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“You think that because you still remember the Mr. Collins from before.”

“And you don’t?”

“I remember him differently.” She keeps scanning the crowd. “I remember a man who hated you and every Fairhope Red for blowing up his life. If anyone in this town has a reason to settle old scores, it’s him.”

I wish her logic didn’t make sense. But it does.

Mr. Collins has every right to hate me and Peyton’s little cult.

But murder?

I don’t know.

I know losing his job and his family was something he never truly recovered from. Maybe years of resentment finally curdled into something ugly and cruel.

Maybe we all have a switch inside us, and once someone finally manages to flip it, there’s no turning it off again.

Still, I’d feel a hell of a lot better if we could find him and get this cleared up once and for all.

“Stop fidgeting,” Sienna mutters, nudging me in the ribs.

“I can’t help it. I’m not exactly thrilled to be here.”

“It’s almost over. A few more minutes.”

She says it with the calm of someone who’s done this sort of thing before. Considering her line of work, that shouldn’t surprise me.

I guess I’m not as comfortable with crashing funerals as she is. Sue me.

I nod and do my best not to get on her nerves.

But every second we spend standing beneath this tree is another second someone might notice us. The last thing I need is one of the Reds spotting me lurking on the outskirts of their friend’s funeral.

At least Jordan and Brooke’s funerals won’t take place in Fairhope. Not that it matters. There’s still Amber’s funeral. Though something tells me it won’t take place until after the reunion is over.

God forbid this town lets a second funeral interfere with the festivities. One dead classmate in the ground is a somber affair. Two is just bad optics.

I let out a quiet breath of relief when the service finally begins winding down.

One by one, people approach the grave and toss red roses onto Sydney’s descending coffin.

Red.

Of course.

Even in death, a Fairhope Red stays loyal to her colors.

Sydney drew a surprisingly large crowd. Along with the Reds, her parents and extended family are here, plus people I assume are friends and coworkers.

Strange. I don’t even know what Sydney did for a living. In fact, aside from her being a Red, I don’t know much about her at all.

She was just the mean girl who made my life hell in high school. That was the beginning and end of our relationship.

Still, watching her mother break down in someone’s arms reminds me that Sydney was something else to these people. A daughter. A friend. A loved one.

I can see their grief. I can understand it. I just can’t share it.

I feel nothing. And maybe that makes me a terrible person. If it does, then so be it.