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“Did you ever tell Rosie and Gia about my mom staying at Windsor?” I say, choosing my words carefully despite my racing pulse.

“No,” says Maisie, though she’s already pulled out her phone and is scrolling through what looks like a group text. “No, I—no, I never talked to them about Laura. Even at Klosters, we all avoided the subject. No one wanted to upset Mummy.”

“Did your mother mention it during the interview?” I press. “She didn’t, right? I would’ve remembered that.”

“I don’t think she did, either,” says Maisie, her voice slightly panicked now as she continues to scroll through her texts. “Evan…it can’t…Rosie wouldn’t…”

“Maybe not,” I say, because as much as I dislike her, I can’t imagine her trying to burn my mother alive. “But if there’s even a chance that she knows who did…”

Maisie’s eyes flutter shut, and her throat works convulsively, like she’s trying not to cry. “It’s just a coincidence,” she says. “She would never.”

I stay silent, partially because I really am afraid of starting another fight, but also because I can tell she doesn’t need my help coming to the inevitable conclusion. And sure enough, when she opens her eyes again, they’re red and watery, but there’s a look of determination on her face, too.

“We need to talk to her,” says Maisie, her wheeze back now. “Even if she has nothing to do with any of it, even if it’s…it’s nothing, maybe…”

“She could’ve seen someone else lurking around,” I say. “Or maybe she heard something while we were in your room. Anything’s possible.”

“Anything’s possible,” she echoes, but there’s no real feeling behind it. She plucks a tissue from the console and dabs at her eyes. “She’ll deny it all, though. Even if she has vital information, she won’t admit it, not if she thinks our friendship is on the line.”

I shrug. “Then we’ll just have to find another way to get her to talk.”

The Range Rover begins to slow, and when I glance out the window, my heart skips a beat. We’re on a residential street now, with a row of neat white townhouses on either side and expensive vehicles parked along the pavement. And just up ahead, standing by a wrought-iron gate, is a boy with a familiar head of wavy dark hair.

“How?” says Maisie miserably. “The more we push, the more scared she’ll be.”

Our driver stops in front of the gate, and even though it takes everything I have, I look back at Maisie and squeeze her hand.

“I think I have an idea,” I say, and I flash her a reassuring smile before opening the door and leaping onto the sidewalk, where Kit is waiting for me with open arms.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Kit:

Rosie, are you awake?

Rosie:

omg hi! yes, just taking snickers for a walk xx

Kit:

Did you hear about the fire?

Rosie:

fire?? what fire??? xx

Kit:

At Windsor this morning. Maisie’s safe. She’s at KP with Aunt Helene.

Rosie:

omg

was she hurt??

was anyone hurt???