According to her directions, the cabin was approximately four miles from the turnoff. When her odometer read two point five miles, Genevieve steered her car off the path, parked it behind a cluster of trees, and cut the engine.

Silence descended. She looked over at Butterscotch, and Butterscotch looked back at her. The dog seemed to sense the need to be completely quiet. Her ears were folded back, and her wide brown eyes sparkled with awareness.

“This is it, girl,” Genevieve said quietly. “Let’s go.”

She slung the camera bag over her shoulder and opened the door. The fragrant scent of pine enveloped her, along with the steely October air. Shivering, Genevieve tugged on her mittens, and pulled her jacket from the backpack. Butterscotch had already leaped out and padded over to her side, leaning into her legs as if to offer warmth.

As stealthily as possible, Genevieve shut the car door, wincing at the metallic echo. She shrugged into her jacket and together she and Butterscotch began to pick their way through the woods. Brittle twigs and dried leaves snapped and crunched underfoot.

Despite the danger of her mission, Genevieve couldn’t help but appreciate the beauty of the forest. Showy ferns spread their leafy fronds over the forest floor, and aspens, bursting with shimmery gold, were dropping their autumn leaves—even as she watched, a twin pair separated from their gently swaying branch and fluttered to the ground.

What at first had seemed a soundless place suddenly teemed with life, reflected in the sounds of nature so easily taken for granted: branches swaying, tiny birds singing, and squirrels rustling in the trees.

Genevieve checked the pedometer clipped to her belt loop and estimated they were about halfway to the cabin. In another quarter mile or so they should be able to view it. When that happened, Genevieve would stake out a location distant enough to stay unseen yet close enough for a chance to collect some photographic evidence.

As they neared their destination, Genevieve’s pace began to slow. Her heart was thudding painfully against her ribs, as if she’d run a five-mile marathon, but they were mostly on even ground. She realized uneasily that it was fear making her chest ache. The shuffling of leaves underfoot suddenly seemed to echo—she was sure her footsteps could be heard for miles.

Genevieve stopped abruptly, as if frozen in place, and tried taking slow, deep breaths, but it was no use. She was gulping at the cold air, breathing too fast, and a rushing sensation flooded her ears, making her feel dizzy. She knew the air was cold, but she felt so hot...

Sinking to her knees, she unzipped her jacket and pulled off her mittens, and then Butterscotch was there, licking her hand, nudging her gently. “I’m okay,” Genevieve whispered. She locked her arms around the dog’s warm neck and hugged her. “I just got scared for a minute.” She took a moment to collect herself, and then rose, now steady again on her feet. “Come on, girl” she said firmly, both to Butterscotch and to herself. “We’re almost there.”

The cabin appeared suddenly, emerging from a tall stand of pine trees nestled at the bottom of a small hill. Startled, Genevieve ducked behind a wide oak and, after a moment, peered around the trunk for another look at the hideout.

It was a simple, rustic, A-frame log cabin with a wood shingled roof. On the porch was a swinging bench and a couple of white wicker chairs. A stone chimney puffed out a steady cloud of smoke, completing the idyllic scene. And parked on the west side of the cabin was Principal Mattison’s blue pickup truck.

She’d been right. They were here.

Genevieve felt a hot bolt of anger. She turned away from the cabin and carefully unslung the camera bag. As Butterscotch watched curiously, Genevieve unzipped the bag, pulled out the camera, and attached the lens. She estimated they were about fifty yards away from the cabin. She had a clear view of the front door, but she would need to cross to the other side of her little hill to be able to see the front and back doors, as well as the side entrance, at the same time.

Crouching low, Genevieve crab-walked to a stand of thorny bushes positioned between a pair of Ponderosa pine trees. It wasn’t as good a cover as the wide trunk of the oak tree but it provided her with the view she needed. Butterscotch followed, a little reluctantly, and Genevieve hissed as she raised her camera and promptly suffered a scratch across her hand from a thorn.

Through the camera lens she surveyed the cabin, keeping perfectly still, waiting. Time seemed to stretch indefinitely, losing meaning as she forced herself to stay hunkered down with her sightline pinned to one place. It was so unlike Genevieve to stay still that it took intense focus and willpower to simply survey the cabin; her blood thrummed in her veins with a desire to take action, to move. Brandon was much more suited to this, she lamented, and suddenly she wished he was there with her. She remembered Mellie’s story of the two of them running around the neighborhood with their spy gear and walkie-talkies, and despite her aching knees and the infernal cold, Genevieve smiled.

A little more than an hour later, she heard the double chirp of a vehicle remote, and the taillights on the pickup truck flashed. Genevieve held her breath and concentrated on the cabin doors. And then everything happened at once.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

TEACHABLE MOMENTS

Butterscotch had leaped up at the sound of the car remote. Her ears were pinned back, her hackles raised, and a low growl emitted from her throat. Laying a hand on the dog’s neck, which was humming like a live wire, Genevieve realized Butterscotch was not looking at the cabin. Her blood froze. “What—” she began, but as she turned to see what Butterscotch was staring at, she knew.

Genevieve stood to face the killer of Pinewood High.

She looked as sweet and innocent as Genevieve remembered, although her pink hair had been dyed a midnight black. Haylie Love stood about fifty feet away and was smiling coldly at Genevieve. In one hand she held the truck remote, in the other she wielded an object that looked like a flashlight.

“Surprised to see me?” she asked brightly.

“No,” Genevieve said. “I knew you’d be here.”

“You were my very brightest student; I recognized it the first day we met,” Miss Love said, and then her voice lowered dangerously. “I suppose that means you figured everything else out, too?”

Genevieve cocked an eyebrow. “You mean how you killed Ms. Pierce, convinced your boyfriend to help you make it look like a suicide, and faked your own death?”

Miss Love had cringed at the word boyfriend. “He’s not my boyfriend,” she snapped, tossing a glance over her shoulder in disgust. Genevieve noted with dismay that the direction in which she had glanced was away from the cabin.

Somewhere in the woods.

“Whatever he is,” Genevieve said, “he’s not a killer. You were the one with a motive all along.”

Miss Love raised the black object and took a step forward. Butterscotch lowered her golden head and growled, positioning herself in front of Genevieve.

“Oh look, how sweet,” Miss Love said. “You have a loyal dog, too.” She waved the object in her hand and tilted her head curiously. “Do you know what this is?”

Genevieve didn’t answer her. She was trying to judge the distance between them and the path to her car, wondering if she could outrun the murderous teacher in unfamiliar terrain. She probably could, but the larger problem was she still didn’t know where Principal Mattison was. He might be at the car. Waiting for her.

“This,” Miss Love continued, “is a taser with a two-million-volt capacity. I only need to be twenty feet away from you, or your dog, to discharge it. What’s Blondie weigh? Seventy, seventy-five pounds? I’m afraid the voltage might kill her. It’s only meant to stun, of course, but then again, you never know with these things you get off the Internet.” She shrugged and pulled her face into a mock-sad expression.

“Butterscotch,” Genevieve said firmly, without taking her eyes off Miss Love. “Stay.” Butterscotch whined softly and sat.

“Oh, very good!” Miss Love exclaimed. “Good doggie! My own loyal dog also does just what I tell him; I’ve trained him well. Incidentally, Miss Winterland, he is at this very moment on an extended walk to a lovely little meadow about three miles away. It’s my favorite spot to send him to pick me flowers when I need some... alone time.” She giggled, and Genevieve’s stomach turned. “You see, dear Marty is much too soft-hearted, and so when I was jogging along my favorite path earlier and happened to spot your car off the side of the road—you aren’t nearly as clever as you believe, honey—I raced back here and sent dear Marty away. And then I grabbed my nifty little weapon and circled around to wait for you. Wasn’t that a lucky break?”

“The police know everything,” Genevieve bluffed.

“Oh please,” Miss Love sneered. “If they knew, they would be here and not you. Maybe you tried to tell them, but they wouldn’t listen. Who’d listen to a know-it-all snotty teenager like you?”

Incredibly, despite everything, Genevieve felt her heart break a little at the words. She had adored this woman, trusted her, believed in her. And all along she was only pretending. She probably didn’t even like kids. And then Genevieve remembered something—when she’d urged Miss Love once to visit her at Sweet Dreams, even offering to comp her a free Buttercream Dream layered sundae, the teacher had declined, stating she didn’t like ice cream. Genevieve narrowed her eyes. She should have known.

Miss Love raised the taser again and motioned Genevieve toward the cabin. “Let’s go, princess,” she said. “And remember, the doggie stays, or she gets a taste of this.”

Genevieve knelt and hugged Butterscotch close. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Don’t come after me. When I’m gone, run.”

Butterscotch pranced in place, sat and looked longingly at Genevieve as she slowly backed away with her palm held out. “Stay,” Genevieve repeated. “Stay.” Butterscotch stayed, but her legs trembled at the effort. She lifted a paw...

“Tie her up,” Miss Love snapped. “And hurry.”

Genevieve turned to her and glared. “I don’t have⁠—”

“Use the bag.”

It took Genevieve a minute to figure out what she meant, and then she remembered the camera bag still slung over her shoulder. She unhooked it and looped the long strap under an exposed tree root. She then worked the strap under Butterscotch’s collar and snapped it into place.

“You first,” Miss Love said, gesturing down the hill and Genevieve, her head held high, began walking toward the cabin, the teacher following close behind. Soon Genevieve had reached the wooden porch and could smell the deceptively homely scents of baking bread and burning wood. At Miss Love’s command, Genevieve walked inside the cabin. Outside, Butterscotch began to howl.

The cabin was sparsely furnished with a plush red sofa, a charcoal gray area rug, and a dark wood coffee table. Flames crackled in the stone fireplace, and overhead was a loft from which voices could be heard, although Genevieve quickly realized it was only the sounds of a television. On the wall adjacent to the fireplace was an open window, but Genevieve would have no time to hoist herself up and pull herself through it before the teacher brought her down with the taser.

There was nowhere to run.