Chapter One

During the standstill hours of early afternoon on a day marked by bitter wind, a police
officer in a wool jacket made a welfare check at the red and beige rambler on the corner of first
and Elm. He rang the doorbell twice, knocked, shouted, and tried the doorbell again.
Local newspapers printed sensational headlines before the coroner touched scalpel to
sternum. Columns on proper gun safety lined birdcages around the county, and elderly men with
shaky penmanship kept themselves busy until bingo night, writing letters to the editor about gun
control and the wide variety of ways the world had worked back in their days. All one thousand
twenty-six residents of Arlington Falls leaned against shared fences, stabbing shovels into snow
banks next to their children's lopsided snowmen, jointly recalling conflicting details about the
couple, exchanging sighs, muttering, it's a damn shame, isn't it?
At eleven o'clock in the morning on January eighteenth, half the town turned out to
comfort grieving friends and family members, buzzing with the coroner's recent report: the
mysterious deaths of Virginia Duran and Shane Mathews were an accident. According to the
report, the pair were in Virginia's home, drunk, playing with the double-barrel shot gun hanging
above the fireplace. According to the inspector in charge of the case, the pair likely believed the
gun was either unloaded or deactivated, and decided to take a look down both barrels.
Imagine their surprise when they found out it was neither of those things. Never saw
what hit 'em, he told reporters.
Virginia's funeral was held two days before Shane's funeral, after which a handful of
people moved on to the Mathews' living room. Jenna, Michael, Ethan, and Anna stood in a
lopsided circle on the floor of Shane's childhood bedroom, untouched for twelve years by his
anxiety-prone mother. For half an hour, they sat in silence, trying to forget their friends were

dead.
Someone open a window. Jenna rolled the sleeves of her sweater to just above the
elbows. Michael stood, opened the window a crack, and leaned against sill. Outside, the falling
temperatures turned the uppermost layer of snow glossy and just solid enough to walk on,
turning the Mathews' backyard into glazed pottery. Sunlight burned pale gray through an
overcast sky. Jenna moved to stand by the open window and stared into the backyard. Anna sat
on the window sill, scratching swirls in the frost on the glass.
Ethan picked up a dusty book from Shane's dresser, flipped through it, and set it down
again. He went to stand by Anna and put an arm around her narrow shoulders. "Hey. You
alright?" Anna dropped her head to his chest, cigarette held tight between her left forefinger and
index finger.
"No."
"Wanna go for a walk?" Ethan rubbed her upper arm and she nodded.
The two-level house filled with the smell of stale cake and human skin sweating beneath
thick clothes. Ethan and Anna moved along a well-worn path in the carpet, unnoticed by people
offering condolences to Shane and Virginia's red-eyed parents and siblings. Mr. and Mrs. Duran
sat on a blue sofa, close together but not touching, unwilling to become even temporary allies in
the wake of their only daughter's death. For months, people whispered behind carefully placed
hands their latest theories about the pairs' recent separation. Their thirty-year-old son stood at the
entrance to the kitchen, holding a glass of water and listening to people reminisce about his
younger sister.
Mrs. Mathews sat on the arm of her husband's favorite chair. Her eyes were closed and
her hands sat folded in her lap, covered by Mr. Mathews' wide wrinkling hand. Mr. Mathews

talked with his four-year-old daughter, who sat on his thigh, trying to get her to understand that
her older half-brother was not at work and would not be coming home.
A few people flipped through television channels.
Outside, Anna and Ethan walked along sidewalks recently cleared of snow, ice reaching
out from the cracks between slabs of concrete. Anna clutched the crook of Ethan's arm, unsteady
on ice in shining black high heels. Their breath fogged the air and the electrical lines crackled in
the cold.
"Something isn't right." Anna said.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean..." Anna sucked her lips. "I saw something. Not long ago. I think I saw Shane and
Virginia break into Mrs. Baker's house."
"Breaking in? Anna, are you sure they weren't just checking on the place for her?" Ethan
said. She has them feed that loud-mouth cat of hers every time she flies south.
"They picked the lock on the back door."
"What are you saying?"
"It's just...they break into a house and within a week are found dead? It's a little too
convenient."
"Anna. Look." Ethan stopped and stepped in front of her, taking her gloved hands in his.
"Mrs. Baker probably asked Shane and Virginia to take care of the place again. That's all."
"But why pick the lock?"
"Maybe they forgot her key. Or maybe they weren't picking the lock. Did you get a clear
look?"
No. Anna looked toward the post-war box houses lining the street.

Well, there you go. Ethan rubbed her upper arms. Mrs. Baker would tell you if
something was wrong. She'd take out an ad in the paper.
"She isn't back yet, though. I feel like I should tell someone."
"What does this help? Even if they were breaking in, and it's a big if, Shane and Virginia
are dead. They can't be punished. Even if they did break in, neither of us know what they did in
there. You know what would happen if this got out? Their families would be in even more pain
than they are already." Ethan hugged Anna a little too tight. "Let's just keep this between us,
alright?"
Anna could not get the image of Shane and Virginia, crouched in front of Mrs. Baker's
back door, out of her head. Even so, she had to admit to herself how unlikely it was. She only
watched for a couple of minutes, hidden between the house and its garage. From there, she could
see their shoulders, bent legs, and hair. She recognized their sloping shadows before the bright
colored coats the two of them wore every winter. Virginia crouched lower, hands dancing around
each other at the keyhole. Shane leaned toward her ear, shifting his weight from foot to foot,
nearing the tipping point with each sideways bend. Anna reasoned that, given her obstructed
vantage point, she could have easily misinterpreted something as simple as searching for a
dropped key in a pile of snow. Still, something did not feel right.

Are you sure you're okay to be back? Michael, sitting straight-backed in a black office
chair, spun around to face the back of Anna's head in their shared cubical at Arlington Falls High
School. It's only been a few days.
You're back.
Yeah, but I wasn't as close to Shane and Virginia as you were. He sipped his coffee, and

looked over Anna's shoulder at the papers she was marking. Worksheets or exams?
Worksheets. Anna said, her voice crisp. She checked off wrong answers, and made
corrections in the margins. He leaned so close she could smell his aftershave. Do you have to do
that?
Do what?
Sit so close.
I'm just worried about you, Anna.
Well, don't be, She said under her breath. After a thick pause, Anna said, without
turning, Is Mrs. Baker back from her trip yet, do you know?
Yeah, she is. I saw her earlier, she's subbing for Jeremy. Why? Michael stayed near her,
though she could no longer feel his breath on her neck.
Just wondering.
She finished marking papers, picked up the stack and tapped them against her desk,
making certain every edge was flush before clipping them together and sliding them into a neat
folder labeled 'Fifth Period Algebra II', then slid the folder into the files in the large bottom
drawer of her desk. She picked up her mug of coffee and took a gulp. Her mouth pursed and nose
wrinkled as if the mug contained sour milk. It was cold. She stood and saw Michael facing his
computer, busying himself with lesson plans. At the entrance to their cube she paused, holding
the mug in front of her blouse-covered chest, hands curled around its cup. Her left index finger
traced the printed image of Garfield in a blue nightdress and cap, pulling down a window blind.
Michael.
Hm? He responded without turning. Anna was used to the intensity with which he felt
even a casual dismissal.

I'm getting more coffee.

Mm.
Do you want any? She leaned against the edge of the opening and stumbled, forgetting
how unstable cubicle walls are.
Yeah, alright. He said, coughing back a laugh. Time for a break, anyway. Just let me
log out.
They walked in silence down the narrow hall created by cubicle walls and the drywall
edge of the wide room, listening to the drone of phone calls to the main office, the clack of
keyboards, and the scratching of pens and pencils. At the end of the hall, a door stood ajar
between a water fountain and an aging copying machine. The teacher's lounge was a small,
depressing room. Two light bulbs flickered in a ceiling light tucked into the opposite corner,
continuing their month-long struggle to stay lit. Mrs. Baker and Sara Jacobson, the French
teacher, sat at opposite ends of a duck-taped couch. Sara leaned against the left arm, her long red
hair sticking to the edges of the tape.
Oh, hello, Anna. Hello, Michael. Mrs. Baker gave the two of them an amused smile,
hands folded in her floral lap. Sara turned and waved them over, gesturing to the empty plastic
chairs surrounding a round, steel-legged table in the middle of the room.
Even after years of teaching, Anna felt uncomfortable in the teacher's lounge. With her
former English teacher sitting across from her, asking thinly veiled, leading questions about her
personal life only made her feel like a troubled student whose teacher had invited her in, hoping
to quell whatever disturbance lay within her gut. It did not help that the room was sparse and
aging. The flickering light gave her a headache if she stayed in the room for more than ten
minutes. But this was where the coffee maker sat, humble and steaming on a tile counter top, its

electrical cable lying precariously close to a stainless steel sink with a drip like clockwork.
How's your sister? Sara asked between sandwich bites.
Oh, she's just fine, thank you for asking, dear. Mrs. Baker smiled and patted Sara's free
hand. But you know, it's the strangest thing. I seem to have misplaced a few things.
Anna's head snapped up. Like what? She slid to the edge of her seat, fighting to keep
herself from shaking the old woman who took so long to answer.
Well, let's see. Mrs. Baker sucked in her cheeks, then her lips. She released her face in a
sigh, sinking her frail body into the fraying couch cushions. First thing I noticed missing was
my necklace. She fingered the man's wedding band she wore around her neck and chuckled.
Not this one of course. I still have a few of my marbles clanking around. No, my mother's silver
and sapphire necklace. And a ring. Gold with a single ruby, it was a gift from, let's see, my first
husband, I think. Phillip never had much sense for jewelry.
Were they valuable? Anna said.
Well, I'm attached to them, sure. But yes, both of them are worth a pretty penny. Mrs.
Baker's eyes narrowed. There's no reward.
What?
You're awfully interested, dear. Makes an old woman nervous.
Oh. No, I just....I'm just curious. Anna curled toward the back of the chair, face hot.
Although... Mrs. Baker shifted her weight from hip to hip, eyes downcast. My back
door... She popped each knuckle, one by one. My back door had all these scratches, around the
door knob...and across the keyhole. And I'd swear I saw something shining in the snow. Probably
a bit of something from the trash, there have been racoons in and out of my yard like it's a
carnival.

When did you notice your necklace was missing, Mrs. Baker? Michael said.
Well let's see. She sucked in her cheeks and lips, then sighed. I got home from Missy's
on Sunday this week...around six o'clock...no, it couldn't have been that late...well, maybe, I did
eat supper on the train...or was that lunch? Mrs. Baker blinked several times in rapid succession,
like she was replaying images of her trip. Oh yes, it was both, lunch and supper, such a good
deal. They gave me a paper to read while I ate, so kind of them. Although that isn't the nicest
way to find out about that nasty business with Shane and Virginia. Forgive me, but I'm not
surprised, not one bit. Always were nice kids, mind you. Hard workers. But not a bit of common
sense between them. I'm sorry, Michael, dear, remind me what you asked?
Your necklace. Michael said, holding each letter longer than was necessary in an
attempt to keep his patience. When did you notice it was gone?
Oh, yes, I'm sorry, of course. Well, I got home at about six o'clock on Sunday evening
this week, the twentieth, I think it was, and I went in the front door, took my bags straight into
my bedroom to unpack...and when I opened my jewelry box, it was gone.
Michael and Anna exchanged concerned glances. Mrs. Baker, forgetting her mother's
necklace, looked at them the way a cat looks at a caged canary. They ignored her.

Okay, everyone, settle down, Anna said. The class bell faded from her ears, leaving
them ringing for a few seconds. Her third period Algebra One class was her rowdiest class.
Though she knew class sections were assigned randomly by a computer program, Anna found it
hard to believe that Jenny Ewers, Sabrina Richard, and Andy Horowitz were placed in the same
class by coincidence. Her efforts to separate them within the small room were unsuccessful. No
matter how many times she spoke of the benefits of a seating chart, no matter how many times

she spoke of the random seating created by pulling names out of a hat, the trouble-making trio
insisted they had been placed as far apart as was possible on purpose. Which was true, though
Anna would never admit that to her students.
Settle down, find your seats, please. Your own seat, Jenny. You too, Andy. Sabrina will
be fine on her own for the hour. The three ignored her. Jenny kicked her boot-clad feet on top of
her desk in a clear act of defiance, claiming the desk as her own for as long as she saw fit.
Sabrina, in a skirt just long enough to meet the school's dress code, laughed at something Andy
whispered to the pair of girls, head flung back and bleached hair swaying.
It was the same every day. Anna could either waste what little class time they had in an
effort to get the three of them to take her seriously, or she could ignore them and allow herself to
be undermined in front of her students. She closed her eyes and counted backward from ten,
careful to keep her lips from moving.
Girls, please. Take your assigned seats so we can begin.
Like that'll make a difference, Jenny said, snapping her strawberry-flavored gum. She
chomped like a horse chewing straw, her thin jaw working hard enough to accentuate the
muscles holding her jaw to her skull. Her cherry-red ponytail, pulled tight at the crown of her
head, only added to the effect, as it twitched like a horse's tail.
It makes a difference, Jenny.
How? She brought her feet to the floor and crossed her arms in front of her chest.
Explain it to me, please. Jenny narrowed her eyes and leaned forward, elbows resting on the
desk. Anna did not need this.
Ever since the newspapers began writing headlines about failing banks, the housing crisis,
the bursting economic bubble, Ethan had been on edge. For the last two months, he spent most of

his time at home sulking over coffee or hastily concealing fear whenever Anna joined him to
watch the evening news. The deaths of their oldest friends had done nothing to improve his
mood, and contrary students did nothing to improve hers.
It was easier to simply go on with that day's lesson than to continue a losing battle.
Handing back worksheets, she stopped at Jenny. Anna leaned in close, pretending to point to
something on the paper. I need you to stay after class, she whispered. This is not optional.
The intertwining scents of the girl's chewing gum and floral body spray pounded through Anna's
temples.
The rest of the hour passed with relative ease. To Anna's surprise, Jenny did not try to
leave with everyone else when the bell rang at the end of the hour. She put Anna in mind of a
foal. Jenny was a slight girl, with newly lengthened legs that had not yet found their balance. She
wore an expression that was difficult for Anna to read, staring into space as her gum-chewing
slowed to a stop, forgetting the piece of gum jammed between her teeth and her thin lips. Anna
leaned against her desk, knocking over the mug she purchased on a trip to visit family in Seattle,
a roughly painted skyline including the Space Needle and a sky full of star you could not see in
the real-world city. Pens and broken-tip pencils spilled across the coffee-stained calendar taped
to the exact center of her desk. She ignored the clatter, gathering herself, palms pressed against
the cool metal edge of her desk.
Do you know why I asked you to stay?
Jenny's head snapped to center, eyes wide and bright like a doll, shoulders sharp. She
settled back into herself and resumed her gum-chewing. Is it 'cause I won't jump whenever you
want? Or didja wanna talk about your dead friends?
This isn't like you. Anna sighed and shook her head. Until this semester, you were

such a good student. Now you rarely even show up for class. And when you do... Anna trailed
off. Her eyes held Jenny's, who looked away to the clock, the door, the floor, never fully
returning Anna's stare. What's going on, Jenny?
Nothin'.
I find that hard to believe. Anna focused her gaze harder, crossing her arms across her
chest. Jenny's crossed arms moved down to rest in a loose tangle on her lap, twisting together
and thin like rope.
Try harder.
Is it your new friends?
Is what my friends?
Are they...pressuring you? Anna hated herself for the way she worded the question,
biting her lower lip to keep from laughing at herself. It was the exact question Mrs. Baker had
asked her during a particularly self-righteous bout of teenage quasi-rebellion during which Anna
skipped class to smoke pilfered cigarettes in the parking lot across the street, given to her by a
boy with whom she had no chance. I can't help but notice, this behavior started at the same time
you fell in with Sabrina and Andy. I don't think they're good influences.
The laugh tickled the base of her throat, but never became audible. Jenny laughed for her.
What? 'Pressuring'? 'Influences'? She wiped imaginary tears from her cheeks. Jenny
had not laughed hard enough to cry She exaggerated the movement, a sarcastic sigh pushing her
head back and feet forward. Miss Hudson, you gotta warn me, first.
Don't get smart with me, Jenny, just answer the question.
Which one?
You know which one.

Whatever. Jenny rolled her eyes with such enthusiasm her eyebrows rose and fell like a
birch canoe on the open sea, standing and tossing her lighter-than-air backpack over one shoulder
in a single fluid motion. I don't have to stay.
Yes you do.
The hell I do. Jenny flicked back her horse tail hair, imagining herself much more
intimidating than the gawky sixteen-year-old girl she was. Her words lacked the acidity her
manner suggested, eyes warms, as if she forgot for a moment to view all figures of authority with
a mix of pity and disgust, catching herself only briefly as she stepped out the heavy blonde-wood
door, letting it slam behind her.