26. Amelia
AMELIA
The lunch bell startles me today, my weary body shuddering from its purring chime. The kids have a good laugh about it, which makes me smile. Until one student blows a raspberry and points at me. I bite my grin away.
“See you all in thirty minutes!” I lovingly announce, pushing past exhaustion. “Enjoy your lunches!”
As the children scurry out of the room in a storm of laughter and swinging lunch pails, my gaze lingers on Bodhi Tory’s desk, which has been vacant all morning.
I noticed his absence at roll call, as he was the only student who didn’t sing an enthusiastic Here!
when I made my way down the class roster.
Thanks to Friday’s Back to School Night, I’ve been able to connect names and faces and personalities more fully.
But since meeting Phoebe, my intrigue remains fixed on Bodhi.
Suddenly aware his family recently experienced such a traumatic, public event, my soft spot for him grows.
I’d marked him absent, then spent the day brushing against theories.
I entertained the idea that there was an update in the case or that the recent year-anniversary has occupied Phoebe’s consciousness enough for it to affect her parenting.
Then I remembered that it’s none of my business.
And although flustered when we met, Phoebe presented as warm, attentive.
A woman who still showed up, still carried herself with somewhat of an enviable polish.
I’m sure Bodhi will be back in class tomorrow.
The final student dashes out, and I rise, keys in hand, ready to lock up and try to enjoy the measly twenty-five minutes I get to myself before the bell drags them all back. Before I can swing the door shut, a hand slips through the crack, fingers curling around the frame.
“Hi,” Phoebe says, catching me off guard. “Can I come in for a minute?”
She looks as poised as she had on Friday—her blouse crisp, her hair long and styled. Not the disheveled appearance I would expect if something had gone wrong.
I’m surprised to see her, as if she’s been reading my mind all morning and came in here to correct my assumptions.
“Yes. Please,” I say, gesturing her inside. “It’s good to see you again.”
“You too,” she says softly, closing the door. “Bodhi’s been sick all weekend, so I wanted to grab any homework for him. He’s at the doctor’s with his dad now.”
“Of course. Is he okay?” I ask, rounding my desk for the day’s assignments.
“Yeah, we’re sure it’s just a cold. But he’s still feeling off today, so I don’t think he’ll be in tomorrow, either.”
I clip together today’s work and tomorrow’s and hand her the neat stack. “These will do for the next couple days. He shouldn’t have a problem completing them,” I say with a small wave. “But make sure he gets his rest. The work can wait.”
“That’s nice of you. I’ll see if he’s up for it later when his dad drops him off.” She glances over the pages. “And if he needs more time off, I’ll stop in again. I don’t live far.”
My mind buzzes with a question that’s been bothering me all weekend: Who on the lake has been suspected of her sister’s murder, if anyone?
I know it’s none of my business, that I shouldn’t be inching into this family’s grief.
But I’m possessed by the curiosity. If I hadn’t grown up there—and wasn’t staying there now—it might not bother me. But it does.
“Hey, speaking of,” I say carefully. “Living far, I mean.” I hesitate, then add, “You had mentioned Lake Blair the other night, and I didn’t get a chance to tell you—I’m actually living there temporarily. My mom just passed.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” she offers quickly, sweeping blond bangs off her eyelashes.
“Thank you,” I say with a tight smile, moving to the front of my desk. “There’ve been… some weird things happening over there. I’m curious if you had advice on who to steer clear of.” I let out a nervous laugh.
I barely know what I’m asking, and as the words come out, I know even less. I don’t want to mention her sister’s name, or her case, which is making my question come across too vaguely. We’ll only be there one more day. Does it matter anymore?
At first, she looks understandably puzzled. Then her expression shifts, like a light’s gone on. “Oh, because what I said about the police? And them looking at someone on the lake as a suspect?”
My mouth parts with immediate regret, an apology ready to spill. But her tone is casual, almost conversational, as though she’s accustomed to navigating questions like mine. She doesn’t sound offended in the least.
I nod, a seriousness replacing nerves. “Just trying to be cautious, I guess. We had a break-in last night.”
“Seriously? I swear, everything’s going to shit,” she says. “Well, one of Madison’s bosses lives there. Do you know a guy named Harrison Klein?”
I think on it for a moment, leaning against the front of my desk. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
Could that be Tim’s real name? Imogen said last night that he worked for the same company as Madison. It has to be…
“He and my parents used to be good friends. He’s part of the reason Madison got the job at the label.
But as far as I know, they haven’t found anything against him.
” She shrugs. “Not that the police keep us in the loop much… It’s driving my parents insane.
They’re so paranoid they’ve shut out so many friends. It’s a mess.”
“I’m sorry I even asked. I’m not trying to… open a wound.”
“No, I’m always happy to talk about her.
Honestly, I think the more we do, the closer we get to figuring out what happened.
” Her mouth presses into a line. “But yeah. My mom has been less worried about Harrison and more about Madison’s ex-boyfriend.
She’s convinced he moved back to Blair sometime after Madison went missing because she thought she saw him once.
” Her eyes roll back slightly, then gloss over as she stares past my shoulder at the whiteboard.
“Staying in that house, on the lake… it made it impossible for my mom to move on. So she moved. Here actually, to Seattle.”
Curiosity still scratches at me, and I pause for only a second before pushing forward. “Can I ask who Madison’s ex-boyfriend is?”
If Phoebe hadn’t given me the green light for more questions, I’d never dare. But now the need burns too hot to know everything I can.
“Parker Lane?” she says like a question, gauging if I’m familiar.
Something about the name strikes me, the same way Phoebe herself did the night we met, before I knew who she was. Parker Lane is just as misty.
When I don’t answer right away, squinting at the ceiling like his face might swim out of the fiber fissures, she elaborates.
“He didn’t grow up with us, so I doubt you’d know him.
They broke up months before she went missing, and she always said it was amicable.
But my mom swears he’s hiding out in Blair.
” She shakes her head like it’s a conspiracy.
“Police questioned him last year and I don’t think they found anything.
But I don’t think they have any clue what happened to her. So… who the hell knows?”
I sigh, sympathetic. “I hope police get a break soon enough. So you can all have answers.”
“Thanks, Ms. Bly.” She winks, already pivoting to the door.
I chuckle awkwardly. “You can call me Amelia. And I hope Bodhi feels better soon. Thanks for stopping by.”
When Phoebe leaves, the classroom feels colder as questions float. I thought knowing names, attaching suspicions to strangers or real people, would erase the interest somehow. Instead, the second name repeats like an internal chant.
Parker Lane.
Why does it feel like I’ve heard it before?