“They’ve discovered a black hole that’s seventy times bigger than the sun,” he said.
“Fascinating.” She set her milk on the coffee table and sank onto the couch next to him. The soft velvet felt luxurious. She took a huge bite of her sandwich and momentarily closed her eyes, savoring the wonderful flood of endorphins.
“Rough night?” Her dad reached over and plucked a chip off her plate.
“Just long.”
“How’d we do?”
“A little over four hundred.”
“That’s up from last Wednesday.”
“By fifty bucks,” Genevieve agreed. She wiped her hands on her napkin and reached for the milk. “We debuted a new flavor today; that always brings in more customers.”
“Ah, right.” He took another chip. “That Winter Fudge mix-up you mentioned. How’d it turn out then?”
Genevieve sat up straighter and looked at him in mock offense. “Um, perfect, of course. Irresistible. Mouth-watering. Just like all of my creations.”
He smiled. They fell silent as Genevieve finished her sandwich and milk. Onscreen, the simulated image of the black hole rotated in swirls of volcanic red.
“How’s Tyler doing, anyway?”
Genevieve stiffened, but her dad was too involved in the program to notice. She decided he was just making small talk. “He’s getting a lot better,” she admitted. Also, he may be a murderer, Dad, or at least guilty of conspiracy to commit murder. You might want to take that into consideration when his evaluation’s due.
“Good.”
They split the rest of the chips, and then Genevieve leaned over, kissed him on his grizzled cheek, and said goodnight.
Upstairs, she changed into her pajamas and brushed her long dark hair. Then she crawled into bed and began sifting through the stack of mail her dad had placed on her bedside table. There were coupons for the candle shop on Main and a catalog featuring winter wear at her favorite clothes shop, Stitches.
“Ooh.” Genevieve flipped to the shoes section, thinking she should really get some sleep but also she really needed a new pair of ankle boots to pair with her lengthier autumn dresses, and couldn’t she also use a few cardigans? Of course she could. You could never have enough cardigans. Something in a deep fall red that would complement her dark jeans and Cherry on Top lipstick...
An envelope tucked between the pages slid out onto her lap, and she stared at it blankly for a moment, then felt her mood darken.
It was from the University of Arizona in Tucson.
Genevieve picked up the envelope. It felt heavy in her hands, like a stone. She opened it.
Dear Miss Winterland: Thank you for submitting your application to the University of Arizona. While our admissions office works on processing your information, please take some time to tour campus virtually at our website and explore the enclosed brochure for programs of study, student life, and the history of our institution.
The campus was beautiful, of course. A landscape of red brick buildings and bursts of palm trees framed by the spectacular Santa Catalina mountains. Beaming students were pictured waving blue U of A flags in the desert sunshine, engaging in important-looking research, and posing with Wilbur and Wilma Wildcat at a packed football game.
Genevieve tossed aside the marketing materials with a sigh. She tried to imagine herself, one of tens of thousands of students, strolling around campus, meeting for late night or early morning study sessions at the Starbucks, and cheering on sports teams at sweaty and overcrowded venues.
She tried to imagine her shop run by someone else, taken over by strangers, not family.
Why did everyone think you had to leave home to gain independence? Why was ripping yourself away from everything you loved considered an admirable rite of passage?
Genevieve, heart burning, opened her laptop and typed in Pinewood, Arizona. She clicked on the official tourism site and watched the page load. Images of a quaint town that looked more like a village, snow-capped mountains in the background. A forest of pine trees and gently rolling hills. Charming downtown shops, parks filled with families, small children playing on the jungle gym.
Welcome home to Pinewood, where you’re already part of the family. Her dad had written that, had put into words exactly how she felt about her hometown. His job was to convince people to visit Pinewood, vacation here, breathe the clean mountain air, fish in the lakes, hike in the woods, spend afternoons strolling the historic downtown with its charming small-town shops. His job was to sell people on the dream of Pinewood, visiting here, and then staying here.
Should it be any wonder that he’d sold her on his dream?
Genevieve shut the laptop and folded the letter back into its envelope. She set them both on her bedside table and snapped off the lamp. As she burrowed under her thick blankets, she forced all thoughts of college from her mind.
She tried to force out thoughts of Tyler too, and Ms. Pierce, and Miss Love. But those wouldn’t fade easily. College, after all, was still a lifetime away. But this was now. She had a mystery to solve.
Who was the roommate? Why hadn’t they called 911? And why did the address on Grove Street seem familiar?
Exhausted, Genevieve closed her eyes, and immediately fell asleep. And it was then, untethered in the landscape of her dreams, that the answers came to her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE WITNESS
In her dreams, a shadow haunted her, familiar voices she could not yet name mingling in indistinct whispers that surrounded her like mist. She turned slowly, stretching out her fingers in the darkness, trying to grasp anything solid, to catch a whisper like a firefly in her fist and peek at it, fluttering, caught.
She heard the sharp, confident laughter of Miss Love and saw the bright flash of pink hair streaking across the darkness; she saw a blurred sweep of frizzy red hair and heard the jeering taunts of Ms. Pierce echoing through her memory. She stumbled and threw out one trembling hand and finally grabbed more than air. Her hand tightened on something solid that felt like a tree branch, hard and sinewy, and the unknown whisper grew louder as the branch flexed beneath her hand.
It was an arm she held, the arm of a person whose face it was still too dark to see, and she tried to yank her hand away, but she couldn’t move. Genevieve stood frozen as the figure slowly began to appear; light was filling the room and suddenly she could see. The figure was at least a head taller than she, with broad shoulders and black hair. And as he came fully into focus, his face creased in anger, the whisper became clear, and she knew.
Genevieve gasped and sat up in bed, wincing against the sunlight pouring in through her window. Her heart was pounding. What day was it? Saturday. She never slept this late.
She lunged for her bedside table and yanked open the top drawer, pulling out the printed sheet of staff information from Pinewood High. Genevieve once more scanned the list of addresses. “Oh my goodness, of course,” she exclaimed to the empty room. Snatching her phone out from beneath her pillow, she hastily texted Brandon.
I know what Tyler’s motive is! she typed, and drummed her fingers impatiently as she waited for the read receipt. But she knew it was useless. Brandon was like a slug on weekends; he never woke before noon unless he absolutely had to. He’d probably crashed out on his recliner as the light was dawning, after playing video games all night long.
