I read over the words. Imagining the lyrics with the notes evokes an uncertain, wanting ache in my chest. “It’s perfect.”

“It’s going to take a lot of practice,” she says. “Are you up for spending that much time with me over the next couple of weeks?”

“Yes,” I say.

At this moment, there’s nothing I want more.

Chapter forty-two

DAPHNE

The next couple of weeks are pretty much a blur. Between homework, sitting in on a second round of auditions to help Joe and Mr. Morgan select the other principal roles for the spring musical—I make sure to put in a good word for Lexie for the role for Persephone, not only because of the truce we made, but because she actually deserves the part—and rehearsing with Haden every afternoon and lunch break, I am shocked when I realize that Thanksgiving is already upon us.

Thankfully, Joe decides not to cook Thanksgiving dinner himself, and instead, we join a couple of his bandmates for a private party at Bobby Rox’s restaurant. The food is divine, and to my surprise, I enjoy the company. Bobby and his wife, Elle, have the cutest daughter, and Chris Trip, the band’s bassist, has everyone in stitches over his impersonations of Mr. Fitzgerald, their overly chipper manager.

When Joe passes up the Thanksgiving champagne and opts for the cranberry juice mixed with Sprite concoction that I order for myself from the kitchen, Bobby slaps Joe on the back and says, “You’ve been a good influence on our ole boy here, Daphne!”

“Hear, hear!” agrees Chris. “I thought Joe could write his way out of a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, but he’s even better sober. Those songs he’s writing for your school play are amazing.”

“They are good, aren’t they?” I say. The ones I’ve practiced with Tobin have blown me away.

Joe smiles down at his plate.

“Yeah,” Bobby says. “I haven’t seen that level of passion in your work since Shadow of a Star.”

“The band is thinking of recording an album of all the songs from the musical,” Chris says. “Oi, I know, Daphne should record one of the tracks with us!”

“Brilliant!” Joe says.

“What?” I say, almost spilling my fizzy cranberry juice.

“I love it,” Bobby says. “Joe showed us a couple of recordings he made during your class rehearsals the other day. You’re fantastic.”

I blush, pressing my lips together.

“What do you say, Daphne?” Joe asks. “At least one song. You can’t say no to an opportunity like that.”

“Won’t your manager have a cow?” I ask.

“Leave that to us,” Chris says, flexing his muscles. “We’ll strong-arm him into it.”

“Come on, Daph, say yes,” Joe implores.

Singing a song on a real live rock album? One that is almost guaranteed to go platinum? The idea both thrills me and terrifies me at the same time. But does Joe really want me on his album, or is this just another one of those promises he uses to make himself feel better?

If it were anyone else asking, I’d say yes in a heartbeat.

I think about what Lexie said about my being an idiot for not wanting Joe’s help. And then what Haden said about how I should give him another chance at being my father while I still have the opportunity.

“Okay,” I say, and the band cheers.

Later that night, as we say good-bye to everyone, Bobby’s wife, Elle, takes both Joe and me by the hand. “You’re a lucky man, Joe,” she says. “I can only hope our little Samara grows up to be like Daphne. She’s absolutely perfect.”

Joe is quiet the whole way home after that. I hope he hasn’t decided that he’s made a big mistake.

The day after Thanksgiving is the big Light-up Olympus Festival to celebrate the turning on of holiday lights in Olympus Hills. Which also means it’s the day of the big music showcase that Haden and I have been preparing for.

To be honest, I’ve pretty much back-burnered Tobin’s investigation, until I get an urgent SOS. Meet me at the docks in twenty text from him only an hour and a half before the festival is about to begin. I finish fixing my hair and put on the new outfit that Joe let me pick out from Bloomingdale’s and head to the lake on my bike to meet him.

I pace the floating dock, the wood creaking under my steps, the whole structure rocking slightly under me. Fifteen minutes go by. Several families and kids from my school pass me on the lake trail, making their way to Olympus Row, where the festival is about to begin.

I wait a few more minutes, and I am about to take my bike and leave, when Tobin finally jogs down the dock, making it rock even more.

“Sorry,” he says. “My mom was in a snit over the PA system setup for the showcase. She thinks I should be able to fix any mechanical problem—she forgets I’m not my brother.”

“You had me worried,” I say, feeling a bit unsteady on the water. “What’s going on?”

“I found it,” Tobin says, rubbing under his eyes. He looks like he’s barely slept in a week. “Ms. Wells finally let me have access to the old yearbooks. I’ve been poring through them for the last couple of nights. I found what I was looking for.” He pulls out his phone and opens the memo app. He holds it up, showing me a list of dates. “These are all the years someone with the last name of Lord attended the school. Do they look familiar?”

I nod.

They’re all the same years as the ones those girls disappeared.

“But what does that even mean?” I ask. “Yeah, it’s an eerie coincidence. But that’s still all it is.”

“Coincidence? This is damning evidence. We can use this to find Abbie. I even have the full name and picture of the Lord guy who was friends with her.” He shows me a grainy photo of a photo of a guy who bears a vague family resemblance to Haden. “It proves that Haden—”

“What? That Haden comes from a long line of serial killers? That’s insane.”

“Exactly!”

“I know Haden,” I say. “Yeah, he’s kind of different and his family sounds a bit off, but he’s not some lunatic in training. He’s nice.”

“Ted Bundy was nice.”

“Stop it, Tobin. These are serious accusations.”

“I know. Which is why you shouldn’t see him anymore.”