“Jesus, Rose. You look amazing!”

Rose’s breath caught. “Alexa, keep your voice down,” she hissed. Her friend had no volume control, especially when excited.

She flushed even more as they stepped out of the dressing room. Rose crossed her arms over her chest, as if she could disappear into herself. At least the clingy top Alexa insisted she try on didn’t show cleavage.

Alexa wasn’t done. She stepped back, eyeing Rose up and down with an exaggerated nod of approval. “Seriously, you have to buy that.”

“I can’t wear something like this.”

“The hell you can’t.” Alexa grinned. Her eyes remained wide. “Wish I could wear something like that as well as you wear something like that.”

Rose glared, her cheeks burning. “Alexa,” she whispered sharply, “please, stop.”

Alexa blinked, surprised, but then softened. “Hey, I mean it. You look hot as hell.”

Rose swallowed hard. Did she have to say these things so loudly? And while standing in the middle of the only department store in Beckinfield, dressed in her cheerleader uniform no less? Someone would hear.

“I’m not wearing this on a video,” she whispered, casting a glance toward the cashier, who seemedn far too interested in folding sweaters nearby.

“All right.” Alexa sighed and ran through the rack of tops. She pulled one out. “Try this one.”

The cycle continued. Four tops later, Rose agreed to one that, though far more colorful than she would buy, was at least wearable in public. She still wouldn’t wear it to school without a sweater. Her throat went dry when she thought about the purpose. This wasn’t about a stupid top. This was about what she was about to do—make another video.

They made it to Alexa’s house just before sunset. Alexa suggested they shoot in her backyard during what she called “golden hour.”

Rose barely heard her. Her nerves were louder than her friend.

Before she had time for any second thoughts, Rose stood in front of her friend’s weathered wooden fence in her new mauve shirt. Her hair loosely cascaded down her shoulders, while framed with shadows of leaves dancing on branches. The natural light of the setting sun made her glow.

She gulped from the pitcher of water she brought outside with her.

Alexa tilted her head. “Careful not to spill that on your new blouse.”

“I’m kinda hoping to find an excuse to put my sweater back on.”

Her friend laughed. “Not a chance. You look fantastic. Even without makeup. Sure you don’t want—”

“No!”

“All right,” Alexa relented, holding up her phone. “Here we go.”

Rose’s stomach twisted.

She spoke mechanically. “Hello, Beckinfield—”

Alexa’s hand shot up. “Um, Rose, maybe put the pitcher down first?”

She might as well show everyone that she’s not only butt ugly but also an idiot. She sighed at her stupidity as she put the water pitcher in the grass.

Alexa nodded to her again.

“Hello, Beckinfield. I’m still not seeing results. All I’m finding are high school kids talking about high school kids. We must do better. If I don’t see at least twenty adults participating by five p.m. tomorrow, I’m shutting the site down.”

“What?” Alexa choked out.

Rose smiled for the first time on camera. “Thank you.”

Alexa gawked from behind the phone as Rose sliced her hand in front of her neck. “I think the word is cut.”

Alexa poked at the screen to turn off the video. Her mouth opened, then closed again, as if she struggled to form words. Finally, she managed, “Wh-Why would you do that? You’ve worked so hard on it. Everyone loves it. We’re at like twenty thousand views in two days. The site is so cool. And what about Terri?”

“Who?”

“The missing dog, Rose. A bunch of us are trying to find her. We’re using the site to get the word out.”

“Oh, right.” Rose held out her hand to retrieve her phone. “And, sorry about the dog and all, but if the site is not serving its purpose, I have to find another way.”

Alexa threw up her hands. “Another way of what?”

Making them hear. She hit “post.” The video went live. “It’s up.”

Alexa’s jaw dropped. “You don’t want to edit it? You don’t want to see it first?”

“Why?”

#

Later that night, Rose dangled her feet off the wooden porch behind her house.

The lulling hiss from the kerosene lantern next to her on the wooden planks of the porch created a comforting baseline. Crickets chirped around her, and the spring breeze rustled the leaves throughout the dense foliage that walled off her yard from the woods beyond. The signature scent of Beckinfield pine wafted past.

She hoped she would never become immune to it.

Bossy-Boss scampered to lie next to her. Rose stroked the grey and white fur of the mini-Shepherd. “Hey, Bossy,” she purred. “How was your day?”

Bossy looked up at her with questioning eyes.

“You know, if you had a BeckSpecks account, you could tell us. And more importantly, tell them.”

Rose scratched the dog’s neck, then brought the mug to her lips and sipped the hot tea she had brewed. Raspberry. Sweet.

Storm neighed from the stall in the small stable just beyond the yard as the wind brought the smell of the horse to Rose. She breathed in deeply. One of the many sensations that would be lost to her when she left for Stanford in just four short months.

The rope swing creaked.

How long had it been since she’d sat on that? Sheriff Mom had strung that swing the week they moved into town when Rose had been five years old. Rose had watched while her mother shimmied up the tree with the rope in hand.

“I wish Daddy could be here to do that.”

Her mother stopped at the tree branch and looked down at her daughter with moist eyes. Rose had been too young to understand. A single tear rolled down her cheek. Then her mother’s hand wiped the tear away and Rose saw something wash over her face. The eight-year-old wouldn’t recognize what she saw, but the young adult now knew what she had witnessed. The last moment her mother would let herself cry in front of her daughter. Her mother was all about stoic compartmentalization.

How do you explain death to a child? How do you explain a father who so cavalierly referred to himself as immortal dying in such a violent, horrible way? What mother could possibly handle that?

Sheriff Mom did the best she could.

She packed up and dropped out. The Immortal Ambrose had once lived in Beckinfield and wanted to be buried here. Once Sheriff Mom discovered this place, she knew she found the perfect life reset. And she doubled down by becoming one of the legends of Beckinfield. A sheriff who would not only live off the grid but spend her personal life and raise her daughter without the aid of modern technology or even electricity.

And Rose supported that choice…until she didn’t.

She had done her best to live by her mother’s rules. But knowledge wasn’t something that could be buried. It couldn’t be turned off like a light switch. Rose felt that if she would ever have a life outside of this town, she would have to embrace what her mother shunned. She hid that choice well for the last few years, but now the dark secret was out in the open. Rose loved the freedom that came with access to knowledge. Technology brought the world to her home.

Rose flipped through the journal in her lap. Becca Beckin had penned hundreds of pages chronicling her journey. But the frustrating part was that just as it got intense, she filled the pages with Primbobi script.

There was no doubt in Rose’s mind that, if she could decipher it, those words would tell a story that might guide her toward what was happening.

Becca knew something. Probably a lot. And Rose was running out of time to figure out what it was.