Her dad was nursing a glass of whisky when Nanette arrived home, stamping the snow off her boots and internally cursing the weather for the hundredth time that day. She eyed the drink and thought of Julie's confession about the Sheriff.

Nanette's dad had never been much of a drinker, but over the past month, she had been finding glass bottles stacked in the recycling bin, the last drops of amber liquid pooling at their bottoms. 

It was the suicides, Nanette knew. Her father had been first on the scene for the homeschooled girl, and she remembered how the following morning he had pulled Nanette in for a brief, tight hug before she'd left for school. Hugging had always been more of her mother's thing, but Nanette had appreciated it nonetheless, although the rare display of sentimentalism had caught her a little off guard. 

Nanette hung her coat on the wooden rack next to the door. She paused before entering the kitchen.

"Did you ever find those phones, Dad?" It was a touchy subject, bringing up the grim cases her father had been assigned to investigate, but she wanted- needed- to know if there were any new developments.

If there would be more deaths, or if the three events were isolated.

If what some news reporter said was true, that suicide clusters were common, and that there might be more on the way.

"I can't discuss open investigations," her dad said, sounding tired.

"I know," Nanette said quickly, and left to start making dinner.