ry," she said quickly, "but if you ever do--" "I won't. But thanks."
I turned toward my computer and went straight to Google, trying to focus on the task at hand. Trying not to think about Sabine's
opinions--about how reprehensible she would find me if she knew the truth. I thought about taking out my disc full of info on the
Billings Girls, but I didn't want to crack that open in front of Sabine, and I wasn't certain it would have anything on Ivy, since she had
never actually been a Billings Girl. I could always check it later. For now I was going to search the old-fashioned way. As Sabine set-
tled in with a book, I Googled Ivy Slade. Luckily, it was not a common name. I got only thirty listings. The first, an obituary. Victoria
Slade, 89 Boston Socialite Was Groundbreaking Feminist I scrolled through the cached article for Ivy's name and found her listed as
one of Olivia's survivors--her granddaughter. Olivia had died over the summer, having suffered a stroke more than a year ago.
Sad. But unhelpful. I closed the obit and went back to my list. There were a couple of mentions of Ivy attending this party or that
fund-raiser. Then, jackpot. The headline: millionaire teen caught stealing... from own MATRIARCH. I clicked the link, which took
me to a Boston gossip site called Dish of Beantown. Okay, not the most reliable source, but I had to see what this was all about.
Sources inside the BPD have confirmed that the "minor" whose name was withheld from the Boston Globe's front-page B&E story
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yesterday was in fact Boston princess Ivy Slade, r6, daughter of financier Colton Slade and former supermodel Esmeralda Lake-Slade.
Apparently home for the weekend from her tony Connecticut boarding school, Easton Academy, Miss Slade got tired of inspecting her
diamonds and organizing her couture and decided it might be fun to bust into Grandma's house to snatch God knows what. That pair
of Jack Kennedy's boxers the elder Ms. Slade is rumored to have tucked in her trousseau, perhaps? Too bad the prodigal grandkid nev-
er noticed during all those Sunday teas that Grandma had a state-of-the-art security system installed. Miss Slade was pinched, and
we're all tickled pink to see what happens next. Is this the new fave pastime of the rich and semifamous? Better get out the shotguns,
people, before all the kids in the others start emulating the fabulous Miss S. We could have an inept-crime trend on our hands!
I covered my mouth to keep from laughing in shocked glee. Ivy was arrested for breaking into her own grandmother's house? Why?
What was she hoping to steal? Clearly the girl had everything she needed. But even more baffling was the fact that the police had yet
to investigate her in Cheyenne's death. Didn't a girl with a record--one who was so intimately connected to the victim--merit a first
look? I sat back in my chair and saved the pertinent files to my hard drive. At least I had proven one thing--there was definitely some-
thing off with that girl. But was she capable of murder? I couldn't wrap my brain around that--the idea that there was another student
at Easton who was that evil, that insane. An image of Ariana's cold, hard face flitted through my mind and a dreadful shiver raced
down my spine.
No. There was no way it had happened again. Cheyenne had committed suicide. End of story. Still, I needed a distraction. Now.
"Sabine?" She looked up from her book. "Yeah?" "Do you want to play, like, Spit or something?" I asked her. "Absolument!" she an-
swered brightly, tossing her book aside. I took a deep breath and grabbed my deck of cards. Thank God there were still a few normal