DAPHNE’S MOTHER DIDN’T ASK questions; she just drove us downtown when we asked, pretending to ignore the heavy, forced silence filling the car. I’d never been more grateful for Daphne’s rocky relationship with her mother; she’d clearly learned not to ask too many questions. Which was for the best, because we didn’t have any answers.

But we knew someone who surely did.

“Taylor! Noelle!” I called as we burst into Burnett’s. The storm had let up just enough so that I didn’t feel like we were about to be blown into the ocean, but it was still raining. Raining hard enough that my hair was damp and my boots made squeaky noises on the shop’s tiled floor.

Daphne, Shaggy, and Scooby were on my heels. Even before we looked in the back room, I could tell the place was empty. No one was here. The store just gave off that vibe—like someone had abandoned it in a hurry.

I could relate. Standing in Burnett’s, thinking about how Noelle had told us nothing but lies, I’d expected to feel a low-grade rage simmering inside me. Instead I just felt hollow. Empty. I felt unmoored; adrift.

“Hello?” Daphne called futilely. She checked the front door again. “Why would Noelle leave this door unlocked?”

“We know you’re here,” I lied, my voice reverberating off the walls. “And we know you lied to us! The jewels are fake!”

Daphne circled behind the register, and I ducked under tables and peeked my head into the storage closet. Scooby sniffed around while Shaggy scratched his head and looked guilty. “I feel bad. Like, we shouldn’t be in here without either of them,” he said.

“Noelle’s the one who should feel guilty,” I snapped. “She told the world the jewels were real!” She told me the jewels were real, too, and I’d been cursing myself for my mistake ever since.

“They’re definitely not here,” Daphne said, wearily twisting her wet hair into a ponytail. “Which means …”

“Maybe they’re down at the beach with the rest of Crystal Cove?” Shaggy suggested offhandedly, pointing out the window. People were streaming by, just like they had the first time the jewels had washed ashore. I narrowed my eyes as I watched their heads bob by. Just like last time, everyone had received texts and calls and alerts that more jewels had appeared, that they should hurry to the beach to be part of the spectacle. For a moment déjà vu overwhelmed me. All this had happened already, and now it was happening again.

“Wait.” I spun on my heels to face Daphne. “We know that the last time the jewels washed up, it was a diversion. Taylor needed the Rogers house empty in order to steal the Crystal.”

Daphne stared at me for a beat, processing. Then she blanched. “Shaggy … where are your parents?”

He glanced at his phone. “My mom’s at the beach, she just texted me. My dad’s probably on his way, too.” Then his eyes bulged. “My house. It’s empty right now.”

I met Daphne’s eyes. We were both thinking the same thing.

“Shaggy, go!” I said.

Shaggy paused to glance at Daphne, who nodded. Then he and Scooby bolted for the door, running against the tide of people streaming toward the beach.

“What now?” Daphne asked.

“Now, we search for clues.” I joined Daphne behind the register.

“Nothing out of the ordinary yet,” she said, scanning the shelves under the counter. “Some paperwork—invoices, receipts, stuff like that. A few scraps of paper that have some weird names crossed out on them.” She rifled through the random papers stacked around the old-fashioned register Noelle still had on the counter, although these days it was just for show—like the rest of Crystal Cove, Burnett’s was a mix of retro charm and new technology—and then moved on to the small filing cabinet against the back wall.

To the side of the register was an open door, leading to a tiny storage room and office. There was a computer precariously positioned on the edge of a small table crowded with boxes, jewelry stands, and mannequin hands. “I’ll take the storage room,” I said.

I flipped on the light switch, wondering where to start. We had to get this right this time, and I felt the pressure pulling at my insides, twisting my stomach. We’d come this far, and now we needed proof. I refused to be made a fool of again, not when we were this close to answers.

I began digging through boxes, looking for something that would trigger that gut feeling I got whenever I was on the brink of solving a mystery. The hollowness inside me had morphed into something that felt, disappointingly, like shame; like embarrassment. It sat on my tongue like a bad spice. One of the reasons I hated the Detective Dinkley nickname Daphne had given me after our falling out was because it was meant to be diminishing. To make me feel less for wanting to solve mysteries. Because, according to everyone else, a kid can’t be a detective.

But I wasn’t a kid anymore. I could solve mysteries, and I did. Together, with Daphne, we pieced together clues, filled in gaps, and found answers.

And that’s why I couldn’t stop blaming myself for not seeing this sooner. Noelle had lied to us from the beginning, even before any jewels had washed ashore or the Crystal had been stolen. Why hadn’t I paid attention to that? Why hadn’t I checked out Taylor a little more closely?

I knew why, I realized, turning over another box on the table in Noelle’s office. I’d been distracted by something wholly unexpected and completely rattling.

And his name was Fred Jones.

“Anything?” Daphne asked.

“Not yet,” I replied, trying to push the image of Fred’s blond hair, his smile, out of my mind. I’d been distracted by Fred all week. I’d let myself think that maybe, possibly, there was more for me here in Crystal Cove than just being Detective Dinkley, resident freak. The kid who thought she was smarter than everybody else but who would never be taken seriously; who would always be looked through, talked over, shut out.

Well, I wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Crunch.

My boot had hit something under the cramped table. I lifted it up.

“Daph?” I said quietly.

“Mmm?”

“Come here.”

“Just a sec. I’m almost done with this stack.”

I didn’t move. Even my foot, the one that had crushed the thing under the table, was still raised. I looked like a frozen flamingo.

“Why are you—Oh!”

Daphne rushed over and crouched down, shining her flashlight under the table. I dropped my foot, caught my balance, and joined her.

Bright red broken bits dotted the floor, like spatters of blood at a crime scene.

I reached out and fingered one of the pieces. It was sharp. “Glass,” I breathed. Quickly, we gathered up all the bits—probably fifteen or so—and tried to piece them back together like a puzzle.

“Another ruby,” Daphne murmured.

She was right. Pieced back together was a ruby. Or at least, what looked like a ruby. A fake one, made of glass that looked authentic. It was identical to the one we’d found in the Haunted Village.

“It’s like your mom said,” I told Daphne, regret thrumming in my throat. “It’s a damn good fake.”