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scares the crap out of me is that whoever did it is probably someone we know.”
    â€œI was thinking the same thing,” Hayley said. “We sort of knew everyone who was there. Brianna bragged that hundreds of kids were coming, but really, I’d be surprised if more than fifty were there.”
    Taylor did a quick mental count. “Forty, I’d say.”
    â€œAnybody could have done it—but who did, and why?” Hayley asked. “I don’t think I’m going to learn a single thing in class today.
    Can’t concentrate.”
    â€œYou, me, and the rest of the school.”
    It was then that the first text message came through to both twins’ cell phones. Neither teen recognized the texter’s handle or the phone number the message came from:
    CASE FILE #613-7H: I KNOW WHO KILLED HER.
    The girls read their screens in disbelief. Time froze in the tiled halls of Kingston High. The air stopped moving. It was like a lid had been dropped over them and they were completely and utterly alone.
    â€œWho do you think sent this?” Taylor whispered, an edge of panic in her voice.
    â€œCould be anyone,” Hayley said, looking around. “Maybe it’s him —her killer.” She pressed her palm into her stomach. She was sure she was going to hurl and that would not be something she would want to ever, ever do at school.
    â€œWhat should we do? Should we tell someone? Should we text back and find out what they want?”
    â€œNo. Remember Dad’s rule about texting strangers.”
    Hayley rolled her eyes at her sister. Their crime-writer dad, Kevin, had drilled it into them in fifth grade when they got their first cell phones. It was a cardinal rule, though the specific number—as he actually and annoyingly numbered his rules—she couldn’t recall just then:
    â€œNever respond to someone you don’t know. By your answering him, the creep knows that the message was received and could get more aggressive.”
    â€œYou’re right,” Taylor said. “It’s better not to tell anyone and hope Text Creeper doesn’t text us again . . . the freak. And as much as it unnerves me to get his—”
    â€œâ€”or her,” Hayley interrupted.
    Taylor nodded. “Right. As much as it unnerves me to get his or her texts, we need to figure out who killed Olivia.”
    â€œWho,” Hayley added, “and why?”
    â€œAre you going to do that all day?” Taylor asked.
    â€œMaybe. I like precision and you know it.”
    Even if they weren’t going to tell their parents about the texter, the girls decided they should share the news about what happened to Olivia before it reached their parents, Valerie and Kevin, through Port Gamble’s super-speedy grapevine.
    Fifteen minutes before the first bell rang, the twins made the calls. Taylor called their mother, a psychiatric nurse, who was on the ferry headed toward her job at Puget Sound Hospital near Seattle. Because she worked such long hours, it was more like her second home. As the ship’s engines roared, Valerie Ryan soothed Taylor the best that she could.
    â€œAre you girls all right?” she asked. “You just saw Olivia last night. You must be so upset. I wish this ferry was coming home.”
    â€œIt’s all right, Mom,” Taylor said. “There really isn’t anything you can do.”
    Hayley had their father on her phone.
    â€œDid they arrest someone?” he asked.
    â€œI don’t know,” Hayley said. “I don’t think so. Beth didn’t say much.”
    â€œHow is Beth?” Kevin asked.
    â€œI don’t know. We haven’t seen her yet today.”
    Hayley told their father they’d check in later if they heard anything. He said he’d do the same. On her phone, Taylor made the same promise to her mother.
    â€œLove you, Mom,” Taylor said.
    â€œLove you, Dad,” Hayley said.
    The girls put