“You don’t even know what a tax front is!”
“Didn’t his grandparents just open the place for fun?”
“I am so not debating the ethics of owning the establishment that makes my favorite French fries in the world.” Alex rolls his eyes. “Come on.”
We pick up our bikes, but before we take off, I twist my head over my shoulder. Justin’s standing in front of the police station, and a tall Black woman walks toward him. She’s wearing a well-tailored suit and has a briefcase in her hand. Standing next to her is Justin’s mom, Mrs.Vreeland, who I last saw at the Club on Saturday. She grips Justin’s arm and practically drags him through the door, disappearing inside the station.
“Did you see that?” I ask.
“See what?” Alex says, buckling his helmet.
“Justin. Police station. Looking suspicious.”
Alex glances back, and his eyes flick wide for just a moment. “Ethan said they’re talking to everyone who was at the party. He was probably there.” He waves his hand toward the bike lane.
I follow Alex all the way back to our side-by-side homes in silence, not really listening as he explains the rules to the new board game he got for his birthday. All I can think about is the fact that if Billy was murdered, then there has to be a reason—a person—behind what happened. Basically, there has to be ananswer.
Just like our logic puzzles.
When we reach his driveway, I’m practically buzzing.
“Pool?” Alex drops his bike and tosses his helmet into the grass.
“Better idea,” I say. “Hear me out.”
“Okay?”
“You know how our logic puzzles start with clues that hint toward the answer?” I say. “Like the one we finished this morning.”
It was about flight delays at an airport, and we had to figure out which plane took off first. The clue that nearly stumped us turned out to be the easy one once I realized what it was really saying. That was the key with these types of puzzles—to search for hidden meanings.
“Duh,” Alex says, reaching for the side door to his house. “That’s the whole point.”
“What if Billy’s death is like a logic puzzle?”
Alex stops in his tracks and shakes his head. “I don’t like this.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think anyone likesmurder. But if something sus is going on, what ifwe’rethe people to find out what happened?”
“We don’t know it was murder, Franks. Besides, even if it was, the last thing anyone needs is two freshmen trying to figure out what happened.”
“We’re going to besophomores,” I say. “There’s a difference.” Alex scoffs, but I persist. “You really don’t want to?” Alex has never once said no to any type of game or puzzle, isalwaysdown to solve any sort of teaser.
He pauses but then starts up the stairs. “We don’t have the clues. We don’t have suspects. We don’t have anything that could help us solve something like this.”
I take that as a maybe.
“You guys smell like Hot Diggity.” Trevor’s leaving his room, a duffel bag over his shoulder. “What’d you bring back for me?”
“Nada,” I say, stopping on the landing.
“Where’re you going?” Alex asks.
“PT appointment,” Trevor says, his hand moving to his shoulder absentmindedly.
“You good?” Alex asks, his voice dropping.
I glance between them, an invisible string connecting their gaze, and for a moment they remind me of Millie and Lucy, speaking in their annoying silent language. At least with them, I’ve decoded some of it by now. But the boys…they might as well have ESP.
