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A sense of finality sinks in. This is me. This is my father. I belong with him, and this life is mine. I am Mary Boone.
Life really goes to shit when everyone thinks you killed your girlfriend.
But Lola’s not in there, my minute is up, and I don’t belong here. This town is full of places I don’t belong anymore.
“You know, something about you looks so familiar. I can’t put my finger on it.”
Max leans over from the driver’s seat. “Get in, losers, we’re going sleuthing.”
What if he’s not my dad? What if I’m not Mary? What if that’s not my name?
“Mrs. Hooper?” I whisper. He looks up at me, eyes wide. “You know her?” “No. But the guy upstairs killed her husband.”
The man who killed so many helpless girls was bested by a seventeen-year-old nationally ranked softball star in his own house.
