Cheyenne-related oddity that had been swirling around me lately. But not this. This was real. I wasn't going insane.
I took a deep breath and released Shelby's coat from my sweaty palms. "You already know Cheyenne and I were fighting." I knew
this because my friends had told me the cops had been asking about us when I'd returned from a weekend in New York with Josh.
They had told me that the cops knew about Cheyenne's and my screaming argument over Josh. "I got this the day after she died. "Why
didn't you report it?" Detective Hauer asked, sitting up straight again. "I didn't think it was important," I replied automatically. He
gave me an incredulous look. "A girl blames you for her death and you don't think it's important?" "No! Not like that," I blurted, sud-
denly frustrated. "Obviously I think it's important. It's practically all I think about, that she might have killed her
self over something
she thought I'd done to her. I mean, I don't know if she blamed me because she wanted my boyfriend and she couldn't have him, or if
she blamed me because she thinks I somehow got her expelled or what, and I'm never going to know. And believe me, that is impor-
tant to me. But is it really important to you? I mean, doesn't this e-mail sort of prove that she killed herself?" I asked, holding it up.
"This was just her last-ditch effort to get to me."
"Actually, I do think this is our best piece of evidence for suicide," Hauer said. "I just wanted to hear what you had to say about it."
I took a deep breath. It felt good to have this out there. To have someone listen. Even if it was Detective Hauer. "I wasn't Cheyenne's
biggest fan and she wasn't mine," I said, placing the page down again, feeling a bit more in control. "But I'm sorry she's dead, and I
had nothing to do with it." The detective picked up the e-mail printout and placed it atop the other pages in his folder. "All right then,"
he said. "There's just one other question I have to ask. Do you know if Cheyenne had any other enemies at school? Anyone else who
could help shed some light on what might have been going on in Ms. Martin's mind?" Instantly, a name popped up in my mind. A
knowing smirk. Cold blue eyes. The eyes of someone who had known Cheyenne but had grown to hate her. "What is it?" Detective
Hauer asked, clearly noting the change in me--the realization in my eyes. "Ivy Slade," I said, a bit too loudly. "You definitely want to
talk to her."
* *
I speed-walked back to Billings after Hauer dropped me off on the circle, hoping that no freshmen or sophomores with big mouths
saw me getting out of the detective's car from their windows in Bradwell. If they did, the news would certainly be all over campus in
the morning--Billings president leaves campus with Hunter Braden, returns with police--and that could not happen. No one was going
to know about my meeting with Hauer. No one was going to know that Cheyenne's parents had asked the police to open up a murder
investigation. Not if I could help it.
I remembered all too vividly the dreary, morbid, terrified atmosphere on campus once it was revealed that Thomas had been mur-
dered. I couldn't go through that again. This school couldn't go through that again. Especially considering there was still a good chance
Cheyenne had taken her own life. I mean, if she hadn't, then why had I gotten her suicide note? It made no sense. I wished Hauer had