Just because she could. Dropping a bomb made her feel so much better.

BETH LEE, A COMPULSIVE TV WATCHER, couldn’t find a single thing on as she sat on the couch facing a dark TV screen. No QVC. No Food Network. Not even that channel where people make over their living room with a designer who “reveals the décor in you.”

If it was so totally you, Beth would snicker to herself, then why did your house look like Goodwill was your decorator?

Nothing could take her mind off her troubles right then. She considered getting out the sketchbook and drawing, but she knew there wasn’t enough black pencil in the world to fit her mood. Her stomach was knotted like one of those nets her father used to take shrimping on Hood Canal.

Beth’s phone broke the spell of her pity party. She looked at the screen and couldn’t believe her eyes.

What does she want? Must be a butt dial.

“Hey, Starla,” Beth said without emotion.

“Lizzie-B-e-e!”

No one had called Beth that since first grade. It was the kind of nickname that other people thought was cute but Beth would rather forget. The way Starla Larsen dragged out the last syllable made it even more cringeworthy.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“I heard some really disturbing news and I just had to call to give you my support,” Starla said.

“What did you hear?” Beth asked, now wishing she hadn’t answered the phone.

Starla hesitated a little, as if conflicted about what she was going to say.

“I heard that they are questioning you about the murder of Olivia Grant.”

Beth’s heart fell like someone had yanked it out and bungee-corded it off the Tacoma Narrows Bridge. She didn’t say anything. She almost couldn’t breathe.

“You know, your exchange student,” Starla said.

Not wanting to give Starla the satisfaction of riling her up, Beth answered casually, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Beth was irritated and angry at the same time. Starla was obviously feigning concern and was fishing for more information. The last time Starla called her was in sixth grade when she was doing a book report on China and wanted to know the length of the Great Wall.

“You know, in miles,” Starla had said.

“Sorry,” Beth had answered, though she wasn’t sorry at all. “I don’t know how deep the Grand Canyon is either.”

To which Starla had famously replied, “Why would I ever ask that? That’s in America. Don’t you just know about the Great Wall? Aren’t you Chinese?”

But that was then. This was now. This was about a murder investigation.

Starla went in for the kill. “I heard that you’re the prime suspect because you had a fight with Olivia the night of the party and the police have evidence against you.”

“Who told you this bit of news?” Beth asked, doing her best to remain cool, which wasn’t easy.

“A friend,” Starla said. “Let’s just leave it at that. You don’t have to get all over me because I just called to help. Circumstances beyond my control have pushed me in the direction of the juvenile justice system and, well, I just think that if you’re in trouble you need to know that I’m here for you.”

“Thank you, Starla. I really appreciate your thoughtlessness. I mean thoughtfulness.”

Beth didn’t even wait for Starla to answer. She cut the call short and hung up.

A friend? Beth had told only one person that she thought she was in trouble. Why did Taylor tell Starla, the girl who wanted nothing more than to be the center of attention, all day, and every day?

KEVIN RYAN ON DEADLINE was not a pretty sight. He looked more like the criminals he was writing about than the purveyor of their sordid stories. When he was racing to the finish, Kevin didn’t shave and he didn’t shower until noon. Hygiene could wait during the crunch of getting a book off to his New York publisher. He even wore the same ratty Levi’s for three days (at least that’s what he’d admit to—his daughters thought it was closer to five).

As he tapped away on his keyboard, he heard a pounding at the front door that came with the fury of a WWF wrestler. He turned and looked out the window. He had been expecting a FedEx with some jail mug shots from a county so small and backwards it didn’t have a scanner. No familiar delivery truck, but still the very persistent and bruising knock.

“Taylor, can you get that?” he called out.

No answer. She probably had her headphones on.

Kevin sighed, saved his file, and scooted down the hallway. En route to the door, he noted that the chronically pathetic Boston fern on the entry table looked like it needed water or a quick trip to the compost pile. He’d opt for water, if he’d only remember to do it.

He swung open the door to a fuming, looking-for-trouble Beth Lee.

“Hi, Beth,” he said, immediately noticing her puffy, red eyes.

Barely making eye contact, Beth asked, “Hey, Mr. Ryan. Is Taylor here? I need to talk to her . . . now.”

Kevin had known Beth since she was a baby. While Beth wasn’t on the bus the day of the crash, her sister, Christina, had been, and the tragedy had brought the two families close together.

“You okay?” he asked, knowing that she wasn’t okay at all. He opened the door wider.

She looked up at him and shook her head. “No, I’m not. I’m really, really upset.”

“About Olivia?” he asked.

Beth turned her gaze downward. “No. I mean, yes, about Olivia, but mostly about Taylor.”

Upset about Taylor? He didn’t even want to ask.

“She’s in her room. Go on up.”

Beth pushed past him, her familiar Doc Martens hitting the floor-boards hard. She disappeared up the stairs.

Kevin shut the door wondering how he was going to survive teenage drama with all the regular drama that seemed to permeate Port Gamble like a thick fog.

A second later, Beth Lee appeared in Taylor’s doorway.

“Hey,” Taylor said, looking up from her laptop. She pulled off her earbuds. “I didn’t know you were coming over.”

“I can’t believe you told Starla,” Beth said, still in the doorway.

Taylor cocked her head a little. “Told her what?”

Beth had told herself that she was going to say what was on her mind and then leave. She was not going to cry. She hated crying in front of anyone. And yet, she could feel the tightness of her throat, throttling her, trying to force her to do so.

She fought it hard.

“You know damn well what you told her. I thought we were friends and that I could trust you. I feel bad enough about Olivia and everything and I didn’t need you of all people to make things worse.”

Taylor got off her bed.“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Really.”

Beth held out her hand, keeping Taylor at arm’s length.

“You know something?” she said, her eyes now brimming with tears.

“After Christina died, I felt like you were my family. Your mom, your dad, but mostly you and your sister were my family. I knew I couldn’t ever match the kind of closeness that you and Hayley have. I get that. I understand the whole twin thing. But you made me feel like I was your sister.”

“You are like a sister to us, to me,” Taylor said, confused.

Beth crossed her arms. “That’s almost funny. Because as much as I know you have complained to me about Hayley and Colton and everything, I’ve never once said anything to either one of them. I figured you needed a sounding board, separate from Hayley.”

“I do, and you are it,” Taylor said.

“Part of me was a little bit glad that you felt left out. I’ve always felt a little left out. Now I know that when I’m really scared, when I really need someone to support me, you aren’t that person. You told Starla something I wanted to keep between us.”

“I never told her anything,” Taylor said.

Beth was shaking she was so mad, so hurt. “You know what really bites, Taylor? You can look right at me and lie.”