No bag.
“She always takes it,” Rachel whispered.
“I know.”
Rachel’s throat tightened. “He knew she wasn’t going inside.”
Mara said nothing.
“He knew before they got here. Otherwise her bag would be with her.”
“Unless she forgot it.”
“She doesn’t forget that bag.”
Rachel heard how absolute she sounded and welcomed it. Audrey might forget a charger, a textbook, lunch money, even her keys. But the dance bag was practically an extension of her body. Pointe shoes, flats, tape, hairpins, water bottle, resistance band. Rachel had watched her turn the car around once because she realized two blocks from home that she had left it by the stairs.
Mara closed the video.
“Class is ending,” she said. “I need five minutes.”
Rachel barely heard her.
Mara paused with her hand on the doorknob. “Stay here.”
Rachel nodded.
The office door closed.
Rachel stood alone with the attendance sheet, Derek’s messages, and a frozen dark laptop screen that reflected half her face.
