I don’t sleep very well.

I drift in and out of slumber, dreaming of Quinn. I remember the first time I saw her. Our parents told me I was going to get a new baby sister, and then one day they brought me to the hospital, and there she was. This tiny little scrunched up newborn lying in my mother’s arms. I wanted so badly to hold her, but they wouldn’t let me. They said I was too little.

Except when both of them were gone, I was the one who took care of Quinn. When I got the call about the accident, I dropped everything. I had exams the next day, but nothing else seemed important anymore. I left school and got a job so we could keep the house. I was all she had. And she was all I had.

She should’ve listened to me about Derek Alexander. I told her he wasn’t right for her. I’ve made every mistake in the book, so I should know. Obviously, I didn’t know this exact thing was going to happen. I didn’t know Derek was going to end up dead in the kitchen of their expensive home. But I knew she shouldn’t marry him.

Well, too late for that now.

I wake up at the crack of dawn. It’s Saturday, so Rob is sleeping in. He’s lying on his side of the bed, his mouth hanging open, a bit of drool sliding out of the left corner of his lips as he snores loudly. My husband snores like a chainsaw. I showed him an article once about that disordered sleep breathing thing, where you stop breathing during your sleep, and people who snore loudly are more likely to have it.

It means every night you stop breathing in your sleep, Rob, I told him.

You really believe that bullshit? he shot back. And he threw the article in the trash.

I get dressed as quietly as I can and go downstairs. When I look out the window, our entire driveway is caked in at least a foot of snow. I put on my heaviest winter boots, and I take the keys to the truck out of the little basket by the door. My Chevy won’t make it, but Rob’s rusty green truck will do the trick.

Bill Walsh lives only a fifteen minute drive from my house. I found his profile last night on Facebook—he’s a big guy in his twenties like I thought, who sports a goofy expression in most of his photos. He looks utterly harmless, and I don’t think I’ll have much trouble wrangling the phone away from him. I’m sure he’ll be happy to hand it over.

The roads in our town are still slippery with snow. I haven’t called the police station yet today, but I’m guessing they haven’t made much progress on finding Quinn. If they found her, I would know. My guess is she’s hunkering down somewhere for the night. The question is, where?

Bill’s house is even smaller than mine and even more badly in need of a coat of paint. I park right in front, and as soon as I get out of the car, my boots sink deep into the snow. I take a good minute to get to his front door. It’s like walking through molasses.

My coat isn’t warm enough for the icy breeze in the air, and I hug my chest as I wait for Bill to answer the door. After only a few moments, the door swings open like he’s been waiting for me. The guy towers over me, but there’s something young and vulnerable about his face and the scrap of a goatee on his chin.

“Claudia?” he says quietly. I nod. “You got the phone?”

He hesitates a moment, then he holds it out to me. Quinn’s iPhone. Before he can change his mind, I snatch it out of his hand. It’s been powered down, just like I told him.

He scratches at his flimsy goatee. “You won’t tell the police?”

“I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

“Thanks.” He shifts his weight. “I want to help find her and all. I really do. But the thing is, I’m on probation right now. So I can’t—”

I get an uneasy feeling in my stomach. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to protect this guy. “You’re on probation?”

“Me and my buddy were selling weed.”

I look down at the phone in my hand. If I go to the police, I’ll be in more trouble than he’ll be in. But he doesn’t need to know that. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll keep it between us.”

His shoulders sag. “Thanks. I appreciate it. And I hope you find Quinn. She was awesome.”

I lift my eyes to look into his. “You swear she seemed okay to you? Not hurt?”

“Not hurt.” He cocks his head to the side. “But she seemed… It was like something wasn’t right. She was nervous about something. In a hurry.”

“Thanks.” I squeeze the phone in my hand. “This will be very helpful. And I won’t say a word about you to the police. I don’t want you to get thrown in jail again.”

I said that last part just to make sure he keeps his damn mouth shut.

I stomp back out to the truck and shut myself inside it, before my fingers go numb. I sit for a moment in the driver seat, staring at the phone that Quinn tried so hard to get rid of.

Now I’ve got to do it for her.