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“Found them.” I swiveled to the front a second later and tugged on the earphones.

The sound of the blades was quieted. The blood drained from my whole body, then rushed to my ears with a roar.

Had CeeCee figured out how to ship heroin in wine bottles?

Pushed the rubber bags into an empty bottle, sifted in the heroin, and tied it with the plastic wire?

Or was Snow still running the operation and using her materials?

I curled my legs up on the seat, trying to show complete confidence in her, as my brain scrambled for my next move.

“I’m so sorry about Snow.” I struggled to keep my voice even. “You seem so close.”

My neck rigid, I glanced backward. The houses on ōhope Beach were a blur.

“I always dreamed about living in the blue cottage with Snow. He’s my soulmate.” She gave a tortured sigh. She believed my sympathy even though my skin stretched so tight across my lying face, I thought it would tear. “Didn’t want kids, didn’t need them.”

Someone had talked about this before. The words were so familiar… why ?

Soulmate. Cottage. Don’t want kids. All those words echoed an entry in the diary. The diary we’d assumed was Janey’s.

The knot in my stomach twisted and burned as my thoughts raced.

The diary belonged to CeeCee.

CeeCee was abused. By whom? Her father, Scrumy, had been in prison most of his life—for drugs, not abuse, though.

But why did Janey have CeeCee’s diary?

Why did Janey end up dead that night?

All the moments from the past two weeks raced past my eyes, like someone had fixed a nightmarish kaleidoscope over them, then twisted it faster and faster. Until. Oh, God. Yes. The answer was so simple—why hadn’t I seen it before?

CeeCee rolled on lip gloss and beamed at me, her lips peachy and shining. I focused on her glazed lips and eyes, forcing back my squalling panic.

Time to ask my final question.

“How are you going to kill me, CeeCee?” I asked.