container on the bar and use both hands to carefully pull out the charred remains of a sweatshirt.
The stitched lettering across the bust has been well ravaged, but some threads remain. I recognize the color immediately. It’s not even necessary to figure out the letters.
“It’s Avery’s,” I say. “Her Harvard hoodie.”
“You’re sure?”
“If it were Yale, the stitching would be white. Princeton is orange. Harvard is crimson. That shade of crimson.”
“The depth and specificity of your knowledge is very weird.” Ethan fingers the raised embroidery of what I think is an H. “Okay, so this is a Harvard hoodie. Couldn’t it be Emma’s? We know she was here.”
I shake my head. “No, Emma does have a Harvard hoodie, but it is maroon with white lettering. And it’s in her closet right now. I checked the pockets earlier today for the phone. Avery’s hoodie is black.”
“So that means she was here.”
“The night Emma died.” I search the room for something to carry the sweatshirt in. I’m not leaving it here.
“How do you figure?”
“The wastebasket hasn’t been emptied. The whole building has been shut down since it happened, so it had to have been left here the night of— Aha.” I find a plastic grocery bag under the coffee table. “Otherwise the cleaning staff is in here Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Emma died Wednesday morning.”
I burn under Ethan’s assessing gaze as he watches me place the hoodie into the bag.
“Are we turning that over to the police?”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
“And the phone?”
Unease crawls up my spine. “Why are you giving me the third degree?”
“Emma had…a lot of secrets.” He squirms under my gaze. “I think this is getting a bit intense. That phone is evidence of a crime that may have led to a murder. We’re in a secret room that places your friends at the scene of the crime. I feel like we’re in over our heads and we should hand this stuff over to Cataldo.”
Logically, I know he’s right. Normal, everyday people logic. But we’re embroiled in a freaking murder. Someone we know, someone I know, killed my friend. “I can’t hand over half-baked evidence, not when it will make me look even more suspicious for doing all this digging instead of giving Cataldo information. No, we have to keep looking, take these clues to their natural conclusion and then hand stuff over.”
“I want to state for the record that I object,” he offers with a wink.
“Duly noted,” I return with a salute, going warm and fuzzy with relief. “Come on, let’s go. This place gives me the creeps.” In point of fact, it gives me a hollow feeling that gnaws at my insides. My friends hung out here and never told me. Another lie by exclusion.
We slip back out into the shadows of the steam room, the plastic bag crackling against my thigh as we move. I haul open the tempered-glass door to the locker room, and that’s when we hear them. Voices, echoing up the stairs.
I react on instinct, grabbing Ethan by the arm.
“What—”
“Shhh!” My destination is the shower room. It’s the closest place to hide. Ethan catches on quickly enough, pulling me toward the nearest stall, but my strength bests his. I tug him to the left, to the third stall in. Another tempered-glass door—preferred boathouse aesthetic—creaks on its hinges as we scurry inside.
“Why—”
I cut him off again, this time with an explanation. “They could see us through the door. This stall is out of the direct line of sight. Now hush.” I strain to listen, a hair shy of pressing my ear to the door. I can’t, for fear it will swing out, make noise.
“Hold up! Your legs are longer than mine!”
“It’s not my fault you’re slow.”
My body goes stiff with recognition. Margot and Avery.
“Why are we even here? It doesn’t matter, does it?”
And that’s Sierra. Avery responds to her. “It matters to me! We can’t let the cops find it.”
They move through the locker room, bickering, and then their voices muffle as they reach the steam room. I turn to Ethan, planning on telling him we should sneak closer, see what else we can hear, and suddenly we’re touching—full-on bodies touching. Shower stalls are meant for one person, not two. I wonder what it would be like if I were a dainty girl, how much less space I would take up, but right now I love every inch of myself. My breath hitches as Ethan’s hand grazes my hip, not intentionally, I’m