‌I spot Uncle Nick just as he opens his car door, and race across the parking lot to catch him before he can slide into the driver’s seat. “Where do you think you’re going?” I yell, narrowly avoiding a patch of ice that would have sent me sprawling.‌

His brows raise at the brittleness of my tone. “Heading home,” he says. “Where’s your coat? It’s freezing.”

I don’t feel the cold. I don’t feel anything. “Why are you going home?” I ask. “The dance isn’t over.”

Uncle Nick lifts his hand from the door to adjust his glasses. “I’m a little tired. Not as young as I used to be, you know.”

He gives me a smile that I can’t return. “Uncle Nick, I need—”

Somebody laughs. It’s a distance behind us, and when I turn, I see that it’s just a couple running hand in hand toward the greenhouse. Still, it jars me enough that I open Uncle Nick’s passenger door and climb inside.

“I need to talk to you,” I say.

“Okay,” Uncle Nick says cautiously. He gets behind the wheel and shuts the door, slipping the key into the ignition. “Let me turn on the heat so

you can warm up.”

“So…” There’s no easy way to say this; I just have to blurt it out. “Uncle Nick, were you arguing with Mr. Larkin in the woods on the day he died?”

My uncle goes still. “What?”

I pause, wanting to live for a few more heartbeats in the space where I don’t know anything bad. When I stalked through the gymnasium looking for Uncle Nick, memories flashed across my brain: My uncle telling me to take a step back from Mr. Larkin’s murder case. Encouraging me to look into other true-crime cases instead of this one. Saying that Mr. Larkin had a way of pressing buttons. It all seemed so innocent, so typical Uncle Nick trying to sound like Dad, that I never imagined he might have something to hide.

If he truly was arguing with Mr. Larkin in the woods that day…If Shane wasn’t mistaken, or lying…then what else did he do? My voice shakes as I say, “Shane said that he heard you, and saw you. He just told Tripp about it.”

“Ahh.” Uncle Nick heaves a deep sigh. Then he turns toward me, and as soon as I catch sight of his expression, I plunge my face into my hands. “Brynn?” he says, his voice hitching. “What are you…Can you please… Look, just let me explain, okay?”

“I c-c-can’t—” I gasp, unable to finish the sentence. Because after one look at my uncle, I know.

I know he didn’t hurt Mr. Larkin, and I’m hyperventilating with relief. “Shit, I’m sorry,” Uncle Nick says. “I never meant…I should’ve said

something back then, but it was all so strange. I asked Will to meet me, because, well, I’d gotten this anonymous letter the day before he died…” Something soft brushes against my hands, and I lower them to take the wad of tissue Uncle Nick is shoving at me.

I’m not crying, but I swipe at my eyes anyway. “A letter? From who?” “Anonymous,” he reminds me gently. “And not actually for me. It was

in my mail slot at school, but somebody had sorted it into the wrong compartment—Gallagher instead of Griswell. It was meant for the head of

school, but I opened it before I noticed the name on the envelope. Whoever wrote it said that Mr. Larkin had stolen the class-trip money.”

“What?” I twist the tissues in my hands.

“Yeah. This person said that they’d seen him take it, and wanted him fired. I wasn’t sure what to do—Will was leading the investigation, for crying out loud. I was pretty sure he hadn’t actually taken the money—”

“He didn’t,” I interrupt. “Tripp’s mom did.” Uncle Nick blinks, startled, and I add, “Whole other story. Keep going.”

“Well, I worried about it all night. The next day, I decided to talk to Will, away from school. So I asked him if he wanted to meet me near Shelton Park for a hike. Once we’d been walking for a little while, I told him about the letter. And he—God, it was like he turned into a different person all of a sudden. He started yelling that I was after his job, and I’d probably written the letter myself. That I was the one who should be fired. I couldn’t calm him down or get a word in, so I just…left.”

“You left?” I echo.

“Yeah. You know how I am with confrontation,” Uncle Nick says, and do I ever. He can barely handle my dad; I can’t even imagine how he’d fare against the dark side of Mr. Larkin. “I figured I’d let him cool off, try again later, and then all of a sudden—I heard he was dead.” Uncle Nick swallows hard. “I didn’t know what to do. It took a few days before the police got around to interviewing me, and by the time they did, the money had been found. The note seemed like a bad joke. I wished I’d never brought it up with Will, and I was afraid that if I told the police he’d yelled at me about getting me fired right before he died—”

“You’d be blamed,” I say.

“Yeah. Not very brave of me, I know. But that’s what happened.” Uncle Nick exhales noisily, like he’s relieved to finally get it out. “I didn’t realize anyone had heard us. Why didn’t Shane say something before now?” I’m too emotionally drained to explain Tripp’s pact in the woods with

Shane and Charlotte. “Did you keep the anonymous letter?” I ask instead.

Before Uncle Nick can reply, the rear passenger door flies open, startling us both. “What the hell?” Uncle Nick yelps as I twist in my seat,

I’m speechless as I watch Tripp fling himself into the car. He’s breathing heavily, his eyes wide and frantic, and at first, all I can think is that he followed me and overheard everything. But if that’s the case—why does he look so terrified? This should be good news, unless he doesn’t believe Uncle Nick.

“Thank God,” Tripp says hoarsely, and I blink in even greater confusion. Then he slams his palm against the back of Uncle Nick’s seat and adds in a rush, “We need to go. We can still find her. They just left.”

“Find who?” I ask, bewildered.

Tripp doesn’t answer, his gaze fixed straight ahead as he hits Uncle Nick’s seat harder, shouting, “Drive! Now! Just go!”

“Go where?” Uncle Nick asks, his face etched with concern. “Tripp, you need to calm down for a second. Please. Tell us what’s going on.”

Tripp takes a deep breath to steady himself before gritting out, “It’s Ellie, okay? We need to find Ellie. Turn left out of the parking lot. I saw them turn left.”

A chasm opens up in my chest. “Ellie?” I ask shakily.

Tripp finally meets my eyes, and the fear in his makes my stomach churn. “Brynn, he’s here,” he says. “I don’t know how or why, but he’s here, and he just fucking took her. Shoved her into his truck and drove away.”

Uncle Nick snaps into action, shifting the car into drive and slamming his foot on the accelerator in one swift motion. He speeds toward the parking lot exit as I rasp, “Who took her?” Even though I have a sinking feeling that I already know.

Like a hornet’s nest.

Tripp’s jaw tightens. “The guy from the pawnshop,” he says.