Now Ivy is chuckling. Reaching once more into her backpack, she pulls out a chocolate bar and hands it to Jane. Jane tears it open, amazed at how hungry she is.
Again Ivy tries the walkie-talkie. Finally, as they break out of the trees onto the lawn, Mrs. Vanders’s voice comes crackling through. “Ivy-bean?” she says. “Where are you?”
Moments later, calls have been made and a contingent of New York State troopers is on its way.
“They’ll also search the waters between the island and the mainland, with the hopes of intercepting that boat,” says Mrs. Vanders’s scratchy voice. “And I’ll send a couple people into the ramble to look for the accomplice.”
“And a vet,” Jane says to Ivy. “Jasper needs a vet.”
“Yes,” says Ivy into the walkie-talkie. “Jasper needs a vet. Lucy shot him. He’s got a bleeding hole in his ear flap.”
“My god!” says Mrs. Vanders. “How unnecessary! Patrick!” Jane hears her bellow. “The dog needs a vet!”
“Has anyone snuck into the house in the last few minutes?” Ivy asks.
“Ivy,” says Mrs. Vanders’s voice, “are you forgetting it’s a gala day? The doors have been wide open and people have been streaming in and out since the sun came up.”
“Damn,” says Ivy. Then she says to Lucy, “Your accomplice is having one hell of a lucky day. Kind of makes you jealous, doesn’t it?”
“No doubt it would,” says Lucy, “if I had an accomplice.”
“You do realize you’ll go down for the Brancusi too, don’t you, Lucy?” says Ivy.
Lucy’s only response to this is a tight mouth and a closed face.
“Maybe they’ll even reopen the case on the Rubens,” says Jane.
“Yeah,” says Ivy. “Good point, Janie.”
When the group reaches the house, they’re met on the back terrace by Mrs. Vanders, who comes forward to clap a hand on Lucy’s shoulder and lead her inside, face grim. Octavian the Fourth, looking sallow in his paisley dressing gown, is also standing on the back terrace, as is Ravi, who is wide-eyed and speechless. Ravi’s eyes on Lucy are disbelieving. He looks like a hurt little boy. Lucy stares back at him. When a tear slides down Ravi’s face, Lucy begins to cry silent, angry tears of her own.
*
The police divide into two groups, one searching the forest for Lucy’s accomplice, the other commandeering the billiard room, because it has only two doors, and they both close. They’ve made clear their intention to talk to the entire household, one by one, starting with Lucy, then Jane, then Ivy, then Ravi. Then everyone who was awake when Jane and Ivy brought Lucy back to the house, which includes Octavian, Mr. and Mrs. Vanders, Cook, Patrick, all the regular staff, and all the temporary staff hired for the party. Then everyone who was asleep, or claimed to have been, and wandered downstairs after the fact: Phoebe Okada, Colin Mack, Kiran.
The vet has also arrived, a big bear of a woman who’s in the kitchen making a gentle fuss of stitching Jasper’s ear. She says Jane did well with the improvised bandage and shouldn’t be alarmed by the blood. “Ears bleed like that,” she says, “but it looks worse than it is. This dog is going to be just fine.” Nonetheless, every time Jane looks at Jasper, tears start sliding down her face. When he gazes back at her lovingly, it only makes the tears come faster.
The police, armed with the basic story, talk to Lucy alone for a very long time.
Jane and Ivy wait their turns in the gold sitting room, which adjoins the billiard room. Ivy sits quietly, watching Jane sniffle and rip her cuticles until they bleed. Jane looks back at Ivy once and notices that her irises turn purple at the edges. She doesn’t look at Ivy again.
Finally, Ivy speaks. “Are you mad at me?”
Jane finds some dirt under a fingernail and digs at it, only managing to lodge it deeper. Ramble dirt, no doubt. Crime-fighting, mystery-solving, confusion dirt.
“I’ve been trying to imagine what this is like for you,” says Ivy. “Especially since it sounds like—you know about some things. Like, you saw something, or overheard something, with Philip? Maybe with Patrick?” She pauses. “Anyway, I’d be mad.”
“I don’t see why I should tell you what I saw or heard,” Jane says simply, “when you haven’t told me anything.”
“You’re right.”
“And I don’t know why you’re asking me if I’m mad,” Jane continues in an even tone, “when you’re the one who’s been acting like you’re mad at me.”
“I’m not mad at you,” says Ivy dismally.
“Well, you’ve been wandering around with your camera,” says Jane, “making that shutter noise, pretending to take pictures of the art, and then, when you see me, you act like you’re mad.”
“I’m not mad at you,” Ivy repeats. “I’m mad that I’m not allowed to tell you what’s going on.”
“Well,” says Jane. “You need to improve your directionality.”
This almost elicits a surprised smile from Ivy.
“I’ve been failing lately,” Jane says, “pretty hard, at figuring out who to trust.”
“That’s partly my fault,” says Ivy, leaning toward her. “It’s Lucy’s fault too. She tricked you. She took advantage of your better nature. She’s the sucky, faily one, not you.”
“I should’ve known,” Jane says. “You knew right away.”
“Yes, well,” says Ivy with a wry expression, slumping back in her seat. “Not trusting people isn’t something to be proud of, either.”
“But you were right,” Jane says. “You got it right.”
“Only because I have more experience with untrustworthy people,” Ivy says. “Janie, seriously. You were brave out there. You tried to keep everyone safe, even Lucy, all while not knowing what was going on. You got the gun away from Lucy, for god’s sake.”
Smoothing the sleeves of her pajama top, Jane lets this praise lap against her, cautiously. Then one of the police officers sticks his head through the billiard room doorway, glares all around, retreats again, and slams the door.
“I’m nervous,” says Jane.
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” Jane says. “I’ve never been questioned by the police before.”
“Ah,” says Ivy. “Well, all you have to do is tell the truth.”
“That’s just it,” says Jane. “What if I incriminate someone innocent by accident?”
“I think that in this sort of situation,” Ivy says, “you can’t help what you do by accident. And you’re much less likely to hurt innocent people if you tell the truth.”
Jane studies Ivy’s calm face. “The truth is that you told Lucy you had a gun,” she says.
“Ah,” says Ivy again. “But did you ever actually see that gun?”
“No,” Jane admits, “not exactly.”
“The police will ask you what I said and what I did,” Ivy says. “Just tell them the truth. They’ll conclude that I was only pretending to have a gun, for leverage.”
Jane swallows. “That does make me feel better. A little. Except that I saw the shape of the gun under your hoodie.”
Ivy glances down at her hoodie, which is flat now, with no gun-shaped bulges. She’s wearing canvas sneakers now too, and her hair is tied back in a messy knot. While Jane was fussing over Jasper and the household was waiting for the police, Ivy must have returned to her room and made a few changes. “Then you should tell them that too,” she says simply. “A shape under a hoodie is pretty inconclusive.”
“I want to know what’s really going on,” Jane says, holding Ivy’s eyes. “Personally, for myself.”
Ivy’s eyes are a soft, worried blue behind her glasses. “Is it okay with you if we have that conversation later? After the police go?”
“Will we actually have it?”
“Yes,” says Ivy. “I swear it.”
“Will you tell me everything?”
“Everything.”
“Is it going to upset me?”
Ivy takes a slow breath. She seems very tired suddenly, blinking eyes that look like they sting with exhaustion. “I don’t know,” she says. “The truth is, I’ve lost perspective.”
“I can help you with that,” Jane says. “If it’s upsetting, I’ll make sure to get really upset, so you can’t miss it.”