I sit quietly on the couch, my hands folded in my lap. My father stands in front of me, looking toward the kitchen where we can hear my mother setting her things down.

"I'm home," she calls, her heeled shoes clicking on the kitchen tile.

"In here, Caroline," my father says.

She walks into the living room and stops abruptly, confusion overcoming her features. "What's going on?" She asks slowly.

"I picked up Jane from the police station earlier today," my father says. "She stole the necklace of one of her classmates."

"No, I didn't," I say.

My father ignores me. "She's charged with a misdemeanor, and a court date is set for later in the month."

"Jane?" My mother asks, mortified.

"This is all a lie!" I say, sick of being shit on today. "I didn't steal the necklace! Mom, I didn't. I swear."

She purses her lips. "I'm trying to understand this," she says, shaking her head. "Tell me exactly what happened."

My father opens his mouth to tell her, but she puts her hand up. "I want to hear it from Jane," she says.

I sit up in my seat and relay the entire story to her, as I did to Harry a few minutes earlier in the clearing. I just hope she doesn't get as angry as he did at first.

"It was the skull necklace," I finish. "The one I wore on my first day of school, you saw it, Mom. I didn't steal it; I didn't even know Ava then!" The events of the day are catching up to me, and my eyes fill with exhausted tears.

My mother sits beside me on the couch, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. I take a few deep breaths as my mother pulls my hair out of my face, tying it in a ponytail.

"Tomorrow we'll go back to the station, and I'll tell the detective that I saw you wearing the necklace," she says calmly. "We'll fix all of this."

"Wait, so you believe me?" I ask in shock. She's the first one that has taken my side all day.

"Of course I believe you," she says, stroking my cheek gently, soothingly. "You're my daughter, and I know you had that necklace before today."

It's times like this that I'm glad my mother is a first grade teacher. She has that placid tone she uses, and she knows exactly how to calm someone down. She makes everything sound alright, and that everything will be okay in the end.

My father doesn't seem to know what to say. I guess I really can't blame him. He's always been one to jump to conclusions. I share that quality with him-I got it from him.

"Go upstairs and take a shower," my mother says, kissing me on the temple. "Everything will turn out just fine, and karma will kick those girls right in the ass."

It's been a while since I've heard my mother curse, and I laugh a little.

I go upstairs to my room, shutting the door. Although things with the law seem like they're going to be alright, I still feel a pang in my chest knowing I am no longer in possession of the necklace. It was beginning to become a special token to me, as it is to Harry. I know it will always be more special to him, but it's a small part of him that seems to stay living, even when he does not.

I fall asleep quickly that night, exhausted from the eventful and tiring day.

-

I step into the cemetery the next morning to find it empty of living people, and therefore filled with apparitions.

I look around for Harry, but he is not anywhere near his gravestone. Maybe he forgot about telling me to meet him here?

"Jane!"

I look down to the smiling face of none other than little Wesley. He grins up at me widely, excitedly.

"You're back!"

I smile at him. "Yeah, Harry told me to meet him here today."

"Oh, he's over this way," he says, reaching up to take my hand. His little fingers are like ice.

"My mom came by here last night," he tells me as we walk. "She left me some flowers. They're purple. I like them a lot."

"That's so lovely, Wesley," I say, although my heart aches at the mention of his mother who can't forgive herself.

"One day she'll feel better," he says. "She feels a little better every day, I think. But one day she'll feel a whole lot better."

I don't have time to answer, as he stops me in front of a stone on the opposite side of the graveyard as Harry's stone. I see purple flowers neatly set in front of it, and look up to read the epitaph.

Wesley James, 2006-2012. Son, friend, grandchild. Loved and missed, you will always be a source of joy.

I finish reading and lock eyes with Harry, who leans against the stone. He half smiles.

"Found her, Harry," Wesley says, holding up his hand that squeezes my own hand tightly.

"Well done, Wesley," Harry praises him. "I told him to look out for you this morning," he tells me.

"Yep," Wesley says, nodding.

Harry holds his hand up and Wesley high fives him.

"Teamwork," Harry says, grinning at me.

I laugh and someone calls Wesley's name behind us. We turn to see Ellie waving him over.

Wesley nods to her and turns back to us.

"Gotta go," he says, tugging my hand over and pressing it into Harry's. He wraps Harry's fingers around mine before smiling up at us and running off.

"Sneaky boy," Harry says, shaking his head and smiling at the blush that has risen to my cheeks.

I don't know what to say, other than to think the graveyard gossip hotline has definitely been working recently.

"I hate to ruin the happy mood here," I say. "But we need to talk about the necklace ordeal."

Harry drops my hand to run a hand through his hair. His expression quickly shifts from carefree to concentrated.

"Damn Ava," he snaps.

"Damn Ava," I agree.

He chews on his lip. "Who did you talk to at the police station?"

"Detective Whitmore," I say.

He raises an eyebrow. "Whitmore?"

I nod. "Tall, brown hair, blue eyes."

"Oh, I know her." He rolls his eyes. "She's handled all the legal troubles my family has had. And we've had a lot."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I drank a lot of my dad's liquor when I was alive, and she's always been the one to bust parties that I threw. Luckily, she knew my dad in high school, so she cleared everything up for us most of the time. Can't help but think she took a dislike to me, though." He laughs lightly.

"She was a bitch to me," I grumble, crossing my arms over my chest.

"She's a bitch in general, like half the people in this damn town," Harry says, shrugging. "Forget Castle Hill, it's more like Bitch Hill."

I stifle a laugh and Harry smiles.

"I guess I've got to talk to her, then," I say.

"Yeah, do that," he replies. "If not, I can walk through walls." He smirks suggestively.

"If you walk through the wall of Ava's house and steal the necklace back, we all know who's going to get blamed for it. Again." I glare at him.

"You're right," he says. "Damn. That would have been funny."

I try not to laugh when I picture Ava's face as she sees her dead ex-boyfriend retrieving his necklace from her room.

"I should get home," I tell him. "My mother's taking me to the station to try to clear my name. She believes that I didn't take it."

Harry scratches the back of his neck. "I wanted to apologize again," he says, looking at the ground. "For not believing you last night. I was insensitive."

"I understand. It's an important artifact to you."

"I've always been one to expect the worst of people. It's a tragic flaw."

I shrug. "We all have tragic flaws."

"That we do," he replies, nodding. "That we do."

-

"Have a seat."

I sit in the same chair I did yesterday in Detective Whitmore's stuffy office, my mother taking the one next to me.

"Thank you for seeing us on such short notice," my mother says.

Whitmore shrugs, leaning back in her seat with a sigh.

"Firstly, I'd like to know why my daughter is being so harshly punished for a small crime that she didn't do." My mother gets straight to the point.

Whitmore raises an eyebrow. "Firstly," she says, mirroring my mother's statement. "We have a witness that she committed a crime. Secondly, the law is the law. Yes, it might have been a small crime compared to other acts of theft, but that's how the system works. It may seem blown out of proportion for a mere necklace, but it is a crime nonetheless. It's only a misdemeanor, not a felony. We're not putting her in the slammer." Whitmore half smiles. "People don't seem to think that stealing something small is a crime. Unfortunately, it is. Stealing is against the law. The amount or value of the stolen property and the age of the felon is what determines the degree of the punishment. In this case, it's a misdemeanor. Nothing big."

"What happened to innocent until proven guilty?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Estella Richardson witnessed the crime."

"Yeah, well, Estella Richardson is a bitch ass liar, how about that. And so is Ava."

"Jane," my mother scolds lightly and I lean back in my seat, hot with anger. She looks back at the detective. "On Jane's first day at school, she came down wearing the necklace. She got it from a store in Sacramento before we moved. She couldn't have stolen the necklace yesterday when I clearly saw her wearing it a few weeks ago."

"Do you know the exact date of when you saw her wearing it?"

"September seventeenth," my mother says without missing a beat.

Surprise momentarily crosses Whitmore's face-she clearly did not expect my mother to remember the exact date. Honestly, neither did I.

"Mrs. Marx, with all due respect, how do I know you're not just lying to clear your daughter's name?"

My mother's cheeks flush with anger and she leans forward. "Detective Whitmore, with all due respect, you're questioning whether I, an adult, is lying, when you so quickly trusted the seventeen year old best friend of the accuser?"

I feel like my mother should have a standing ovation.

Whitmore presses her lips into a tight line. "Very well," she says. She stands from her seat and walks over to the door of her office. "Lyle!" She shouts. "Call in Estella Richardson and Ava Wright." There's a muffled reply and Whitmore rolls her eyes exasperatedly. "Move your fat ass, you idiot. I don't have all day."

She slams the door to the office and sits back behind her desk.

My mother has a satisfied look on her face. "I assume you've called them in for questioning?"

Whitmore opens her desk drawer and fishes around before pulling out her tin of mints, popping two into her mouth. "Yes," she says, clearly annoyed that we got the best of her.

"And if it's proven that they lied, Jane's charges will be dropped and her name cleared?"

"That's how the law works."

I lean forward in my seat. "Could I have a mint?"

Whitmore glares at me.

I smile at her.

She slides the tin across the desk to me and I pick out a mint, sticking it in my mouth. My mother takes one as well.

I think of how Harry told me that he knew Detective Whitmore very well. How many times might he have come to this office, busted for drinking underage? How many times might he have sat in this chair, as annoyed and stubborn as I was, as Whitmore gloated at him from across the desk? How many times might he have been offered a mint? How many times might his father have come into this very office to clear his son's name, much like my mother is doing now?

Is it possible that Whitmore closed his case for a reason other than it had simply not enough evidence?

Harry once told me the law enforcement in Castle Hill was corrupt. Is she the heart of the corruption?

There's a knock at the door and an officer sticks his head in. "Lyle says the two you called for are on their way," he says.

"Good," Whitmore snaps and the officer quickly leaves.

Fifteen minutes later, the door to the office opens again and Officer Lyle holds it open for Estella and Ava. They look confused, but as their eyes land on me and my mother, their expressions quickly change to worried. Well, Estella's does. Ava's remains smug, and I know exactly why.

The necklace is fastened neatly around her neck.

I grip the arm rests of my chair, anger filling me.

"Afternoon, girls," Whitmore says, standing and walking over to the front of the desk. There are no more chairs in the office for Ava and Estella to sit anywhere, so they remain on their feet. "I'm Detective Whitmore, but you already know that."

Ava's cheeks flush and I can't exactly tell why from the expression on her face.

"You're aware of the small mishap that occurred yesterday with-ah, there it is. The prized necklace." Whitmore smirks at the pendant hanging around Ava's neck. "Not exactly the kind of necklace I imagined this whole shitstorm to erupt from, but who am I to judge what teens are into these days."

Ava looks the detective up and down, sizing her up.

"Anyway," Whitmore goes on. "Mrs. Marx here has informed me that Jane had the necklace on September seventeenth. Yesterday was September twenty eighth, and the day you accused Jane of stealing it. Please, enlighten me-how did she steal a necklace she was in possesion of on the seventeenth? Unless it was stolen by you before yesterday, and she was merely taking it back."

My liking for Detective Whitmore rises ever so slightly.

Ava looks lost for a moment, as if trying to formulate another lie. Estella's eyes are fixated on Ava, clearly waiting to play along with whatever Ava concocts.

"Come on, she's just sticking up for her daughter," Ava says, gesturing to my mother.

"And she's just sticking up for you." Whitmore points at Estella.

The lost look remains on Ava's features for a moment before a smile breaks out across her face. She looks at me. "Oh, Jane," she says. "It was just a joke!"

Of all the things I expected her to say, this was not one of them.

Estella smiles along. "Yeah," she says. "We were just messing with you."

Ava unclasps the necklace and drops it on the desk, and I catch a bit of hesitation in her movement. "Just some new kid hazing is all," she says. "We didn't think it would get this out of hand."

Liar, she is too much of a liar-I saw the look in her eyes when she was accusing me, something so full of malice and contempt. There is no way you can fake a look like that.

"Sorry about all of this," Ava goes on, pushing dirty blonde hair over her shoulder. "We didn't mean to get you charged with anything," she says to me.

Whitmore looks between the two of them.

"Girls like you two really piss me off," she snaps. "Look how much of my time you've wasted. All for hazing? Unbelievable."

I reach forward and take the necklace off the desk and into my hand. It's warm-it doesn't possess the same cool feeling it did when I had it, no doubt provided by Harry and his eerie cold aura.

"Hazing," Whitmore goes on, scoffing. "A stupid reason behind a big deal." She glares at the two of them. "Both of you get out of my office. I'm informing Mrs. Hansen at your school to give you detention for a week. This kind of joke is unacceptable."

They nod.

"Now get out," she snaps and they do so quickly, without looking back. Whitmore sits back behind her desk.

"I'd like to apologize on behalf of the idiocy of those two," she says. "Teenagers think they can do whatever they want and have it not affect anyone." She reaches for some papers off her desk. "I need you to sign these to drop all charges, and everything will be cleared," she says to my mother. "If you have any questions, Officer Stark can help you outside my office." She looks to me. "I'd like a small word with Jane, if that's alright."

My mother nods, standing. "Of course. Thank you for your help today, Detective Whitmore." She exits the office, shutting the door behind her.

I look back at the detective.

"You don't honestly believe it was just hazing, do you?" I ask her flatly.

"Of course not," she scoffs. "What kind of detective do you take me for?"

"A rude one."

She smiles slightly. "About that," she says. "I understand I can be a little harsh at times. But you understand that I'm only doing my job."

I shrug. "I suppose."

"I get a lot of people claiming they're innocent in here every day," she tells me. "Sure, you're innocent until proven guilty, but at the same time you're guilty until proven innocent. If you want to get to the bottom of things, you've got to think like that."

"Then why did you close the Harry Styles case?"

Her smile disappears. "Still onto that, are you?"

"I'm interested," I admit. "I want to know more about the unsolved murder. Clearly you're at fault for the loose ends of the case."

"I'm at fault? No," she says, laughing dryly.

"If not you, then who?"

"That's undisclosed information."

"Disclose it then."

Detective Whitmore stares at me for a long time.

"You're persistent," she says. "Unfortunately, I am more persistent." She rises from her desk. "I apologize for jumping to conclusions yesterday, and I'm glad your case was cleared. However, I can't go around disclosing private and classified information on the Harry Styles case to any new kid who's interested."

"Everyone deserves justice," I say, standing.

"I agree," she replies. "But a cold case is a cold case."

We stare at each other for a few moments. Her gaze is hard, ice blue and challenging.

"Have a nice day, Miss Marx," she says. "And hopefully you won't be bothered by those girls again."

She opens the office door for me and I walk out without another word.