After I’d told Bobby everything we knew—still not much—he said, “That’s so weird. I just got a text from Ziggy.”
(Listen: you, like me, can probably use your powers of deduction to figure out with a name like that, Ziggy was a surfer friend.)
“He said Keme asked him for a ride—” Bobby continued.
“Get over there,” I said. “Grab him and throw him in the car and bring him back here.”
No one, not even Bobby, said anything.
“Uh, only a little less like a kidnapping,” I said.
“Hold on,” Bobby said. When he spoke again, his voice was troubled. “Ziggy’s not responding.”
What did that mean, I wanted to know. All my earlier thoughts about writing a twisty/twisted relationship came back to me. In a really dark mystery, the classic character relationship twist would be, well, mine and Keme’s. I’d spend the whole book thinking he was my little brother (or, if you were Fox and Indira and Millie and Bobby, mybigbrother), and there’d be increasing signs for the savvy reader that I was wrong, like Keme shoving me out of my chair at the station, or slapping my hand away when he’d come home to Hemlock House. And then, in this exact moment, I’d realize Keme was the real killer, and we’d find each other and have a final, deadly showdown.
But that was only in books.
Right?
“I’m going to head over there,” Bobby said. “You said Fox is with you? Why don’t you two check the Starlite’s bus stop; there’s a Greyhound later tonight.”
“Uh—”
“I love you. Be careful.”
And then he disconnected.
When I turned around, I said, “He’s going to check with this friend, Ziggy—”
“We heard all that,” Indira said.
Fox was raising their eyebrows again. “Come on, we need to go.”
“About that—I still think Indira should be the one—”
With cool efficiency, Indira unloaded Millie on Fox. Millie kept crying, and Fox patted her on the top of the head and gave me, of all people, a dirty look.
“Dashiell,” Indira said, “I’d like to have a word with you.”
It wasn’t a question.
She led me to the kitchen. It was warm, and it smelled like cinnamon and the lingering hint of rising dough, and on the other side of the windows, the sky had cleared and frozen until the moon looked like it was trapped in a sheet of black ice.
Indira planted herself, folded her arms, and said, “You’re going with Fox.”
“But—”
“No buts. Keme needs you. I understand that this kind of thing is difficult for you. I’m not insensitive. But Keme is your friend, and you, Dashiell, are a good man. So, I’m asking you to be brave and to do this, even though it scares you, because right now, Keme needs to know he’s loved.”
“Right, I know. And I’m not trying to be a coward or weasel out of this. I mean, maybe I’m weaseling alittle, but—” The look on her face cut me off. “I agree with you: what Keme needs right now is to know we love him. That’s why it should be you. You’re the one he’s closest to, well, except maybe Millie, and right now—”
Something in Indira’s expression softened until it approached grief. And then the moment passed, and she was all cold resolve again. “A year ago, you’re right: it might have been me who needed to go. But things have changed. Who does he play video games with every afternoon? Who does he spend a ridiculous amount of time with, jumping off benches and trying to climb up walls?”
“It’s called parkour, actually—”
“Who does he hang out with for hours and hours, Dash? You made that horrible movie on your phone—”
“Bride of Sasquatchwas a misunderstood work of genius.”
