Page 149 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

When the Harts realized just how extensive the coal seam in the Littlerock Mountains was, they founded the town of Cinderhart to cater for the miners and their families. As the mines grew, so did the town. Soon families were moving in from all over, drawn by the promise of a budding town with little to no competing businesses. At the time, there was one general store, and it soldeverything...and at ridiculous prices.

Thankfully, the Harts didn’t close off the town to new opportunities. I guess they were entrepreneurs at heart, because they never turned down new families.

But even in the few pages this tome dedicates to Cinderhart, the inequality is blatant. Three of the First Five—the Jacksons, the Capellas and the Wrens—were miners, but as soon as they had enough money to start exploiting workers instead of working themselves, the tables turned.

There are three very distinct suburbs sprawled through the Littlerock valley. Blackstone Heights is reserved for the highest echelon of society. Jackleg Valley is comprised of lower class or unemployed families, industry, and warehouses. Then there’s Pyrite Glen, a middle-class neighborhood far removed from the two warring factions. Cinderhart Square—the center of town—sits neatly in the middle. If the Square is the town’s heart, then Jackleg Valley is its coal-blackened lungs, Pyrite its weary arms and legs, and Blackstone Heights its sick brain.

Half an hour into dinner, I throw on a pair of yoga pants and a hoody and sneak downstairs. Some of the girls in the common room watch me as I walk past but none of them are interested enough to ask me where I’m going or what I’m doing. If any of them notice the computer room key in my hand, they don’t say anything about it.

I still have a feeling I’m being followed. I’d hoped Knox, Mason, and Silas would have given up on me.I check both sides of the hall where the computer room is, making sure that I’m alone before I unlock the door. Then I hurry inside and slam it closed behind me, locking it just as quickly.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I go and sit at the closest desk. There’s no log on required—I can go straight to Google and start searching.

I visit the Littlerock Gazette’s website first, searching by keyword.

MURDER

KILLING

KILLER

DEATH

DEAD

There are surprisingly few entries for the keywords, except “dead” which brings up obituaries dating back twenty years.

Obviously therewerecrimes in Cinderhart. A wife murdered her husband when she found out he was having an affair. A man shot his business partner over a dispute. A handful of home invasions ended with someone—usually the criminals involved—being gunned down in a police shoot-out.

But a gruesome murder in the woods?

No hits.

I start searching articles around the date I first came to Cinderhart. That’s when I find the article about my parents.

There’s nothing in there I didn’t already know, but I wasn’t prepared for the full-color photo that accompanies the article—Vicky’s pearl-white Bentley crushed beneath massive boulders, barely recognizable. What the hell did my parents look like when they were cut out of the wreck.

No wonder Detective Thatcher didn’t ask me to identify the bodies. Judging from this photo, they probably used dental records to make sure who had died in the crash.

I glance away from the screen. What if they left the party ten minutes sooner than they did? What if I’d told them about what had happened to me in the woods? I could have stopped them going to the party in the first place. They would have been nowhere near Bug Ash Pass.

They would still be alive.

I don’t know how I feel about that. At the moment, nothing. But the therapist told me this empty feeling inside was just how my mind was handling the trauma. It blocks out everything, feeding me only what I can handle without regurgitating. Maybe that’s why I’m still functioning, why I haven’t had a complete and total fucking break down yet.

I search through more articles, but there’s no article about a body discovered in the woods, and the only mention of a missing person was an article about the seventeen-year-old “Darling”of Cinderhart, Amy McAdams, who was still missing after two years.

Does that mean the man they killed was an outsider? Was he just here to hunt for the weekend? Where would someone like that stay—a motel, maybe? When I go into town I could find out if they had any visitors go missing around about that date.

I sit back, nibbling on my thumbnail as I stare at the computer screen.

When did I decide to go all Nancy fucking Drew on this shit? This is the most excited I’ve been a while. I mean, yeah, coming to Cinderhart Academy was a high in its own rights, but this?

What if I uncovered a murder no one even knew had taken place? What if I alerted the authorities to three dangerous criminals who were coasting under the radar, just waiting to strike again?Because without a body, I was just accusing the Serpents of a crime I couldn’t prove even took place.

No one would take me seriously after all this time.

I know I won’t make a good accountant, but maybe I can make a living as a private investigator.

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