You'll Be the Death of Me(68)

She deserved it.

The biggest picture on Autumn’s bulletin board is of her mom and dad, the aunt and uncle I barely knew, holding my toddler cousin between them. The second-biggest is of me and Ma flanking Autumn at her high school graduation last spring. There’s one of Autumn and me at the New England Aquarium from the summer she first got here, posed stiffly next to an exhibit about the biggest and smallest fish in the world. I know the whale shark is the biggest, but I have to squint at the sign next to Autumn to remember what the smallest fish was called. Paedocypris progenetica, barely a third of an inch long.

That’s Autumn, I think, my eyes drifting to the twelve-year-old version of my cousin. She’s the small fish in this whole mess. There’s somebody a lot bigger involved, somebody who moves enough pills that they can store thousands of them in an abandoned shed. Somebody with the knowledge, the resources, and the cold-blooded will to kill Boney. If the police could find that person, Autumn wouldn’t matter anymore. They’d have their whale shark.

    It makes me wish I’d never left Cal and Ivy. You can say what you will about Ivy—and God knows I did—but she doesn’t give up. And she has a knack for figuring things out. If Ivy believes there’s something important in Ms. Jamison’s classroom, she’s probably right.

As soon as I start thinking about Ivy, her face leaps out at me from Autumn’s bulletin board. The picture was taken in Carlton Middle School’s streamer-decorated gym, at the only dance I’d ever gone to there. We moved around all night as a group: me, Autumn, Ivy, Cal, and Daniel. In the photo our arms are slung across each other’s shoulders, our smiles wide and full of braces. Across from that picture is one of Autumn at last year’s senior bonfire in the woods, her face pressed close to Loser Gabe as Stefan St. Clair grins over their shoulders. Beneath that is my mother and father’s wedding picture, and I swear to God, Ma already looks like she knows she just signed up for taking care of an adult kid.

My eyes flick between the photos as my brain catalogs everything that happened today. Boney’s death. Dale Hawkins’s news coverage. Stealing Ms. Jamison’s day planner. Finding the kill list. Learning about Charlie’s involvement. Talking to Autumn in the murder van. Fighting with Ivy. There’s something running through it all—not a common thread, exactly, but a loose one. It keeps dangling right outside my line of vision, taunting me with the fact that if I only knew where to tug, I could start to unravel everything.

    The thought enters my head before I have time to push it away: What would Ivy do? And I’m pretty sure I know.

I pull a phone from my pocket. Not mine, the one I tossed aside like a coward downstairs, but Boney’s. Maybe it’s his name, Ivy said when she was trying to guess his passcode at Crave Doughnuts. She’d entered B-O-N-E-Y, which hadn’t worked, so I type in B-R-I-A-N.

“Holy shit,” I mutter when the screen unlocks. My pulse accelerates as I pull up Boney’s messages; the last one is just a number. 5832. The code to Ms. Jamison’s studio. There’s no name attached to the phone number that sent it, but I hit audio and hold it to my ear, scanning Autumn’s bulletin board while it rings.

I zero in on one of the pictures and think, Maybe.

Then the call goes to voicemail, and I almost drop the phone as a familiar voice fills my ear. There’s no maybe about it. My heart starts to pound as my vision narrows to a pinprick, until I can’t see anything except the picture that caught my eye. I could kick myself for all the signs I missed, but at least I finally grabbed hold of the thread.

And for the first time all day, I know what I have to do.





YOUTUBE, CARLTON SPEAKS CHANNEL


Ishaan and Zack are in someone’s house, surrounded by students holding cups. Some are talking intently, some seem shell-shocked, and others are mugging for the camera.

ISHAAN: Hey, everyone, it’s Ishaan and Zack continuing our round-the-clock coverage of Boney Mahoney’s death. We’re live at Stefan St. Clair’s house, where current and former Carlton High students have come together after today’s tragic news.

ZACK, looking nervous: Technically, we weren’t invited to this.

ISHAAN: It’s practically a memorial service. Everyone’s invited. Anyway, we’ve been flooded with questions from our viewers, so we’re gonna address a few of them now. (Looks down at something in his hand.) First up: Jen from Carlton asks, Is this Ivy girl actually a suspect, or just a person of interest? Great question, Jen. Keeping in mind that we have absolutely no legal training— ZACK: Or knowledge.

     ISHAAN: I would say that she’s probably both. Plus a fugitive. But again, those may not be the exact terms that law enforcement would use.

ZACK, under his breath: Where is Emily when we need her?

ISHAAN: Emily is, quote, not talking to either of you for the rest of my life. Unquote. Next question comes from Sully in Dorchester, who says, Don’t you rich pricks have anything better to do than…Okay, that’s more of a comment than a question, Sully.

(A girl pushes her way in front of the camera, breathless.) You guys. My best friend’s cousin’s dad works for a guy who knows a guy who bought the building Boney died in, and she said he said there might be drugs involved.

ZACK: I mean—yeah, that’s how Boney died, right? Drugs.