Sarah Benadine is Dead

The air hung heavy and humid, a stifling blanket over Clearwater, Wisconsin. Inside the packed high school auditorium, the collective grief for Sarah Benadine was a tangible thing, punctuated by the rhythmic drumming of rain against the roof.
Eleven-year-old Shannon Malone sat among the mourners, her black dress clinging uncomfortably. She picked at a loose thread, her sharp blue eyes scanning the room, landing briefly on the tear-streaked face of Mrs. Edwards, and then on the somber figures of Sarah's parents at the front.
Suddenly, an arm landed heavily on her shoulder, and Shannon jumped, her heart leaping into her throat. "Hey," a familiar voice chirped, and the grinning face of Antonia Guaraldi, Toni, appeared beside her. "You're sick, Toni; only you could be smiling right now," Shannon retorted, trying to smooth her disheveled hair. But Toni's next words cut through the somber atmosphere, chilling Shannon to the bone.
"It's not every day someone gets brutally murdered in your town, is it?"
