“I don’t mean me,” I say defensively. “Since when am I in charge of alibis?”
She opens her mouth to answer, but a ringing phone cuts her off. The sound is coming from somewhere in our booth, but it’s not mine. Ivy doesn’t reach for her bag, so it’s clearly not hers, either. We both look toward Mateo, expectant.
He pales as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black case that’s…ohhh. My pulse quickens as I recognize the phone I took from Lara’s studio, thinking it was Ivy’s.
The one that probably belongs to Boney.
“Answer it!” Ivy says. Mateo just keeps holding the phone gingerly, like he’s afraid it’s going to explode. I pluck it out of his hand as Ivy leans against me for a look at the caller’s name. She gasps, and I almost drop the phone.
Charlie.
I swipe to answer and say, “Hello?” I don’t mean to do it, exactly, but somehow the word comes out in Boney’s signature drawl.
“Boney!” A voice, pitched high and panicky, floods my ear. “Holy shit, man, I never thought I’d be this glad to talk to you. People have been saying you’re dead. What the hell happened over there? Did the guy ever show?”
“Um.” I have no idea what to say next. Ivy mouths something I can’t understand, and I wave her away so I can think. “Um, is this Charlie St. Clair?” I ask.
For a few seconds, all I can hear from the other end is ragged breathing. “Why are you asking me that?” Charlie asks in a more normal tone, and now I recognize him. Even when he’s freaking out, he sounds like the turtle in Finding Nemo.
“Yeah, so, here’s the thing. This isn’t Boney—” I start.
“Shit!” Charlie interrupts with a strangled half scream, and abruptly hangs up.
“Charlie, wait!” I say into the dead phone. Then I lower it, hoping I can somehow get him back, but now that he’s disconnected, Boney’s screen is locked again. “Damn it,” I say, frustration mounting as I fruitlessly swipe at the screen. “He’s gone.”
“Let me see,” Ivy says. I hand her Boney’s phone, and she says, “Mateo, you tried 1-2-3-4 as a passcode, right?” He nods. “Anything else?”
“No,” Mateo says.
“Maybe his name.” Ivy mutters B-O-N-E-Y as she presses the keypad, then frowns and shakes her head. “No luck. Cal, what did Charlie say?”
I replay our short conversation word for word, as best I can remember. I’m positive that I have at least one part right: Charlie asking, Did the guy ever show? I try to say it neutrally, like it doesn’t mean anything, even while my brain flashes with additional context.
The guy. Not “she.” Not Lara.
I don’t want to push that onto Ivy and Mateo. If I do, they might think I only heard what I wanted to hear—or worse, that I’m lying. But relief is already coursing through me at the thought that Boney wasn’t there to see Lara. She might’ve lied to me about a lot of things, but she didn’t lie about that.
“I thought you said Boney and Charlie weren’t friends,” I say to Ivy.
“They’re not,” she says. “I’m sure of it. Anyway, it sounds like that call was specifically about this morning, doesn’t it? Like Charlie knew Boney was going to be at the studio to meet someone. But it doesn’t seem as though he’s told anyone else, because no one at school is gossiping about it. Plus, both of them had their names circled by Ms. Jamison, so…I think we need to talk to Charlie. He’s the only person who might be able to make sense of all this. Since the third name on the list insists that he can’t.” She shoots Mateo a sideways look. “Unless that’s changed? Have you thought of anything that might be useful?”
“No,” he says.
Ivy doesn’t press him, and I don’t understand why. It’s not like she let me get away with anything when it came to Lara. I know Ivy had that huge crush on Mateo years ago, but that can’t be the only reason she’s so careful around him.
She picks up her phone and glances between us. “Do either of you have Charlie’s number?”
“No.” Mateo and I say it in unison this time.
“Hmm,” she says. “Maybe my brother does. They hang in the same circles, and used to play some of the same sports before Daniel decided to concentrate on lacrosse.” She swipes at her phone and grimaces. “Oh God, I have so many texts from Daniel. He’s loving the gossip.” She lowers her voice in an imitation of her brother, reading from her screen. “Are you a murderer y/n. Should I tell M&D you might be a murderer y/y. Have you fled the country? So hilarious, Daniel. This is all such a fun joke.”
“You sure you want to talk to him right now?” Mateo asks.
“No,” Ivy says, stabbing at her phone. “But I don’t know anyone else who might have Charlie’s number. I’m not going to tell him anything.”
She’s barely finished texting when her phone rings. “Is it Daniel?” I ask, surprised. “Isn’t he in class now? It’s past lunch, right?”