You'll Be the Death of Me

“Yeah. It must be anarchy over there.” Ivy squeezes her eyes shut briefly. “I hope I don’t regret this.” She accepts the call and presses the phone to her ear. “Hi.”

I scrunch closer to her and hear Daniel ask, “What—and I cannot stress this enough—the fuck is going on with you?”

Ivy rubs her temple. “I can’t get into that right now. Do you happen to know Charlie St. Clair’s number?”

“Excuse me?” Even though it’s faint, I can hear the outraged sarcasm in Daniel’s voice. “Let me get this straight. You skip school the day Boney Mahoney gets murdered, you match the description of the suspect, you won’t answer anyone’s texts all day—and now you want Charlie St. Clair’s phone number?”

“Yes,” Ivy says. “Do you have it?”

“Are you out of your mind? Tell me what’s going on.”

“So you don’t have it?”

“Maybe I do, but I’m not giving you anything without an explanation,” Daniel says peevishly. Ivy rolls her eyes and mouths He doesn’t have it as her brother’s voice takes on a warning tone. “Anyway, that guy’s trouble. Stay away from him.”

“Why is he trouble?” Ivy asks.

“He just is.”

Before Ivy can respond, her phone buzzes. She lowers it to read the text on her screen, and I look down, too.

Emily: Charlie St. Clair just up and LEFT SCHOOL. Walked right out. Everyone here is falling apart.

Emily: I’m going to keep texting you updates, whether you answer me or not.

Emily: Please answer me.

Ivy makes a worried sound and puts the phone back to her ear. Daniel kept talking while we were reading Emily’s texts, but I couldn’t make out anything he said. “Okay, well, I guess there’s nothing left to discuss,” Ivy interrupts. “Except, by the way, you were a jerk for taking my Sugar Babies from the porch in eighth grade.” Daniel squawks something else, and Ivy adds, “Don’t give me that. You know what you did.”

“Sugar Babies?” I ask as she disconnects.

“Mateo left them for me,” Ivy says, a pink tinge washing over her cheeks. I glance at Mateo, who’s suddenly very interested in the doughnut menu. “At my house, after we, um. Briefly hooked up. I just found out about it on the train when you…said what you said.”

“Ahh,” I say, swallowing hard. When I threw a hissy fit, she means. I’d rather not revisit any of that right now. “So Daniel doesn’t have Charlie’s number, right? And Charlie took off anyway?”

Mateo frowns. “Took off?”

“Emily said he walked out of school,” Ivy says, her tone businesslike once again. “It must’ve been right after Cal answered Boney’s phone.” She bites her thumbnail. “I wonder if he went home? Maybe we should try to talk with him in person. The St. Clairs live in our neighborhood, a couple of streets over.”

“It’s as good a plan as any,” I say. Lara hasn’t checked in since I left the café, even though she’s had plenty of time to figure out…what had she said? Where we land.

Well, it looks like we’re landing with Charlie St. Clair. If Lara wanted something different, she could’ve let me know before now.

“I’m starving. I need more food first,” Mateo says. “Real food,” he adds, giving me a look like he was expecting me to recommend a doughnut. Which, to be fair, I was. “There’s a McDonald’s across the street. You guys want something?”

“No thanks,” Ivy says.

My stomach is way too knotted to eat anything else. “I’m good.”

“Okay. I’ll meet you outside.” He stands and picks up Boney’s phone from the table. “We should probably shut this down until we figure out how to get it to the police. They might be tracking it.”

Jesus, I hadn’t even thought about that. Something new and fun to worry about. “Maybe we can leave it with Charlie,” I suggest, glancing at Ivy. She’s absorbed in reassembling everything she took out of Lara’s day planner, with the single-minded focus of someone who can’t deal with another piece of stressful information.

“Yeah, maybe,” Mateo says. He leaves as Viola returns from the back room with a cloth in one hand. She starts wiping down the counter, sending the occasional thoughtful look our way. I’m debating whether I should go over and make small talk, like I would under normal circumstances, when my phone rings for the first time all day.

It’s Wes, because of course it is. Who else would call me?

I briefly consider letting it go to voicemail, but my dad wouldn’t call during a school day unless he either knows I skipped or knows about Boney. Neither of those will get better with age. I swipe to answer and say, “Hey, Dad.”

“Cal, hello.” His voice fills my ear, rich with concern, and my throat tightens. “I heard about your classmate. What terrible news. Your father and I are both devastated.” Wes must’ve given Henry a heads-up before he called me, because no way would Henry come across this news on his own. He’s the opposite of plugged in, and still uses a flip phone. “Are you all right?”

“I’m okay. Just kind of in shock, I guess.”

Karen M. McManus's books