Upstairs on the third floor, Natalie found Daisy’s old classroom, where twenty-five bored-looking students sat fidgeting in their seats, jiggling their feet, and tapping their pens. The substitute teacher wrote instructions on the whiteboard, her silver-rinsed hair cropped short and layered like rose petals.
Outside the door, a makeshift memorial covered a small area of space on the floor—an overflowing pile of flowers, stuffed animals, unlit candles, and thoughtful handwritten notes. Natalie picked one up at random. “I will miss your beautiful smile and your encouraging words.” Nearby were five items carefully arranged in a circle—a bird feather, a stone, a votive candle, a Dixie cup full of water, and a picture of Ms. Buckner cut out of last year’s yearbook.
Natalie recognized the Wiccan ritual honoring the dead. The four items surrounding Daisy’s picture represented air, earth, fire, and water. Natalie and her friends used to perform a similar ritual on occasion. You sat in a circle, holding hands and chanting, “I call upon the elements, and invite the powers of the four directions to watch over Ms. Buckner’s soul. By air and earth and fire and rain, we will remember you.”
There weren’t that many actual witches in Burning Lake, although Wicca was a legitimate religion now. It had been legal to practice since 1986 due to a landmark court decision, but the local Wiccans made sure everyone understood they only did white magic, and that they had nothing to do with Satanism, which was another breed altogether. There were two official adult covens listed in the phone book, with about eighty members each, but there were many more unofficial covens hidden from public view. On the surface, it would appear that Burning Lake had a sparse Wiccan population, but that was due to the fact that many of them were still in the broom closet.
Conversely, no one knew exactly how many practicing Satanists there were in Burning Lake, except for the small group of about two dozen adherents who’d planted their church here. Rumors of animal sacrifices and devil worship had floated around for years, but the police investigations into, say, last year’s spate of missing pets, had subsequently exonerated the church members, who seemed for the most part to be nice people.
During her sophomore year in high school, Natalie had formed her own coven with her best friends Bobby, Adam, Max, and Bella. The love, the bond between these five friends, had once been so solid, so unbreakable—never would they not be linked somehow, they swore, across time and space, regardless of where life hurled them. They would be like quantum particles, always feeling what the others felt, even if they were thousands of miles apart. This just had to be true. Sixteen-year-old Natalie couldn’t imagine it otherwise.
For Natalie, high school had been a living, breathing nightmare. Rumors spread like wildfire. Nobody trusted anybody else. Natalie and her artsy friends knew that they sucked—but at least they sucked with integrity. They prided themselves on standing up for the underdog. Their defensive weapons of choice were snark and derision. They called themselves “brilliant misfits”—in private, where there was no need for modesty. They amused themselves by boasting about how talented they were, since it boosted their morale. On the outside, they were losers. On the inside, they outshone the entire school.
During Natalie’s witchy phase, she and her friends would stay out long after sunset, watching dusk dissolve into twilight, and twilight disappear into a velvety blackness, where the stars blinked on one by one, and they worked their magic—hexing other kids who picked on them, wishing luck to those in need, relishing their newfound sense of empowerment. But the deeper she and her friends got into the concept of evil, the more her thoughts touched on the wet, squishy sound of a stick stabbing into the bloated guts of a dead raccoon … the one thing she wished to erase from her mind.
Of course, reality was vastly different from adolescent hopes and dreams, and Natalie hadn’t heard from any of her old pals in quite some time. After Bella ran away, they all took off for college, scattering across the country. Occasionally, she’d bump into Bobby Deckhart, who was working as an accountant now, or Max Callahan, who was developing some sort of music app. But Bella was gone. Drugs took Adam.
Now she continued down the hallway, looking for room 312. She paused in front of Ethan Hathaway’s English lit class at the end of the corridor. The room was filled to capacity. The students were mostly silent. Not a lot of foot-jiggling. All eyes were on Mr. Hathaway, a tall handsome man who leaned against the lectern and read aloud from a book of poetry.
Natalie didn’t know much about Hathaway, only what Grace had told her. He was fortysomething and unhitched—a prize catch in this town. Except that, according to Grace, he’d gotten mixed reviews from some of the ladies he’d dated. They called him antisocial, standoffish, bookish, too serious.
Now she observed the sophomore class through the glass panel. Most of the girls were paying rapt attention, but not everyone was impressed. The boys in back looked bored, propping their chins in their hands and slouching over their desks, idly tracing flaws in the varnished wood.
The English teacher was a good-looking man. Tall, bespectacled, and square-jawed, with toned, sinewy limbs. He spoke calmly, with conviction, and possessed the kind of dignified sincerity that wasn’t easy to fake. No wonder some of his students had crushes on him. He paused for dramatic effect before turning the page and continuing in a stage whisper, “‘O, that you were yourself! But, love, you are…’”
Some of the girls practically swooned.
Ellie was seated up front between her two best friends, India Cochran and Berkley Auberdine. Another close friend, Sadie Myers, sat next to Berkley. India’s black skirt was inappropriately short, and she swung her long leg with seductive synchronicity, while nodding to the sound of Hathaway’s voice. Ellie, Berkley, and Sadie were doing variations of the same theme. Four hypnotized seductresses. And yet, despite the Goth attire, Natalie was struck by Ellie’s clean-scrubbed earnestness.
She’d known these girls since they were fat little babies. She’d been to all of Ellie’s birthday parties and had witnessed many dramas. She recalled sitting in the kitchen with Grace and overhearing little blooms of laughter followed by little outbursts of disagreement. During the sugar highs, Ellie and her friends would run around the yard, twirling their colorful skirts like flowers that had grown legs.
Today, they were dressed head-to-toe in witchy black—okay, so this was the coven. Ellie, India, Berkley, and Sadie. Four fast friends. Hanging out in New Age bookstores and metaphysical shops after school, just like Natalie and her friends had done.
Funny—her niece had never mentioned Riley before, and Grace monitored Ellie’s friendships closely. If Riley knew India well enough to drop by her house after school, then Ellie would certainly know about it.
Natalie checked her watch. Fifteen minutes to kill before next period. She logged on to Instagram and perused India’s social media pages. It felt wrong to be spying on them, like a transgression. They still called her Aunt Natalie. Once upon a time it was Auntie N. She knew their lovely mothers. It troubled Natalie deeply, but she knew she would have to reconcile her dual roles in their lives going forward.
There was nothing posted on India’s Instagram or Facebook pages yesterday, which was odd, because she posted something almost every day—plates of food, shoes in her closet, selfies. Next Natalie scrolled through Ellie’s social media pages, feeling rather sick about it. How many times had she advised her niece to use caution? Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, Facebook. The internet was forever.
Natalie didn’t find anything of significance on any of the girls’ accounts and put away her phone. Hathaway’s class was winding down. The girls in the front row were still mesmerized—India with her jet-black hair and strangely adult gaze, more mature than the others; Sadie with her pixie lisp and multiply pierced ears; lithe, aristocratic Berkley, whose single flaw was her slightly droopy eyelids behind designer glasses. These weren’t the school misfits or cast-offs, nerdy losers or artsy types. They were the brightest, smartest, and cleverest of the bunch. Churchgoers and members of the Honor Society. Straight-A students. Natalie had always been amazed by them. She adored them—although some of their personality traits could use a little improvement. For instance, India could be manipulative; Berkley could be surprisingly cold; Sadie wasn’t as intellectually curious as she needed to be; and Ellie could be honest to the point of rudeness, like her father, Burke.
Natalie had a flash of Ellie as a toddler in the wintertime, walking stiffly in her quilted jumpsuit, like an astronaut taking her first steps on Mars. God, they grew up fast.
The bell rang.
The students grabbed their backpacks and shot up from their seats.
“Just remember,” Hathaway said above the ruckus, “switch off your phones and open your minds. I want summaries of chapters nine and ten on my desk by noon tomorrow.” He closed the book of poetry and smiled at the stream of students flowing out the door, and Natalie had to step back to avoid getting bowled over.
A handful of girls lingered after class, including Ellie and her friends. Natalie listened in on the conversation. They were devastated by Ms. Buckner’s death, grief-stricken and seeking comfort. Lots of flushed faces and choked voices. At one point, they all spoke at once, then laughed awkwardly and tried again.
Hathaway responded warmly and earnestly, like a favorite uncle. He was good at this. He quoted Edna St. Vincent Millay and Toni Morrison. They ended in a group hug—with one another, not with Mr. Hathaway. He was careful not to touch them.
Finally, the girls filed out the door.
Natalie tapped India on the arm. “Can I speak with you a second?”
The sixteen-year-old seemed startled. “Aunt Natalie? What’s wrong?”
“Let’s go back into the classroom, I’m sure Mr. Hathaway won’t mind.”
“Um … okay.”
“Go on, I’ll be right in,” Natalie told her.
Puzzled, India said good-bye to her friends while Natalie turned to Ellie and asked, “How are you feeling?”
“Not great,” her niece confessed with taut jaw muscles. “Mom’s an emotional wreck, and I just lost my bracelet.” She showed Natalie her pale wrist. “The one you gave me last year. It’s my favorite.”
“I’m so sorry, Ellie,” Natalie said with disappointment. The scarab-link bracelet was a museum reproduction made of turquoise, pewter, and brass. Ellie had always been fascinated by mummies and archeology, and she’d read that scarabs were an ancient Egyptian symbol for immortality. When Natalie saw the bracelet, she just knew Ellie would love it. “Did you retrace your steps?”
“Yeah, I’ve looked everywhere.” Ellie rubbed her wrist. “I love that bracelet.”
“What about the lost-and-found box?”
Her eyes lit up. “I’ll go check it out. Thanks, Aunt Natalie. See you after school.”
“Two thirty.”
“Bye.” Ellie took off after her friends.
Natalie joined India inside the vacant classroom. “Sorry to barge in on you like this,” she told Hathaway. “I’m Detective Lockhart. I don’t believe we’ve met. I need to borrow your classroom for a few minutes. Is that okay?”
He glanced at his watch. “Sure. My next class starts in fifteen minutes, though.”
“Just enough time.”
Hathaway at a distance was easy on the eyes. But upon closer inspection, he seemed worn-out this morning—gaunt cheeks, a pallid complexion, a few missed spots shaving. “You’re Grace’s sister, right?” he said.
“Natalie.” They shook hands.
“I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“All good, I hope.” She smiled.
“Are you kidding me? Grace won’t stop bragging about you in the faculty lounge. Anyway, I’ll go fetch a cup of coffee,” he told them, and left the room.
India touched her damp forehead. “I really can’t be late for class.”
“That’s okay, I’ll make it quick,” Natalie said, closing the door. “Have a seat.”
Despite the fact that Natalie had known India forever, she didn’t really know her. Sixteen-year-old India Cochran was a bit of a mystery. She looked like a model for Teen Vogue in her fitted black skirt with the metal zippers down both sides, her retro boots, her slim black T-shirt, and tailored velvet jacket. India’s face was narrow and catlike, with sly, curious eyes. Whereas Ellie wore her heart on her sleeve and gave you her opinion on everything from world peace to ketchup, India was more circumspect, as if she were afraid to reveal her true self. Natalie had observed the four of them for years, and she occasionally caught India bossing the other girls around when she thought nobody was looking.
Now India tugged on her skirt and swung her leg with barely veiled impatience.
“Did you see Riley Skinner after school yesterday?” Natalie asked.
“Riley? No. I was over at Berkley’s house,” she said, blinking a little. “Why?”
“Just you and Berkley?”
“No, we were all there. Me, Sadie, Ellie, and Berk.”
Natalie grew vaguely troubled. She recalled Grace saying yesterday that Ellie had “a thing” after school, and realized this was what she meant.
“And you’re sure you didn’t see Riley after school?” Natalie pressed.
“No, Aunt Natalie.”
“I’m speaking to you as a police detective now. You don’t have to answer my questions, India, but I’m trying to find out what happened to Ms. Buckner. Does Riley drop by your house often?”
“God, no. He doesn’t drop by. He’s, like, my stalker,” India explained.
“Your stalker?”
She nodded. “Yeah. He’ll drive past my house a dozen times a day. Or else he’ll hang around the hallways after class … waiting to catch a glimpse of me, I guess.”
“Okay. Well, someone told me Riley was planning on visiting you after school yesterday,” Natalie said. “Was that misinformation?”
India twisted her long black ponytail around her slender fingers and smoothed a few wisps of hair off her damp neck. “Who told you that?”
“I can’t reveal the information, sorry.”
“Because it’s not true. No way. I mean, maybe he drove past my house, but I wasn’t there,” she said with a shrug. “I was at Berkley’s, like I said.”
“You said he’s your stalker? Have you contacted the police?”
“No.” She shifted uneasily.
“Why not, India? Does your mother know Riley’s stalking you?”
“It’s not like that, Aunt Natalie. It’s … complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
“We used to be friends,” she admitted, glancing at her nails. “But he wanted to take it to the next level, and I didn’t.”
“Oh. So when you say ‘friends,’ how close were you?” Natalie asked.
“Just friends.” There was a sheen of sweat on India’s face.
“Maybe he drove over to Berkley’s house then?”
“He didn’t even know I was there,” India said, visibly upset. “Unless someone told him. In which case, I suppose he could’ve driven past Berk’s house, but he didn’t stop by to say hello or anything.”
“Then it’s possible Riley may have driven past Berkley’s house, stalking you, as you say … but you never actually saw him or spoke to him?”
“That’s right.” She adjusted the black leather bracelet around her wrist, sliding it down, and Natalie noticed a small tattoo on the inner part of her wrist. A small red rose surrounded by twisted barbed wire.
India quickly tucked the leather bracelet back in place and heaved a sigh.
Natalie leaned forward. “India, has Riley ever threatened you?”
“No. That’s stupid. Was it Kermit who said that?” She tipped her head furiously. “Did he tell you Riley was coming to see me? Because, seriously … that guy is such a loser.”
“You said Riley was stalking you … do you ever feel unsafe?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, he’d rap about us sometimes.”
“Rap about you?”
“In his songs.” Her eyes glazed over. “He made it sound like I’d betrayed him, but that’s the furthest thing from the truth. We were never a ‘thing,’ except in his head.”
“Did you ever feel threatened by the lyrics in his songs?”
She shrugged it off. “Just because he raps about us doesn’t make it true.”
“Do you think Riley was stalking Ms. Buckner, too?”
She crossed her arms tightly. “Why would he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I mean … maybe. Riley is totally self-sabotaging.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “I’m sorry, Aunt Natalie, but I’m under extreme stress right now. I don’t exactly feel safe.”
“Why not?”
She tapped her foot nervously. “Because you keep asking me all these questions, and I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
“Oh.” Natalie drew back. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to confuse you. I’ve been asking people questions all morning. You’re just one of those people.”
India sighed hard. “Well, look, we all loved Ms. Buckner, are you kidding me? She was totally cool. If you ever needed extra credit or wanted to throw a bake sale or something, she’d be there for you. She was helping us raise money for the girls’ athletic scholarship, and she hosted the prom committee at her house, where she served us tea and cookies. It was really nice.”
The bell rang.
India sat forward, palms open. “I can’t be late for class, Auntie N.”
It was the first time India had called her that in many moons, and it tugged at Natalie’s heartstrings, but at the same time, it felt slightly manipulative.
Natalie handed the girl her business card. “Tell your teacher I detained you, okay? If she needs anything else, have her call me.”
“Okay, I will. Thanks. Bye.” India scooped up her book bag and hurried away.
Natalie’s phone buzzed, and she checked the number. It was Luke.
“Any luck?” he asked.
“Owen Kottler forgot to delete his Instagram posts showing that he and Kermit Hughes were with Riley last night at Haymarket Field.”
“Good. Let’s see if we can get the boys’ parents to bring them in for a formal interview. In the meantime, the autopsy’s in fifteen minutes.”
“Meet you at the morgue,” she said and hung up.