“What?”

“The police department is offering a reward.”

“For the person who did this to Gabby?”

“No, for the person who’s running the Web site.”

“Really? I thought they weren’t investigating it.”

Edgar grinned. “I guess we changed their mind.” He sat down, folding his chubby hands together as his chair creaked to hold his weight. “All right, I want something good ready to roll tonight. This investigative piece is great. I won’t lie; you’re becoming a dandy reporter. But I also want something from the heart. What’s on your mind with this kidnapping and near murder of this girl? I want a symphony, got it?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Damien started to leave. “Hey, who told you about the reward from the police department?”

Something flickered across Edgar’s expression, then disappeared into another grin. “Maybe I read it on the Web site.”

Damien returned to his desk. Only adrenaline had caused him to go strong for the last few hours. Now all he wanted was a bed. But Edgar was right. There had never been anything like this before in Marlo. And if he could make any difference at all with what he had to say, then there was no time to waste.

Except something seemed wrong. With everything. With everyone. Like he was living inside the movie Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

He glanced around the room. Everyone was hunched over his or her keyboard, drawn into some other world.

Damien’s hands hovered over his own keyboard. Thoughts numbered like random words on page after page. He had to organize them, make them concise, put them to use without a heavy hand. Nobody wanted to be preached to. What did they want?

Truth.

Hope.

Well-being.

But what they once had was no longer. Damien typed his headline: “What Lies Beneath.”

“Where’s Jenna?” Hunter asked as he cut up his Eggo.

“Upstairs. I’m letting her sleep in. This whole thing with Gabby really upset her.”

“I’m glad Gabby’s okay,” Hunter said quietly.

Kay came over and hugged him from behind. He always had such a tender heart. “I know. These things often don’t turn out well.” She stepped to the side and touched his face. “Are you all right?”

“I’m good. I better get going though.”

Kay walked back to the table. “It’s kind of early. And remember, I said that you can’t ride your bike to school. Not until this person is caught. Hold on. I’ll drive you. Let me run upstairs and throw on some sweats.”

Hunter sighed. “Look, I realize you’re freaked out and I’ll allow you some freak-out time. Just don’t go overboard. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Like insist that you embed a GPS tracking device under your skin?” Kay smiled.

Hunter laughed. “Exactly. I’ll be in the car.”

Upstairs, Kay jumped into a cozy sweat suit and slid on old sneakers. As she started back across the room, Jenna stirred.

Kay sat on the edge of the bed and clicked the lamp on. “I let you sleep in a little, but you better get up and get to school. I’m going to run Hunter in and I’ll be back. I’ll write you a note to be excused.”

Jenna peeled open her eyelids. “Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t make me go.”

“What?”

“Please. Can I stay home today?”

Kay smoothed the hair out of Jenna’s face and touched the back of her hand to her cheek. “You’re feeling bad?”

“No. I just don’t… I want to stay home.”

Kay nodded. She couldn’t imagine how traumatizing this must’ve been for her. “Sure. You can stay home. Get some more sleep and I’ll fix you some breakfast in about an hour.”

Jenna rolled over and Kay turned off the lamp. As she stood in the doorway looking at Jenna, she thanked God that her daughter wasn’t involved.

Frank got out of Detective Murray’s car, and both men stood on the curb for a moment, observing the house. A small sign near the mailbox boasted lawn service. The sidewalk leading to the house was swept clean enough to belong on the inside. Bushes lined the porch, and a grotesquely large Christmas wreath hung on the red front door. Two luxury SUVs were parked in the driveway.

“Somebody’s home,” Murray said, running his thumbs along the inside waistband of his pants before hiking them up a notch. “Let’s go.”

Frank tapped on the front door and stepped back to provide a clear view from the peephole.

A few seconds later the front door opened. A middle-aged woman with crunchy-looking blonde hair pinned back with diamond-studded barrettes blinked at them. “Yes?” she asked, shading her face from a sun that had barely made its entrance into the sky.

“I’m Detective Dean Murray. This is Officer Frank Merret. Are you the mother of Caydance Sanders?”

“Yes. Susan. What’s the matter?”

“Is your daughter home?”

“She’s upstairs getting ready for school.”

“We’d like to speak with her for a few moments.”

Susan clutched the side of her door. “About what?”

“You heard about the girl who was found last night?”

“Yes, of course. We were so thankful she was found alive.”

“We have reason to believe your daughter might know something about what happened,” Detective Murray said.

“We’re interested in talking with several of her classmates,” Frank added.

Susan looked confused but nodded and opened the door wider. She gestured toward a sitting room off to the side. “Wait here. I’ll go get her.”

Frank stepped in, observing the giant floral patterns that engulfed the tiny room. It smelled as if the carpet were made of potpourri. Or that eighty scented candles were burning all at the same time.

Murray put his forearm up against his nose. “Good grief,” he choked out.

“No kidding,” Frank said. He dropped his weight onto a couch that was less comfortable than it appeared. He lowered his voice. “Should we bring up the cat incident, see if it’s connected here?”

“Not yet. I want to keep it to this thing first, see what, if anything, we can get out of the girl.”

They both heard footsteps above them, some muddled conversation, and then the padding sound of feet coming downstairs. Susan entered, her daughter behind her, hands on her hips and attitude worn like an expensive accessory. “Caydance, this is Detective Murray and Officer Merret.”

“Am I going to be late for school?” she asked her mother.

“Just sit down, please. These men need to talk to you.”

She eyed them suspiciously, her arms now tightly folded across her chest. She plopped down in a floral chair and tucked her feet underneath her.

Murray said, “You’re Caydance Sanders?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know Gabriella Caldwell?”

“Yeah, she goes to my school. She was found last night, right?” Her eyes grew round at her own words.

“That’s right.” Murray took out his notepad. “Did you see Gabby at school yesterday?”

“I don’t know. Might’ve. We don’t hang out.”

“So you’re not friends?”

“She’s not a cheerleader, so no. We’re not friends.”

“Are you enemies?”

Caydance looked put out. “I don’t think about her. She’s not on my radar. Do you get what I’m saying?”

Susan stood beside her daughter. “Caydance, just answer the questions.”

“I am,” she said, rolling her eyes up toward her mom.

Frank watched Caydance’s every movement. Her face looked at ease, but her hands were telling a different story as they wound and unwound a piece of thread hanging from her tight-fitting jeans.

Murray scooted forward on the love seat a few inches, giving his full attention to the girl. “We have reason to believe you might know something about what happened to Gabby.”

Susan gasped. “What? What are you talking about?”

Murray kept his focus on Caydance. “If you know something, you need to tell us. It’s a serious offense to lie to the police or to withhold information you know would help in an investigation.”

“Do we need a lawyer?” Susan asked Frank.