On top was a group photo of the Bergen High cheerleading squad from Kelly's senior year. Eight girls in identical uniforms, their faces bright with youth and confidence. Kelly's gaze found her younger self immediately, with longer hair, a happy smile, and eyes unclouded by the knowledge of what was to come. She looked so innocent. They all did.
Her finger moved across the glossy surface, coming to rest on the face of a beautiful blonde girl in the center of the front row. Lori Powell. Homecoming queen. Prom queen. Sweet Corn Festival queen. The unofficial princess of Bergen, Illinois.
They’d been the best of friends. Like sisters.
"I'm not giving up on you," Kelly whispered, her voice unexpectedly loud in the quiet room.
She remembered how Lori had laughed, her head thrown back, no concern for how she looked or sounded. How she'd insisted on splitting her French fries with Kelly when Kelly forgot her lunch money. How she'd loaned Kelly her favorite sweater for a date, saying it brought good luck.
It had, too.
How she'd promised to meet Kelly at the mall that Saturday in October, but never showed.
Kelly's jaw tightened, a muscle twitching beneath the skin as she fought to control the memories that threatened to overwhelm her. Her breathing slowed, deliberately measured, a technique she'd learned years ago to manage the panic that sometimes accompanied these sessions with Lori's file.
Behind the cheerleading photo was a copy of the autopsy report. Kelly couldn't bring herself to look at it again today. She knew what it said. Knew the clinical description of handprints around Lori's neck. The defensive wounds on her hands. The time of death, estimated between 2 and 4 PM, was when she should have been trying on clothes with Kelly and their other friends at the mall for the upcoming Homecoming Dance.
Kelly's fingers curled into fists on the desktop, her nails digging into her palms, the small pain grounding her in the present. She forced herself to breathe evenly, in through her nose, out through her mouth.
It wasn't just any cold case. It wasthe cold case.The original.
It was her first. This was the reason she'd started the podcast, the reason she'd left teaching to pursue this full-time. The reason she sometimes woke gasping from nightmares was that she imagined what Lori's final moments must have been like.
The police investigation had gone nowhere. There had been suspects. There was Lori's boyfriend at the time, a teacher who'd shown inappropriate interest, even a drifter passing through town. But nothing solid, nothing that led to an arrest. The case had gone cold within weeks, filed away with promises to revisit that never materialized.
The small town had moved on with uncomfortable speed, eager to forget the darkness that had briefly touched their idyllic community. They stopped saying Lori's name. They took down her photos from the school trophy case. They pretended it hadn'thappened, or, worse, suggested that perhaps Lori had somehow invited danger through her beauty, her popularity, or her very existence.
Kelly couldn't forget. Wouldn't forget.
She carefully closed the folder, her movements deliberate and controlled. The file went back into the drawer, but never far from her thoughts. Very soon, she would be back in Bergen for Celia's wedding. Her family obligations would take precedence, but Kelly had no intention of wasting the opportunity to be in her hometown.
She would visit places. Ask questions. Perhaps find someone who remembered something they hadn't thought to share before.
Kelly turned to her computer and opened a new document. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for just a moment before she began to type, a list of people she needed to speak with in Bergen. Whatever her parents thought of her career, however much they dismissed her work, this wasn't just a hobby or a podcast. This was a promise to a friend.
A promise she intended to keep, no matter what it cost her.
Chapter
Three
Six in the morning.
Ben had always been a morning person, and waking early wasn’t a big deal.
When he had something to do and places to be.
When he didn’t, it was easy to turn over and go back to sleep, telling himself that he could go do whatever he had planned later in the day.
But today would be different. He'd start fresh, reclaim some semblance of the disciplined life he'd once led before everything fell apart. With a groan, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, pushing the covers away.
It was still dark outside, but the sun would be up soon. He liked this time of the morning when so many were still asleep, the city slowly waking up to its normally busy hum of activity. For a little while, he could feel like he had the city almost to himself.
His running clothes were right where he'd left them the night before, folded neatly on his dresser. The old habit of preparation hadn't deserted him, even if everything else in his life had gonesideways. He dressed quickly, the familiar routine requiring little thought.
No excuses this time.
He laced up the shoes and pulled a hoodie over his head. Shoving his keys into his pocket, he locked his apartment behind him. There was no wait for the elevator, and he waved to the doorman, George, as he stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of the building.
