“Britta’s cousin. She’s the one who reported Britta as missing.”

  I recall the most crucial bit of the conversation I had with the sheriff during my drive. He said Britta’s husband didn’t so much as flinch when they removed her body from the water. “You don’t seem too upset about your wife’s death.”

  “Like I said, we had a marriage of convenience,” he snarls with redness blooming across his face. “We hadn’t been intimate with each other in years.”

  “Not with each other, but with others?” I assume.

  “On occasion.”

  “You were aware your wife was sleeping with other men?”

  The doctor jerks his head to the side, glowering at the 2-way mirror with his jaw clenched. “We never discussed the details of what went on when we were apart.”

  My pulse kicks up a notch. I’ve finally struck a nerve. “Did it bother you to think she was having sex with someone other than you?”

  “Of course it bothered me! She was my wife!”

  “Are you aware if she had been sleeping with someone in the days leading up to her death? Is it possible she had a lover who didn’t like the fact that she was still married?”

  With another shake of his head, he abruptly stands. “I’m going to miss my flight,” he snaps, eyes narrowed with a silent threat.

  “Just one more question, Dr. Baxter,” I say before he can slip from the room. “Where were you on June seventh, the day your wife’s cousin called to report her missing?”

  The doctor’s expression morphs into something much more menacing. “I’ll leave my lawyer’s name and number with the receptionist at the front desk. You can direct any more questions you may have his way.”

  With the slam of the door behind him, I utter a “humph” into the empty room. While I’m not convinced the doctor murdered his estranged wife, I’m not about to rule out either him or a secret lover.

  4

  29 YEARS EARLIER

  Noah

  After the final bell of the day rings, I blend in with dozens of my classmates eager to head home. Glancing down the hallway, I decide girls are so damn weird. I’m convinced it’s a proven fact. There’s a book on my mom’s nightstand that says something about them being from the planet Venus. It would explain a lot.

  The homecoming dance is a week away, and I still don’t have a date. I asked a couple of girls from my Earth Science class, neither of them too hard on the eyes, but they both claimed they already had a date. Three others that I consider to be friends said it would be too weird to think of me as their “date.”

  I thought finding someone would’ve been easy since I’m the quarterback and get along with many of my classmates. Guess I was wrong. Then again, girls have never really been on my radar, so maybe I’m just too inexperienced. I’ve always been more focused on keeping up with schoolwork so I can attend the engineering school of my choice.

  It doesn’t help when everyone in the school believes the rumor that Tara Harrison and I are a thing. Truth is, I can’t tolerate being in the same room as her. She has this long, curly blond hair, and a big chest, so I’ll admit she’s hot or whatever. But she’s too into the popularity thing and wears super short plaid skirts and colorful leggings with low-cut sweaters. She’s so not my type.

  The firm grip of my best friend, Travis Ingman, clamps down on my shoulder. “Did you see what Tara’s wearing today?”

  “Tara who?” I ask. Although I know exactly who he’s talking about, it’s a fair question since there are 300 kids in our high school, including more than one Tara.

  “Tara who?” he mocks with a snigger, smacking the back of my head. “Dude. We’re talking about the smokin’ hot girl you’re gonna hook up with after the dance next weekend!”

  “Not happening,” I say, shifting my textbooks to my left side to rub the back of my head with my right. “If you think she’s so hot, why don’t you ask her to the dance?”

  “Because she’s destined to be yours, bro. I heard she already has names picked out for your future children.”

  I snort. “As if.”

  We pass a group of girls whispering to each other with their hands held to their mouths and funny grins on their lips. This high school is brutal when it comes to bullying. I can’t help wondering if all girls are that way or if southwestern Minnesota is extra bad.

  All I know is my little sister, a 7th grader, comes home from school almost every day with tears in her eyes.

  “Hello, ladies,” Travis calls out to the girls. They all giggle in response.

  When we reach our lockers, I turn to him as we’re both spinning our padlocks. My dad’s out of town for a mortuary conference, and my mom signed up for the night shift at the hospital, so I’m without a ride. I enjoyed having the freedom of being home alone when I was younger, but now it’s just a major inconvenience.

  Living in a community too small for a public bus forces me to either bum a lift from my buddies or hoof it the two miles back home. I wouldn’t care, except it’s starting to turn brutally cold and dark earlier.

  “Can you give me a ride home after practice?” I ask.

  Travis tosses his books into his locker while shaking his head. “I would, man, but I promised my old man I’d skip practice to drive the grain cart. It’s supposed to rain all weekend, so he wants to harvest the last bit of beans before then.”

  Sometimes, it can be weird to live in a farming community. During harvest season in the fall, a lot of my buddies are excused from class to help their dads or grandpas in the field. Sometimes, they’re even absent for planting season in the spring. Most of them plan to work for their dads right out of school and eventually take over their family's operation.

  There’s no way I’ll be walking in my dad’s footsteps and working with dead bodies. I have much bigger plans.

  “Have fun with that,” I tell him, trying to make light of the situation. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind being a farmer’s kid. I would gladly accept the use of a rusted-out pickup truck. Several of my friends started driving themselves to school our freshman year.

  Travis slugs my shoulder. “Later, bro.”

  As he’s walking away, I chuck my things into my locker and re-engage the lock right as Tara’s voice cuts through the hallway.

  “Oh, my god,” she sings, her annoying tone sharp with judgment. “Where did you get that nasty old shirt? Your grandpa’s closet?”

  A chorus of giggles follows.

  I glance over my shoulder to witness Tara squaring off with a girl in the middle of the hallway. I’ve only seen the girl around a few times, so I guess she’s either new to the area or in 8th grade.

  Hiding behind a mess of long, dark hair, her reaction to Tara’s bitchiness is hard to interpret. In an oversized flannel over a T-shirt, ripped jeans, and skater shoes adorned with designs from a permanent marker, she blends in with the other girls—with the exception of Tara and her crew.

  At least the girl doesn’t appear to be as intimidated by Tara’s ridicule as I’d been expecting. She stands in place, seeming to hold her ground.

  “Seriously,” Tara continues with her group of friends still giggling at her side, “I think you totally need to check that shirt for a bug infestation. It looks like it could have fleas.”

  Remembering all the times my sister has cried because of bullies, I yell, “That’s enough!” Once I realize my voice came out exceptionally hard, it’s too late. Tara and her friends are giving me looks that could kill. I clear my throat and make my voice soft. “Knock it off, Tara.”

  With one hand planted on her hip, an ugly scowl spreads over Tara’s blood-red lips. I remember Travis’s comment on her outfit and realize I haven’t taken a second to register what she’s wearing. The flash of her pierced belly button beneath a cropped sweater and a skirt short enough to violate the school’s policies do nothing for me.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she sneers. “Did I insult your girlfriend?”

  Doing my best to ignore her, I step closer to the girl and gently nudge her arm. She smells nice, like fabric softener and some kind of flowers. “Let’s get outta here.”

  Hazel eyes with little flecks of gold lock with mine, unmoving. They’re cool. But I wonder if she’s hard of hearing.

  “You don’t have to stand here and put up with her shit,” I say a little louder. “Come on.” I head for the exit at the end of the hallway. A few seconds later, I hear the sound of the girl’s rubber soles shuffling over the cracked linoleum behind me.

  “You better think real hard about what you’re doing right now, Noah Huisman,” Tara calls out behind us. “You’re choosing a side, and it’s the wrong one.”

  “So damn dramatic,” I mutter when pushing on the door that leads to the courtyard. I hold it open until the girl joins me on the building’s front concrete steps. “Sorry about that. I have no idea what her problem is.”

  I don’t know why I’m apologizing on Tara’s behalf, except I’m suddenly super nervous when standing close to the girl with pretty brown hair and cool eyes. Jamming my hands into my pockets, I lift one shoulder. “I’m Noah.”

  “Whatever,” she answers with a huff. Her voice is much deeper than I would’ve expected.

  “You don’t have to tell me your name. It’s just⁠—”

  “Max.”

  Kind of a weird name for a girl. Then again, it seems fitting for her no-b.s. attitude.

  The wind picks up, stirring leaves in the yard and blowing Max’s hair away from her face. She has high, thick eyebrows the same rich shade of brown as her hair. Her lips look velvety soft, like a set of flower petals. Paired with a button nose and those intense eyes, she kinda reminds me of Cindy Crawford, minus the mole.

  I can’t believe I haven’t really noticed her before.

  My pits break out in a sweat. “You new here?”

  “None of your business, Noah.” The way she slightly exaggerates her vowels makes me wonder if she’s from the south. With a challenging look, she marches down the sidewalk, past the lines of schoolmates waiting for their buses.

  I jog to catch up with her. “Do you live close by? Can I walk you home?”

  “What’s your deal?” she demands, cranking her head in my direction. “Did you lose a bet, and now you have to hang out with the weird girl?”

  The sudden burst of anger straightens my spine. She has every right to be mad after what Tara said, but I had nothing to do with it. “I don’t think you’re weird.”

  Her eyes narrow into slits. “Then you’re the weird one. Aren’t you supposed to be one of the popular jocks?”

  “Whatever. Labels are dumb.”

  “You’re dumb,” she says with a deep huff, still walking at a fast clip. “That’s what everyone will say if they see you with me.”

  “Like I’d care.” I lift one shoulder. “What’s so bad about you?”

  “Trust me when I say you don’t want to find out.”

  She breaks into a jog, making it clear she’s done talking to me.

  I stop to watch her, chuckling to myself. She might be the coolest girl ever.

  I don’t see Max again until the day before the homecoming dance. I gave up trying to find a date after my eighth rejection. Honestly, I no longer care. It’s a stupid dance.

  But seeing Max breeze down the hallway gives me an idea. She looks way different this time in a long blue dress over a plain white T-shirt. The sides of her dark hair are pulled away from her face in a scrunchie. There’s even a little makeup on her eyes and those flower-like lips shine with gloss.

  It’s jarring how she’s even prettier compared to the other day. Someone like her must already have a boyfriend…somewhere.

  “Max, wait up!” I holler, nudging my way past a few classmates to join her. “How’ve you been?”

  “Oh, Noah…hi,” she replies in a soft, quiet voice. She turns to me with a big, bright smile that makes my gut do a weird little dance. “I’m good. You?”

  I try not to laugh. She had been so short with me the last time we spoke that the friendly attitude takes me by surprise. “Ummm…great. I was wondering…I mean…do you have plans for tomorrow night?”

  Her super cool eyes widen. “For the dance?”

  “Well, actually, I thought maybe you’d like to do something else with me. You know, do something different. I mean, dances at the school are so lame.” The urge to slap my forehead comes out as a quiet grunt. “Unless, of course, you have a boyfriend. Not that I’m asking you out, just wondering if you wanted to hang.”

  She bites her full bottom lip, rolling her shoulders forward. “I can’t. My cousin is coming down from the cities to stay with me at my grandma’s for the weekend.”

  “Bummer.” My own shoulders drop with disappointment. Looks like I’ll be going solo to the dance after all. Still, I don’t want to give up on a chance to get to know this girl. “You could come over another time. My mom is way into movies, so we have this big collection of VCR tapes. We could hang out and watch whatever you want.”

  Her eyes dart away. “I, uh…” Complexion all at once pale, she shifts her weight. “That isn’t a good idea.”

  Although the shy, uneasy response throws me for a loop, I get the feeling there’s a valid reason for her reaction. I wouldn’t trust anyone after being a target of Tara and her friends, either.

  “If it would make you more comfortable, I could invite my little sister to join us,” I tell her. “You’d like Shelly. She’d be better at picking out a movie anyway.”

  “Maybe.” Clutching her books against her chest, she gives my acid Levis and red Nike sweatshirt a glance. The slightest hint of a smile dances in her gaze when our eyes meet. “I’ll see you around, Noah Huisman.”

  I sure hope so, I think with a grin big enough to split my lips.

  5

  PRESENT DAY

  Beth

  When I push through the tall black doors of Club Desire in downtown St. Paul, the energy inside pulsates. I blow a kiss to the bald, stout bouncer. Even though I’m mature enough to skip the ID routine without any hesitation, he recognizes me from our past hook-up. His lustful gaze lingers on my breasts, spillin’ from the tight corset intended for that purpose.

  The nightclub is unusually busy today, and I'm pleasantly surprised to find so many eligible bachelors starin’ at me.

  Men are so predictable, it's almost comical.

  The incessant thumpin’ of hip-hop music comin’ from the club's 10-foot speakers is unbearable. I head towards the smaller bar in the far corner, away from the dance floor. Even though I can shake my ass better than women half my age, I prefer to lose myself in the company of an attractive man in private. I get off on toyin' with them.

  The bartender, in his 20s, has black dreadlocks, a goatee, and dozens of tattoos. As I sit down, he watches me with interest. After a moment, his dark eyes flicker with recognition. I’ve been here durin' his shift a handful of times, enough to know how much he enjoys flirtin'. I’m sure he’s this way with all female customers. But it’s only a matter of time before he begs to get a piece of me. Guys like him always do.

  “Hey there, gorgeous,” he practically growls. His dark gaze sweeps over the tight corset before settlin' on my eyes. “Haven’t seen you in a hot minute.”

  A flirtatious retort gets caught in my throat as a photo of Britta Baxter appears on the TV above him. A banner below her smilin' face reads, “FITNESS GURU’S BODY FOUND IN SOUTHWESTERN MINNESOTA."

  “Turn that up!” I snap, without botherin' to conceal my annoyance.

  The bartender shuffles away lookin' confused and slightly irritated when retrievin' the remote. As the female anchor explains the situation, old videos flicker on the flat television screen.

  Britta, in a revealin' ballgown, at a Hollywood premiere…

  Britta, in skin-tight workout clothes, demonstratin' a move with a barbell…

  Britta, in form-fittin' sweatpants and a hooded sweatshirt, walkin' to an SUV with a brunette toddler in her arms…

  Britta, in a sparklin' princess-style dress, alongside her handsome husband at a charity event…

  It’s enough to make a girl violently gag.

  Women like Britta Baxter feel an innate need to project perfection 24/7, even when their lives are crumblin' around them. Women like her fill little girls with false expectations and force other women to obsess over everythin' that’s lackin' in their lives.

  Snakes like her exemplify everythin’ wrong with society and shine a spotlight on the dangers of social media.

  A smile edges across my lips. “That bitch finally got what she deserved.”

  "You know her?" the bartender asks, scratchin' his cheek with unease as he glances up at the screen.

  “You could say we were well acquainted.”

  I reach into the waistband of my skin-tight leopard pants and pull out a wad of $100 bills. I peel off one and hand it to him. “You and me are doin’ a shot from the most expensive bottle you have. Then I’m takin’ you out into the alley so we can have us a real party.”

  There’s never been a better reason to celebrate.

  6

  PRESENT DAY

  Maxine

  Sipping on a fresh cup of cappuccino, I stare at our grand home across the bay as the sun rises behind it. A golden glow flashes through the massive bay windows, reflecting onto the still lake. It isn’t often I witness the sunrise from Britta’s perspective, cast across our yard.

  Noah returned my call the night before, several hours after he’d wined and dined his company’s potential new clients in the heart of Manhattan. When I told him about Britta, he insisted on taking the next flight home. I assured him I would be too busy consoling Taylor to notice his presence. I suspect he would’ve secretly resented me if he had canceled his meetings.