Jamie was right: we weren’t going to see anything. The cutoff to Anna’s Run was blocked by three police cars. More cars were parked by the side of the road where the asphalt met prairie grass. I slowed Janine to a crawl. Over the rush of the river, I heard men’s voices calling back and forth as they moved through the woods.
“They’re looking for something,” Jamie said.
I didn’t have much time to think about it. We’d been spotted by a cop, and he was on his way over. And it wasn’t just any cop. It was Deputy Chief Bryson, my personal nemesis in the Jefferson-Lorne PD. That man has it in for me, and he has since before he caught me stuffed in the coat check with his son at homecoming. I stifled the urge to roll the window up and speed away.
Bryson leaned on the windowsill. “Can I help you fine folks?” he said, giving me an impressive stink eye.
Jamie tried to be my white knight. “We’re just driving to school, sir.”
Bryson’s eyes never left my face. “Don’t you live on the other side of town, Miss Vanderly?”
“I’m giving my fine friend a ride.” I batted my eyes. “We’re stopping for breakfast burritos. Want to come?”
Bryson glared at me a moment longer. I was sure he’d ask us to pull over so he could check the car for weed—don’t have any, by the way. But someone shouted to him, and he stepped away instead. “Drive on. And don’t come back this way. You don’t have business here, Miss Vanderly.”
All in all, not the worst encounter with Bryson. As I put Janine in first, Jamie slumped over and let his head thump against the dash. “Why did we do that?” he moaned. “What if he tells Mom you drove me to school?”
“Relax,” I said, patting his knee. “He’s obviously got more to worry about than your personal life.” I watched the scene as it receded in the rearview mirror. More cars were pulling up to the side of the road, disgorging adults in suits and uniforms. It looked like the beginnings of a search party. Or a manhunt. “Is that the FBI? Ooh, I bet they’re looking for the sex cult.”
Jamie wasn’t in the mood anymore. “We shouldn’t make assumptions about anything. Starting a bunch of rumors at school isn’t going to help.”
I just laughed. “Okay, Mom.”
Jamie busied himself on his phone as I drove. Resentment hung heavy in the air around him. “What are you reading?” I asked, to change the mood.
“More Lily Fransen stuff. Can’t they just move on already?”
“No,” I said shortly, earning another weird look from Jamie. “Let’s face it, the only justice she’ll ever get is Senator Hunterton’s name being dragged through the mud as long as possible. I don’t want to let it go.”
“But what if he’s innocent?” Jamie said.
Classic. The first question is always But what if he’s innocent? It’s never But what if he’s guilty and she spent the last twenty-five years living with the trauma of being molested as a teen, with no recourse to justice?
I guess that sentence doesn’t fit well on a bumper sticker.
“Jamie, don’t make me explain to you what a fuckwit you’re being,” I said. He slid down in his chair and kept scrolling.
Then he gasped. “Holy shit.”
“What?” I checked the rearview reflexively. No cops following us, no deer waiting to jump into the road.
“Have you seen this?” He practically shoved his phone in my face.
“Jamie, hon. Driving.”
I thought it was, like, a cat video. Or another meme of Lily Fransen’s ugly crying face at the Senator Hunterton hearings.
I never expected that video.
We pulled into the Jefferson-Lorne parking lot and I finally grabbed the phone. That was when I realized the serious size of this shitstorm.
I couldn’t identify anyone from it. It was super grainy, obviously shot in the middle of the night on a crappy camera. And I couldn’t hear anything, either. The river’s roar filled the speakers. But I could make out the two figures—one light, one dark. One short, one tall. Standing on the bridge over Anna’s Run.
Then the dark one moved, and suddenly only one person stood on the bridge. The light one was gone in a flash of pale hair. The railing leaned, splintered, over the water. The frame froze.
“Holy shit,” I repeated.
“Right?”
I would have been happy to turn Janine around and drive right back out of the school lot. But Jamie put a hand on my arm, and that hand somehow found a way down to my hand and squeezed. “It’ll be okay,” he said. Like I said, he’s the sweetest liar. And it got me out of the car.
A Fort Collins PD car was parked at the curb by the foot of the stairs. You guys sure don’t waste any time. As soon as I laid eyes on it, I knew that the dead girl was someone from here. And I knew that you all would want to talk to me.
The Loudmouth Slut always has something to answer for, right?
2
The Wolves
The hall is still, noiseless, like the reservoir before a storm. The air is thick with grief and shock. Three students push through the fog of it, their movements muted, their heels silent on the linoleum floor.
Still, everyone knows. The wolves are coming.
The office door opens and Claude Vanderly stomps out. She looks like she wants to break this storm, smash the quiet at the top of her lungs. Shatter the fragile shell that has encased everyone and let the rage out. She runs her bitten fingernails through box-black hair and slings her backpack over one shoulder. Then she turns and slams into the three girls. Their books and phones smash to the ground. Claude crouches and grabs for her things without looking up.
“If it isn’t Vampirella.” One of the girls smiles. “Lurking in broad daylight.”
The girls couldn’t be more her opposite: Short and petite, where Claude is tall and lanky. Their cuteness belies a sharpness in how they move together, as if in sync, as if everything they do in life is part of a cheer routine.
The two on the outside are dressed in black, but not like Claude—they’re dressed for mourning, not making a statement. The girl in the middle, their leader, sports a pink sweater over her dark skirt and leggings.
This is Avery Cross. The queen of the wolves—in sheep’s clothing, of course. Her blond hair is pulled into its customary high ponytail on her head.
“So. You’re next.” Claude rises, looking Avery up and down.
“You talked to them?” Avery asks.
Claude shrugs one shoulder. “Talked, fielded questions about my lifestyle—whatever.”
The two girls to either side of Avery close in, ready to protect their own. Claude’s expression turns momentarily to derision as she gives them a cursory glance.
“I think—I think it’s nice that you’re helping with the investigation.”
Claude’s snort is more angry than amused. “Helping? Nobody helps the pigs, Aves. At least, nobody smart.”
Avery lifts her chin. “I’m helping.” She bounces on the balls of her feet.
Claude’s eyebrows go up. She smiles and cocks her head. “Like I said.”
The girls to either side of Avery bristle. “And what did they want you for, Supergoth? Are you a prime suspect?” asks a girl with a brown ponytail to match Avery’s.