“I think I recall, yes.”
“It made me wonder if there was something going on between them, which”—she pulled out her phone and clicked over to Noelle’s Instagram, shoving a picture of Hunter in my face—“ta-da, there does actually seem to be. And I knew from that big list you made for me a few weeks ago that Noelle lives in Hemlock, so. It’s a pretty safe bet that’s what—or, you know,who—Hunter was doing in Hemlock House the night that Bri died.”
Right away, I shook my head. “It’s conjecture,” I argued, echoing her words from the night before. “We still don’t know for sure.”
“We do,” Holiday countered. “Li-Wen explicitly told me. She said that the night Bri died she had to crash in the common room of their suite because whatever Noelle and Hunter were getting up to sounded like, and I quote, ‘someone was eating a bowl of pudding without the benefit of a spoon.’ ”
I winced. “Oh, my god.”
“She should be a creative writing major, right?” Holiday said admiringly. “I told her she belongs at my school instead.”
“She certainly has a way with words,” I had to admit.
“Anyway,” Holiday continued, “Hunter didn’t do it.’
“Okay,” I said, trying without a ton of success to swallow asurge of annoyance. “Well, that’s that, then. We are, and continue to be, absolutely nowhere.”
“I mean, don’t get pissed.”
“I’m not,” I said irritably. I was, though. I was pissed at Hunter for those pictures. I was pissed at Holiday for always being one step ahead. I was pissed at myself about that dream, and for kissing her to begin with, for cracking a door we both knew was better off staying firmly shut.
“I know you wanted it to be him,” she continued, tucking her hands into her back pockets. “But it wasn’t.”
“I didn’twantit to be him,” I said, a little defensive. It was the same voice she’d used to tell me that one weird note did not a murder mystery make. She’d been wrong about that, though, hadn’t she? She’d been wrong, and I’d been right. “I’m just frustrated that now—”
“Everything okay?” Greer asked just then, her Bean boots crunching on the gravel as she came up behind us. It was hard to see her expression in the dimness, but her tone was definitely the tone of a person who’d come to make sure nothing untoward was going on between her ex-boyfriend/current hookup and his tall, striking childhood friend.
“Everything’s great,” Holiday said brightly, evidently choosing not to acknowledge the inherent weirdness of the two of us huddling together under a set of literal bleachers like something out of a musical sequence fromGrease.“I was just about to go.”
Greer frowned. “In the middle of the game?”
“Oh, I’m not a football person. I think undergraduate sports should be illegal, actually.” Holiday smiled winningly. “It was nice to finally meet you, Greer! See you around, I hope.” She turned tome, then hesitated for a fraction of a moment before nodding, the gesture oddly businesslike and formal. “Michael. I’ll talk to you.”
We watched as she marched away, both of us a little bit gobsmacked by the Holiday of it all. “What was happening there?” Greer asked once she was gone.
Our murder investigation just went entirely to shit, on top of which I think she’s mad at me for kissing her in Hunter’s room at the lax party last nightwas not an answer I felt comfortable giving, so instead, I just shrugged likeTheater girls, am I right?“Nothing,” I promised, rolling my eyes a little. “She’s just…It’s a long story.”
“A long story like we’re a long story?”
I tipped my head to the side, cautious. “Are we a long story?”
“I didn’t think so.” She raised an eyebrow. “Are you guys a thing?” she asked. “You and Holiday? Or like,wereyou a thing while we were broken up, if you’re not a thing now?”
I almost laughed, but then it abruptly stopped being funny and the sound I made was like a weird, guilty, strangled burp. “What?” I asked shrilly. “No.”
I had never in my life seen Greer look less impressed. “So, yes?”
“No!” I insisted. “No,not at all. We’re friends. We’ve been friends since we were little.” I took a breath. “My mom is her housekeeper, actually. Her family’s housekeeper.”
That stopped her, which had admittedly been the point. At the back of my mind I felt a little dirty for using the awkward novelty of my mom’s blue-collar job to distract Greer from an argument—though not, apparently, dirty enough not to do it. “I— Oh,” she said, nodding so fast and hard she looked like a Harvard-themed bobblehead. “That’s cool.”
“Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “Anyway, there’s nothing going on between Holiday and me. We were just—I mean, she’s been helping me try to figure out—” I broke off.
Greer’s eyes narrowed one more time. “What?” she prompted.
“No, nothing.”
“Linden.” She huffed out a little laugh, high and nervous. “What the fuck?”
