He opens his mouth, closes it, and scowls at me.

My mother laughs.

“I’m not sure I’m getting paid enough to deal with both of you,” Nate mutters.

“I’ll be by to pick you up at six,” my mom says, and then she tells Nate, “Don’t let them out of the house.”

He nods, and she leaves. I see her pause on the porch until the door is locked. After a half wave, she walks away—and I slump against the door for a moment. I know she’s worried, but I feel like she’s overreacting. From the tidbits I overheard and the news reports, it sounds like both Micki Adams and Amy Crowne were out at night or early morning when they were killed. I know the killer seems likely to be Jessupite, but I’m not the sort of girl who spends any time with the locals—at least not alone. Eva is my only close friend, and she’s very obviously not the killer.

I’m not as convinced as she is that Robert is innocent. When the detective asked if he could kill Amy to make amends for cheating on Eva, I thought it seemed crazy, but I think a lot of things here seem crazy. And sometimes, I think Robert and his friends are the kings of all that’s crazy. Still, I know that Eva understands them in a way I don’t, and if she thinks Robert is unable to do these awful things, I mostly trust her. I still wouldn’t go anywhere alone with him, but I’m not about to start pursuing him with pitchforks or whatever they use in lynch mobs in Jessup these days.

“She’s in the kitchen,” Nate says, and then he walks away, leaving me standing in the foyer. I think he’s actually surlier than usual. I wasn’t sure such a state was even possible, and after the way that Eva and Nate seemed to be getting along, I’m a little shocked.

When I go into the kitchen, I find Eva staring blankly at a stuffed pepper; she doesn’t look any happier than Nate does.

“Eva?”

She looks up and gives me a small smile. “Hey.”

“Are you okay?”

“No. Nate and I”—she turns to stare at the empty doorway; Nate hasn’t followed me—“had a difference of opinion.”

I pull out a chair and sit beside her. “About?”

She looks a little lost for a moment, her gaze drifting to the doorway again. “Apparently, our little man-slut has thought I was worth the time for years, but he’s decided for both of us that nothing can happen.”

“I’m sorry.” I reach out, but then remember her belief that being touched evokes death visions, so I don’t touch her hand. Instead, I let my hand rest near her, so she can take it if she needs.

“He held me while I slept, you know? He listens, and he says all the right things.” She huffs and mutters, “Except when he tells me that kissing me was a mistake.”

“Kissing you?”

“Today.” She gestures toward the living room where, presumably, the kiss happened. The doorway is still empty, but the source of her frustration is somewhere in the house. She shoves her plate away and lowers her head to the table before saying, “I have lousy taste in boys.”

She looks past me then, and I follow her gaze to see Nate.

“I’m going upstairs,” Eva announces.

At that, she presses her lips together and holds out a hand for her crutches.

“I could carry you,” he starts.

“No.”

Mutely, Nate hands her crutches to her.

When Eva and I reach her room, she sits on her bed, and after I put her crutches on the floor, I sit next to her.

“I don’t want to fight with him,” she whispers.

For a moment, she’s so tense that I can actually see her muscles clench. Then, she shakes her head and says, “Will you hand me my laptop?”

She pulls up her notes, and she lets me read her thoughts on the flowers and on her death visions. It’s creepy to read about my death and about Nate’s death alongside details about people who actually died. She has a few details about the killer though, and it’s the first time I’ve hoped she really could see deaths.

We start to try to figure who the killer’s next victims will be, but I don’t know any logical way to narrow in on who’s the most vulnerable. “What do the three of you have in common?”

“We’re all girls who are finishing our junior year at Jessup,” Eva says. “That leaves a lot of possible victims though.”

“You and Amy both dated Robert,” I add.

“Micki didn’t. Neither did Nate.” She frowns. “Or you. You were both future victims.”

“If Nate is really a victim, the girl part of the similarity is out too,” I point out reluctantly.

She grows quiet for a moment, but then, she shakes her head. “Right. So what do we know?”

“That the killer sent you a message. I hate to say it, but the one thing everyone has in common is you. Somehow everyone is tied to you.”

“Micki and I weren’t close, though. You, Nate, Amy, I see a connection there, but Micki doesn’t fit.” Eva lets out a small noise of frustration. “If it’s girls, Nate doesn’t fit. If it’s people who . . . get around, you and Micki don’t fit.”

“Maybe not here, but before I moved here . . .” I leave the words unsaid, but Eva knows about my stupid choices in Philadelphia. “Maybe someone knows that?”

“Micki was a virgin. So that pattern doesn’t fit.”

“Maybe it’s not a pattern,” I suggest. “Maybe it’s what they ‘mean’ to you . . . or something entirely different.”