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It started to rain, which made driving more difficult on the freeway. When I was taking driving lessons, my instructor always groaned at the sight of rain and went into a tirade about how people here didn’t know how to drive in the rain. They didn’t slow down, and they could easily lose control because the roads could get as slippery as roads with ice.

“Stay farther back,” he’d advise.

The one thing I didn’t want to happen now was a car accident. I heard his warning and dropped my speed. It was dreary and slow for the next two hours, and then the rain stopped and the clouds began breaking up. Weather changes in this part of California could come quickly. When I reached dry road, I sped up. I wanted to get there before it was dark.

Kiera’s college had a population that wasn’t much larger than the student body at Pacifica. All her life, she had enjoyed special treatment in ideal places. Her college reeked of privilege and wealth. Set off the main road in a beautiful rustic area with Monterey pine trees and perfect manicured grounds of rich green grass and flower beds and fountains, the college had two main buildings for classrooms and administration. To the left and right of them were the dorms. All of them looked like real residences, with pretty shutters, arched windows, and soft, light blue siding. There were walkways and bicycle paths linking every structure. Right now, young men and women were walking and talking, riding their bikes, or just sitting on the benches to get the last warm rays of a retreating sun. I saw the parking spaces for guests and pulled into one.

When I stepped out, there were two women who looked more like teachers than students walking by. I asked for directions to Kiera’s dorm and headed toward it quickly. When I walked in, there were four girls in the small lobby talking. It looked as if they had all just returned from classes. They still carried books. Everyone turned to look at me.

“Hi,” I said. “I’m looking for Kiera March.”

“Try any rock outside,” a tall, dark-haired girl said. They all laughed.

“Excuse me?”

“She’s usually under a rock,” the girl next to the dark-haired girl said. Everyone smiled.

“Well, right now, she might be in her room,” I said. “Which way, please?”

“Just take the stairway on your right,” a girl with pretty light red hair and green eyes said. “Her room is the first on the left upstairs. You can’t miss it. On the door, she has a sign that says ‘Keep Out.’ ”

“Yeah, like anyone would want to go in,” the tall girl said. They all widened their smiles.

“Really, do you know if she’s here?”

“We don’t keep track of her,” the redhaired girl said softly.

I started to walk toward the stairway and stopped, turning back to them. “Why do you all dislike her so much?” I asked.

“Are you related?” the tall girl asked.

“No.”

“What did she do, try to steal your boyfriend?” she asked.

I started to shake my head and stopped. “I guess in a way, she did,” I said.

They all lost their smiles.

Something else occurred to me. “Did she always have a room upstairs? I mean, did she move recently?”

“No. It’s one of the few single rooms,” the redhead replied. “There are only four in this dorm, and they’re all upstairs.”

But she had written that she was on the first floor, I thought, and in one e-mail claimed that was why she was able to sneak Richard Nandi Chenik into her room. I took a step back toward them.

“I don’t know why she would be stealing other girls’ boyfriends. Doesn’t she have a boyfriend, someone she’s been seeing for quite a while? A boy who goes to school here?”

No one spoke.

“A boy from England? Maybe some of you know him. Richard Nandi Chenik?”

They all looked at one another.

“This is a pretty small school,” the dark-haired girl said. “There’s no one named Richard Nandi Chenik from England.”

“Who are you?” the redhaired girl asked me, more interested now.

They all waited for my answer.