I got the first six inches dug and then, panting from the effort and heat, decided to come back and finish later, when the sun wasn’t so high overhead. When had it turned to summer? I leaned the shovel against a lemon tree and went inside to shower and put on shorts and a T-shirt. I put the shoe box back in my closet, where Mom wouldn’t happen across it.

Speaking of my mother, by the time I finished showering, it was time to text her back, but I couldn’t find my phone. I walked down to the kitchen and found it sitting on the counter. I chugged a glass of water and absently checked my texts.

There were eight new ones.

I frowned and sat down at the kitchen table, scrolling through them.

There was one from Wyatt — Going to the place to look at the stuff wink wink — that made me laugh. His next one was a little strange, though. Have you heard from Marnie today by any chance?

Then there was another one from Mom: Jonathan accidentally packed your laptop. Do you have his with you at Marnie’s?

And then one from an unknown number with a 213 area code: This is Kelly Delaine, Marnie’s mom. Have you seen her? We are so worried.

Wyatt: Marnie hasn’t been home since yesterday morning.

I was glad I was sitting down, because my breath was shallow and quick. I dreaded continuing down the list.

From the 213 number again, Marnie’s mom: Sorry to bother you. Please call when you can. Very concerned.

Another text from Mom: Reed will be getting in touch to pick up Jonathan’s computer, okay? Text me when you wake up.

From Wyatt: Marnie is missing and the police think it may be the serial killer. I’m home now, call when you can.

My phone rang in my hand, surprising me so much that I dropped it. It hit the table with a clatter. I managed to pick it up.

“Hello?” I said, my voice shaking.

“Willa?” It was an unfamiliar female voice.

“Yes?”

“This is Kelly Delaine calling.” Her voice was breathless, verging on panicked. “I’m sorry to bother you — I didn’t know if you’d seen my texts. I just wanted to know if you’d heard from Marnie at all. Or if you were aware of any plans she might have had for yesterday or today.”

“Um … no,” I said. “I’m really sorry. I haven’t seen her since Thursday.”

Her mother exhaled in this long, slow, hopeless way that sent a spike of fear straight through my heart. Then she thanked me and hung up, and I sat in the kitchen shaking — actually shivering like a scared person in a movie.

With trembling fingers, I called Wyatt.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and serious.

“I just talked to Mrs. Delaine.”

“Marnie never came home,” he said. “It turns out she’s been sneaking out to auditions. Her parents had no idea.”

“Auditions? Like, to be an actress?” I asked, shaking my head. “She never said a word about that to me.”

Although she did talk once about how much she detested actors. And going by Marnie’s logic, that basically meant she was dying to be one.

“Do the police really think it could be …?” I couldn’t even finish the thought. No matter how strange things got between me and Marnie, I couldn’t bear the idea of something happening to her.

I swallowed.

“Yeah,” Wyatt said quietly.

“She never even hinted at it,” I said, then had a flash of memory. “Well, wait. The last time I talked to her, she said she might have big news, whatever that means. Maybe she thought she was going to get a role in something?”

“What kind of role?” he asked.

“Let me think,” I said, closing my eyes.

What was it Marnie had said to me, during that conversation? Something odd. Uncharacteristic. Almost like she was quoting a movie or something.

I pictured her staring intently down at me from behind her cat-eye frames.

“He’s no gentleman, see?” she’d said.

Still holding the phone, I ran into the den and perched in front of the computer. Quickly, I typed those words into the search bar. There were no results — until I deleted the word he.

“Detour,” I said.

“What?” Wyatt asked.

“On Tuesday, Marnie quoted a line from a movie called Detour. Maybe she was memorizing the script for her audition.” I scanned the screen.

“We should tell someone,” Wyatt said. “We should — Dad?”

“What?” I asked.

“Hang on, Willa.”

The sound was muffled, like he’d set the phone down, and then there were loud voices and lots of thudding footsteps.

“Wyatt?” I asked, gripping the phone tightly. “Are you okay?”

“Kind of,” he said, sounding rushed. “But I can’t talk right now.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because I’m getting arrested.”

Then he hung up.

I stared at my phone, paralyzed. This was too much to process. Wyatt arrested, Marnie missing …?

I needed to call Mom. I would have to confess that I’d lied about staying with the Delaines, but honestly I wasn’t even afraid of that. I just wanted her home so I wouldn’t be alone. It was irrational to think that the murderer would come after me now, but fear isn’t the most rational force in the universe, is it?

The low-battery warning popped up on my phone, and I got up to take it to the charging cord that was always plugged in by the entrance to the kitchen.

The charger was gone — Mom or Jonathan must have packed it. But I noticed for the first time a little white envelope leaning against the back door. I slipped open the door and grabbed it. The logo in the corner said Pool Pros Inc., and someone had scrawled, Jonathan, I found your stepdaughter’s necklace in the filter.

My necklace …?

With my heart in my throat, I dumped the contents of the envelope into my open palm.

It was a thin silver chain, with a solid silver charm.

A rose.

I stepped back.

This was the necklace from my visions.

I buried my face in my hands, my whole body tingling with dismay. My first instinct was to call Wyatt — but then I realized that he was probably on his way to jail.

Think, Willa, think.

This was the necklace I’d seen in my visions — but only in three of them. Brianna’s, Faith’s, and … and the one we couldn’t identify, with the roses on the table.

The one where the victim had taken the necklace off and put it in her pocket, so it might fall out and be discovered.

And it had fallen out. And it had been discovered …

In our pool.

I got a flash of the ghostly body floating serenely overhead that first night, while I kicked and struggled at the bottom of the pool.

“Oh, God,” I whispered. “It was Paige, it was Paige, it was Paige.”

The phone buzzed in my hand. The battery bar was red, and I just had a chance to see a text from Mom before it died altogether:

Jonathan’s going to meet Reed halfway. He feels bad making Reed do a 4 hour round trip.

I had another charger up in my bedroom. I turned to leave the kitchen, but stopped in my tracks when I saw the hallway.

The walls were covered in writing, words that were familiar to me by now …

THIS IS THE KIND OF DREAM YOU DON’T WAKE UP FROM, HENRY

Written over and over and over.

“I get it, Paige,” I said. “I understand.”

I peered toward the foyer and saw that the words were there, too. They seemed to cover every surface in the house.

I spun back to look around the kitchen, only to see that these walls weren’t the exception — except, instead of the line about Henry, they were covered with the number 818 — 818 818 818 818 818 818 818 —