Beth returned the gaze of Edward Grant. “I packed all of Olivia’s stuff for you. She might have some things at school,” Beth said. “I can check her locker tomorrow, if you like.”

Edward nodded. “That would be nice. Thank you, Beth.”

“Do you want to see where she was staying?” she asked.

“Please,” Winnie said.

They all got up and followed Beth down the hall to Christina’s old bedroom—Olivia’s during her stay. On the floor next to the crisply made, canopy bed—a sunny yellow and white affair that was too young for a teenager but certainly appropriate for a little girl—were Olivia’s four Louis Vuitton suitcases. Stuck in the mirror frame above the dresser were magazine pictures of Hollywood stars, American singers, and a single photo of Olivia and Beth. It had been taken the day Olivia died, with Beth’s Polaroid camera, her mom’s latest garage-sale find. In the photo, the girls were smiling, carefree, and utterly unaware of what the next eight hours had in store.

At the time it was snapped, Beth and Olivia had just returned from costume shopping at Spookaporium, the former mega-bookstore turned Halloween superstore across the street from the decidedly unglamorous Kitsap Mall. Both had ruled out trampy and skimpy, including a naughty nurse and a slinky mermaid number with a clamshell bra and chiffon fins.

“How is one supposed to walk in that?” Olivia had asked, laughing at the ridiculous and impractical costume.

“I don’t intend to walk. I’m going to just sit on the couch with a drink and flip my tail at cute boys,” Beth had joked back, feeling happy for the first time in a long, long time.

Olivia would never replace Christina, but living together, she provided Beth with a reminder of what it was like to have a sister.

In the end, Olivia had chosen a simple ghost costume, complete with cutout eye holes. Beth had just stuck a pair of chopsticks in her re-dyed black hair and snapped off an arm-length Polaroid of the two of them just as Drew arrived to whisk Olivia to the party early, ruining everything.

THE DOORBELL JANGLED BETH back to the present, and Kim Lee hurried off to answer it. A moment later, Hayley, Taylor, and Colton entered the now-exceedingly crowded bedroom. They introduced themselves, and Edward nodded. Winnie managed a smile as she studied the teens. Colton spoke up. “We’re all really sorry for your loss.”

“I imagine you would be,” Olivia’s father said. “I heard you were the one who took her to the party, didn’t you?”

The tone was a tad more than accusatory. Indeed, right then it seemed Olivia’s father had an interrogator’s spotlight on Colton and he was doing his best to sweat out the truth.

Colton shook his head. “Actually, no,” he said. “She went to the party earlier with Drew, Brianna’s boyfriend. Brianna asked her to come early to help set up. We got to the party later.”

“Oh, I see,” Edward said. “You were at the location of my daughter’s murder later. All of you were there.”

Awkwardness permeated the sad little bedroom.

“Yes, Mr. Grant,” Hayley finally said.

Edward’s face reddened and the veins in his neck thickened. “You were supposed to keep her safe. Treat her like she was part of the family. That’s what the website promised, right, Winnie?”

Winnie didn’t have a chance to respond.

“We really liked Olivia,” Taylor said, her face turning pink with anger. “We came over to tell you that what happened to Olivia was vile, worse than the worst thing that could happen, but if you think for one second that we are responsible in any way, then you are dead wrong.”

Bad choice of words, Hayley thought, though she didn’t say so. She liked it when Taylor was provoked into standing her ground. She needed to do more of that. Pushing the father of a dead girl into a corner probably wasn’t the best practice of a needed skill, though.

Like a bantam hen, Kim Lee, the shortest person in the room, huddled the teens together. They were good kids and there was no way, even in the depths of their grief, that the Grants should be unkind to them. Not in her house, anyway.

“I don’t know what more we can tell you,” Kim added. “I’m sure the police can tell you more.”

Winnie spoke up. “Our first stop was the constable’s office in Port Orchard.”

“Anything encouraging in the investigation?” Kim asked.

“Nothing yet,” Winnie said, letting her words hang in the air. “Nothing we can really say. We don’t want to impede their efforts by disclosing any details of the investigation.”

“Of course not,” Kim said.

Edward scooped up the two largest suitcases. “I’d like to meet Brianna.”

“I could take you to her,” Colton said.

“No need. We have a rental car with GPS,” Winnie said, picking up the rest of Olivia’s luggage. “I’m sure we can manage. We managed the long drive from Seattle to this,” she paused, “—this charming outpost.” Her words, of course, didn’t match her sentiments. Without saying so, it was clear that she’d thought very little of Port Gamble.

Taylor wondered what Olivia’s mom would have really liked to have said just then.

“We found our way to your insufferable little hamlet in the middle of nowhere.”

Or, maybe:

“I would have rather had my daughter die in Seattle than here. In Seattle, at least, they have some decent hotels.”

“I think we’ll be going,” Hayley said, looking at her sister and Colton.

“Thanks for coming,” Beth said.

Kim put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “We’ve had a very long, sad day.”

“You haven’t the slightest idea what long and sad is,” Edward replied, in his clipped British accent.

Kim did, of course. She let it slide, however. There was no point in arm wrestling to see whose loss was greater. Things like that could never really be measured. There’s no getting over it. No setting it aside. She knew that Olivia’s father’s bitter affect was all about his deep, unabated grief.

As a final parting shot, Winnie turned to Kim and commented, “I told that girl to take a different set of luggage. But she didn’t listen. She never did. I warned her that American people get killed every single day for wearing status shoes. I told her she’d be a target walking around the airport with her Louis Vuitton. I saw on the news that a couple from Germany was killed outside of Disneyland for the husband’s Rolex. America is a very dangerous place.”

Kim wanted to defend her country and point out that no one killed Olivia for her designer luggage.

The truth was that no one, not Kim or the police, knew why Olivia had been savagely murdered Halloween night.

And only one person, maybe two, knew who the killer was.

BRANDY CONNORS BAKER FANNED OUT the bills that had piled up on the copper-topped dining table of her Seattle condominium. All around her, boxes of her belongings sat in three neat piles: Sell, give away, and keep. The Sell boxes had dwindled over the past few months. She’d put everything of true value up on Craigslist and watched as her assets dwindled. She had nothing left. No second husband. Though she hadn’t told a soul—especially her daughter and ex-husband—Robby had left her months ago. No youthful face and not enough money for Botox.

In the place of what used to be her perfect life was a stack of bills and a kind of emptiness that she’d never imagined. Her emotions swung back to something more familiar: disappointment and unbridled anger.

How could things have turned out the way they had? It was so unfair.

She surveyed the mess all around her and then picked up her phone. Brianna had put her photo on the contact button, and Brandy pushed it with her glossy red fingernail.

There was no answer. The call went to voice mail.

“Hey! This is Bree. Leave a message. But make it short. I get bored easily. Bye!”

Brandy left a message. “I hope you are all right, Honey. . . . I love you so much.”