You'll Be the Death of Me(34)

As soon as she says the words, a bunch of things happen one after the other. The people in front of us move away, the interview concludes, and Dale Hawkins’s gaze shifts from the guy in the Patriots hat, to the camera, and then to the crowd. Where it lands directly on Ivy.

Recognition dawns on his face, and Ivy doesn’t hesitate another second. She spins on her heel and takes off in the opposite direction, ponytail flying.

“Hey!” Dale Hawkins calls. Cal starts running after Ivy, looking over his shoulder the whole way, and I try to melt into the background. Dale strides forward a few steps, the camera guy in tow, but people are milling around too much for him to get very far before Ivy and Cal disappear around a corner. I duck behind a streetlight that does nothing to hide me, probably looking even more ridiculous than Cal did this morning, as Dale gazes after them.

“I know that girl,” he tells his camera guy. Oh hell.

He doesn’t spare a glance for me, though. Within minutes he’s interviewing an old woman, and another small crowd of pedestrians gather around him. “In my day, this kind of thing didn’t happen,” the woman says loudly.

The urge to go home hits me again, harder than ever. What did Ivy say I had this morning? A sore throat? Sure, that’ll work. I pull out my phone to find Carmen’s last text, so I can tell her I’ve been home sick all day. Carmen is one of those social connector types who knows everyone; within half an hour, my story will be set. Ivy and Cal will understand. Maybe they can figure out how to disappear from this mess, too.

    Besides, it’s not like the three of us are some kind of team. Not anymore. We don’t owe one another anything.

Then a message from Ivy flashes across my screen. We’re back at the doughnut place.

Before I can figure out how to explain that I’m cutting my losses and going home, she adds, I’m going to show Cal what we found at the café. I grimace, because there’s no way that’ll go well, as Ivy adds, I need to move things along in case Dale Hawkins recognized me.

I briefly debate telling her that he definitely did. But that’ll freak her out, and for what? The guy already turned his attention someplace else. Instead, I type, I gotta bail. Then I delete it, because that’s too abrupt even for me.

I need to leave…No. Not much better.

Look, I’m sorry, but…

With a sigh, I give up and stuff my phone back into my pocket. The least I can do is tell them in person.



* * *



—

I get to Crave Doughnuts just as Ivy’s about to go all-in.

She and Cal are sitting side by side in a booth, a weird quirk of theirs that I’ve never understood. Why sit next to somebody when there’s only two of you? I drop down across from them and she’s saying, “So, Cal,” her voice barely above a whisper, even though the place is deserted except for the cashier who served us before. “I should preface this by saying that I realize this was a sneaky thing to do and also, technically, illegal. But I think we should look through it with an open mind in case there’s any information that could help us understand this mess.”

    “Huh?” Cal’s face is a total blank, and I don’t blame him. I know what Ivy’s talking about, and I still found that confusing.

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a small black notebook with the words Day Planner embossed in gold on the front. “We took this from Ms. Jamison’s bag in the café,” she says. “And I think we should see what’s in here.”

“You did what?” Cal blinks as she opens the planner. “Hold up. Is that…did you…are you guys the ones who took her bag at the café?”

“Temporarily,” Ivy says, giving him a wary look. He seems more shell-shocked than angry, which is an improvement over the train.

“But how…I would have seen you!” Cal says.

“I grabbed it after Mateo knocked a bunch of dishes over. Remember that?” Ivy says. “Then I took it into the bathroom and looked through it, and saw this.” She taps a page in the planner. “My dad has one like it, and he puts his entire life in there. So I figured, why not take a look?”

“Why not take a look?” Cal repeats disbelievingly. “Maybe because it’s stolen property?”

“I did mention that as a flaw in the plan,” Ivy reminds him.

“What plan?” Cal asks, his voice rising. “What’s the point of this?”

“Shhh,” Ivy hisses. Viola looks up, seems to decide that we could use some privacy, and opens a door behind her. I catch a glimpse of kitchen appliances before she slips inside and closes the door.

    “Cal, listen,” I say, because chances are good Ivy’s only going to make things worse if she keeps talking. “You’re right. It was a bonehead move.” I don’t look at Ivy when I say that, but I can hear her light snort of indignation. “But it’s already done. And you can’t blame us for thinking Ms. Jamison knows more than she’s saying. Bottom line is, Boney died in her studio.”

“It’s not her studio,” Cal points out. “She borrows it from a friend. So do other people. And there are new owners, so…” He puts up his hands at Ivy’s epic eye roll. “I’m just saying, lots of people have access to that space, and—”