“It’s a joke,” Mateo says quickly. “A nickname. Autumn works for a knife-sharpening company, and there’s a giant knife painted on the side of the van, so…” He briefly shuts his eyes as Ivy winces. “It seemed a lot funnier before today.”
“Jesus,” Ivy mutters. She stands up and rolls her shoulders, like she’s trying to put herself back into problem-solving mode.
“Did you hear everything we just talked about?” I ask, because it really did seem like she was in another world for a while.
“I heard,” she says, patting my arm. “You asked good questions. Except for one glaring omission, but I know that’s a difficult topic for you.” She turns toward Charlie. “Charlie, did Boney ever say anything to you about Ms. Jamison?”
“The art teacher?” Charlie asks, blinking up at her. “No. Why would he?”
“Because she works in the studio where Boney died,” Ivy says. “And we found a list that she’d made with your name, Boney’s name, and Mateo’s name circled.” She waits for some kind of reaction from Charlie, but he still looks confused. “Why do you think she did that?”
Charlie shrugs. “You’re the smart one. You tell me.”
A trace of color returns to Ivy’s cheeks. Without realizing it, Charlie just gave her a much-needed shot of energy. Getting called smart is her own personal Red Bull. “Well, now that we understand how you and Boney are connected, it seems like the list must have something to do with the stolen drugs,” she says. “But then Autumn should be on it, not Mateo.”
“Except Autumn doesn’t go to Carlton High anymore,” Mateo says. “So her name wouldn’t be on a class roster. Maybe only the last name mattered.”
Ivy taps her chin. “That’s a good point.”
Charlie flings one arm over the back of the couch. He looks calm again, as though all the brain cells holding his guilt about Boney have gone back to being comfortably numb. “Or maybe it was a guess,” he says. “If you were gonna pick a drug-dealing Wojcik, wouldn’t it be him?” Charlie waves in Mateo’s direction. “The big guy with the bad attitude. Not the cute girl.”
“That’s…also a good point,” Ivy says, like it pains her to admit it.
“Yeah, it is,” Charlie says, his eyes half-shuttered as he shoots her a lazy grin. “You know, your hair looks really good down. You should wear it like that all the time.”
“I…thank you?” Ivy says uncertainly.
“You’re welcome.” Charlie looks her up and down, then pats the seat beside him. “Sit down for a minute. Relax. You’re way too tense.”
Ivy crosses her arms tightly over her chest. “Personally, I feel like I’m exactly the right amount of tense for the situation at hand,” she says.
Charlie squints at her, thoughtful. “Is it weird that I find you kinda hot right now?”
“Okay, listen,” Mateo interrupts, clearly not liking the conversational shift. “So what exactly are we saying here? That Ms. Jamison is part of some drug ring? Working with the guy Boney talked to? She figured out who was selling the stolen drugs, and he—what? Tried to buy them back? Or take them back. Or offer Boney some kind of partnership, maybe.” His jaw sets. “Whatever it was, it didn’t go well for Boney.”
“Or the guy,” I say. “If he’d gotten what he wanted, Charlie’s house probably wouldn’t have gotten ripped apart.”
“Right,” Mateo says, turning to Charlie. “How many pills did you guys take from the shed, total? Autumn wouldn’t tell me.”
Charlie tugs on his puka shell necklace. “I mean, a lot.”
“What’s a lot?” Mateo presses. “Dozens? Hundreds? Thousands?”
“Like a hundred,” Charlie says. I relax a little, because it could be worse, until he adds, “Bottles.”
“A hundred bottles?” Mateo starts pacing the room. “Are you kidding me right now? How many pills per bottle?”
Charlie passes a hand over his forehead. “Dude, this is like…a lot of math.”
I jump in. “Conservatively, let’s say twenty per bottle, but it’s probably more. At minimum that’s two thousand pills, and at eighty dollars a pill, we’re talking about…”
Ivy wrings her hands. “Hundreds of thousands of dollars,” she finishes, her eyes wide and alarmed. “That’s a ton of money to lose.”