snarl, and then his voice became very quiet. Genevieve, her heart pounding, crept as close to the doorway as possible and held her breath, straining to hear.

“Can’t... get it?... not going back... Pinewood High... over...”

Genevieve’s mind was racing—Pinewood High—so he was involved in this somehow.

She ducked back quickly as Tyler’s footsteps approached, but he stopped short of rounding the corner. First came the sound of him punching out on the time clock, and then he appeared, yanking on his coat.

“Sorry, gotta go,” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact, and she watched speechlessly as he fled the shop.

An hour later, as she was mopping the floors, Genevieve’s mind still echoed with the strange one-sided conversation. Nothing made sense, and yet she sensed it was all there, the pieces laid out before her, if she could just fit them together properly. Who was Tyler Caivano really? Where did he go after work? Who did he spend time with? Why did it seem he was always hiding something? The fact that Principal Mattison had all but accused him of being guilty of the murders of two teachers at Pinewood High and the fact that Tyler was discussing Pinewood High with his mystery caller could not be a coincidence, yet Genevieve still had her doubts. Tyler was temperamental, volatile even, but a murderer?

She rolled the mop bucket back to the kitchen and, while turning the corner, felt her foot strike an object, sending it skittering across the floor.

It was Tyler’s phone. Genevieve bent to retrieve it, and at her touch, the screen lit up, displaying the last incoming message. Her blood went cold. The message, which was from a sender identified only as SG, read: I’m calling the police. The message had come through an hour earlier, around the time Tyler had left. She wished she could access the previous messages, but the phone was, of course, locked.

Genevieve didn’t think twice. She hurried to the small office located off the kitchen, found the employee file on Tyler, and flipped open the folder. Stapled to the inside cover was his job application. She scanned it quickly for his address, scribbled it on a Post-it note, and stuck the note on her phone. Something about the address felt vaguely familiar to her, but she shooed away the thought like a bothersome fly. There was no time left to lose.

The streets of Pinewood were winter dark, her beloved town quiet and serene. Genevieve drove past Haley Park and turned onto Grove Street, taking in the small brick houses, wondering at the fact that a killer might dwell in one, or be targeting his next victim.

Some houses were already decorated for Halloween—iridescent ghosts dancing over lawns, orange and purple bulbs strung across rooflines, glistening cobwebs spread thickly on hedges.

Genevieve found the address and parked on the street. She shut off her engine and clicked off her lights, suddenly awash in silence and darkness. Taking a deep breath, she opened the car door and grabbed Tyler’s phone from the dashboard. There had been no more messages.

She walked resolutely up the driveway, past a neglected garden, up to the house with peeling paint, and knocked firmly on the door. There was a series of loud thumps and then Tyler’s face appeared, looking even more clouded with tension than usual. His expression cleared at the sight of her, however, into something like actual fear.

“What are you doing here?” he asked quickly, stepping outside and straight into her personal space. He shut the door behind him, leaving her again in darkness. She did not back away but tipped her chin up defiantly.

“You left your phone,” she said, pressing it against his chest. She kept her eyes trained on his face, watching carefully for his reaction. At first he looked taken aback, and then his features settled into their usual hardness. He took the phone from her and met her gaze.

“I think you have a new message,” she said.

His eyes didn’t leave hers. From behind him, somewhere in the house, came a small crash. Genevieve’s gaze flickered to the door, but Tyler didn’t even flinch. “Thank you for returning my phone,” he said evenly. “But you need to leave now.”

“Is there someone⁠—?”