Quinn is beside the big oak when I get to Leo’s house, her skateboard leaning against the trunk. “You’re late,” she tells me in her typical bored voice.
“I wanted to wait until my uncle left,” I reply. Something about leaving the house the day after Gram’s funeral felt wrong, as if I’m not supposed to have a life for the next couple of days. He probably wouldn’t have questioned where I was going, but since I haven’t told him about any of this yet, it’s easier to just dodge and avoid. There’s already a lot on his plate with the funeral and will-reading aftermath. The least I can do is stay out of his way until I have more solid information on whatever this is.
That, and the house was taut with tension, leading me to believe something went down between him and Daisy after we came home from the funeral and I collapsed in bed. I only saw her once this morning in the kitchen. She threw me a glare and stomped back to her room.
“Good morning!”
My head snaps up at Leo’s cheery voice. He balances on the edge of the roof, then takes a precarious step onto a branch about a foot away. I hold my breath as he walks down its length, the wily wood bending beneath his weight. But like he told me yesterday, he’s no rookie in the realm of sneaking out. With practiced ease, he climbs down the remaining branches like a jungle cat until his feet touch the dew-soaked lawn.
“Totally your first time doing that,” Quinn mentions dryly.
His responding grin is devilish. “For sure.”
“If your parents aren’t home, why didn’t you just use the door?” I ask.
“Because he’s a show off,” Quinn answers.
“True,” Leo affirms. “But also because I have nosy-ass neighbors who meet with my mom for a weekly book club, which is just an excuse to get wine drunk and gossip. I can never be too careful.”
“And they wouldn’t see you climbing down a tree?” Quinn points out.
“No, because I’m the king of stealth. And also, we have a high fence.” His fingers muss through his dark waves, still damp from a morning shower. When he looks back up, his eyes glitter. “You’re late.”
I roll my eyes, exasperated. “I didn’t realize you two are so punctual. Should I just go home or—”
“Not you,” Leo says, gently pushing my shoulder so I turn around. “Him.”
My mouth gapes at the boy hurrying toward us in pressed chinos and a navy polo, an olive-green backpack slung over his shoulder.
“Shit,” Quinn breathes in surprise as he stops before us, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“What happened to not wanting to be involved?” I ask Caleb from Creekson.
“After your linebacker stunt yesterday, I meant it,” he says, gesturing to the small bandage covering the scrape on his arm. “But he had different plans.”
“Let’s walk and talk,” Leo says, turning toward the woods behind his backyard and ignoring Caleb’s pointed gaze at him. “Nosy neighbors, remember? Our ride is this way.”
Walking into the woods with Leo seems like a horrible idea given that I’m wearing yesterday’s green skirt again paired with a cropped white tee since I still need to get my clothes from the manor. But we follow him, carefully picking our way through the damp underbrush.
“I didn’t realize you knew my name,” Caleb says to me, jumping when a chipmunk dashes across his path. That air seems to hover around him—anxious with a side of get me out of here. “And that you told him.” He waves his hand at Leo’s back.
“You two know each other?” Quinn steals my question.
“Kind of,” Leo says, at the same time Caleb answers, “Barely.”
“He tutored me for a while,” Leo says, turning to Caleb and placing a hand on his shoulder. “By the way, so sorry for bailing on our last session, dude. That’s on me.”
Caleb brushes it off.
“After seeing him talk to you in the lot, Lily, I knew he was familiar. When you said his name, it clicked. I went home and still had his Snapchat. Other info was easy to find.”
“And you proceeded to harass me all night,” Caleb angrily interjects. “You called, texted, DMed me on Snapchat and Instagram, even rang my house phone at three in the morning!”
“That’s your fault for having a house phone in the first place.”
Quinn snorts. Caleb ignores Leo’s quip. “I didn’t want my dad to catch on that something was up, so I finally agreed to take a bus here to meet you. But I can’t be seen. My dad hates Rosetown. If he comes home from work and I’m not there, I’m dead.”
“Why does he hate Rosetown?” I ask.
Caleb presses his mouth in a thin line. “Don’t worry about it.”
I roll my eyes but don’t pry as we stop at a small clearing with a rundown garage and a dirt path that must lead to the main road. Leo takes a clunky set of keys from his pocket and unlocks the door. None of us help him as he rolls it up.
“No way,” I say, staring at the rusty white van that looks as if it was pulled right off a poster warning children against pedophiles.
“Yes way.” He hops into the driver’s seat. The van starts with a chug that sounds like Hades himself is breathing life into it. “Now get in. The museum’s like five miles away.”
I slide open the back door and cough. “What is that?”
“What?”
“It smells like something died,” Quinn gags.
Caleb plugs his nose. “I’m not getting in without a gas mask.”
“It’s just hockey gear,” Leo says defensively. “We used these for the Ice Plex teams. My dad sold the others but kept this one, so I figured he wouldn’t mind if I borrowed it.” He flashes a sly grin that suggests his dad would mind very much, but he has no plans of telling him.
When none of us make any moves to get in, he sighs. “Do I need to remind you that there is potentially money at stake?”
Slowly, like it might kill us because it really might, we climb inside. Quinn takes the passenger seat while Caleb and I shuffle onto the bench back seat, yellow foam exploding from a rip in the fabric.
“Do you have your license?” I ask as Leo pulls out of the garage, nearly swiping the side mirror off.
“Of course.”
I stare at him in the rearview mirror.
He clears his throat. “Uh, well, permit. But same difference, right?”
Clicks fill the air as we buckle our seat belts.
“So what’s the plan?” Caleb asks as Leo turns onto the main road and we emerge from the cover of the trees.
Silence greets him as Quinn turns back to look at me, and Leo meets my eyes in the rearview mirror.
“Uh,” I fumble for something so I don’t seem like everything’s totally out of my control, even though it is. “Well, you see—”
“We were kind of going to wing it,” Leo admits.
“Wing it?” Caleb echoes. Unzipping his backpack, he pulls out a copy of the Creekson Guardian. “I take it none of you have seen this, then.”
My breath goes still as I read the headline aloud. “‘Folks Flock to Rosetown as News of Missing Fortune Goes Viral.’ Viral?”
“You haven’t seen the TikTok?” Quinn interrupts me.
I grab my phone and open the app. The first video to pop up is Daisy’s face, the caption reading, HUGE UPDATE: My Gram’s money is missing. It has over six million views. The sound is off, but the way her face is doused in rainbow light is unmistakable. This was what she filmed in the hallway of the church yesterday.
It must be why Uncle Arbor was mad this morning. She’s putting our lives on display for clout.
“Read the rest,” Caleb urges.
I grab the paper and read the article out loud.
The news of the missing Rosewood fortune has drawn interest from locals and tourists alike. Theories are being shared online as to where the fortune might be, with Iris Rosewood’s granddaughter suggesting in a recent TikTok that perhaps it’s “still around.” Following the death of the third-generation Rosewood matriarch, individuals are traveling to the historic town to see for themselves if they can strike gold. Others, meanwhile, are steering clear of the town. They have no desire to compete in what the internet has coined “The Rosewood Hunt.”
“The Rosewood Hunt?” Quinn echoes. “That is the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”
“I think it’s kind of cool,” Leo says. “Makes it sound deadly.”
A film of sweat slicks my palms. Not only are we up against whatever tricks Gram has in store for us, but now we also have competition? If we don’t solve her clues fast, someone else could get to it first.
That opens up a bigger question: What’s truly at stake for us here? Money for college makes the most sense. A bonus would be Gram leaving some kind of note regarding my place at Rosewood Inc. But what if it’s more? What if it’s everything? The entire multimillion-dollar fortune.
And now, people are coming to town with the same nagging thought.
We clearly have no time to waste. I turn to Caleb. “This pushed you to come help us?”
His fingers nervously pick at the skin around his nails. “There are too many shitty people in the world who could do too much harm if they got their hands on a quarter of a billion dollars.”
“Also because we’re irresistible, right?” Leo says with a goading grin.
“Not even close. Also because—” He pauses, as if this is taking everything for him to admit. “I need the money, assuming that’s what’s at the end of all this. Not for me—I should get a full ride for college because I have a four-point-two GPA, plus I’ve been saving up from tutoring. But my mom died five years ago, and my dad works two jobs. I have two little sisters, so maybe the money would let my dad focus on them and switch to only one or something. Then maybe I could look at colleges farther away.”
“That checks out,” Leo says. “We all need money for college. We think that’s why Gram pulled us together and likely what’s waiting at the end of . . . whatever this is.”
“I also showed up because you kind of need me,” Caleb says slowly. Cautiously.
I narrow my eyes, the town blurring past us. “You didn’t seem to think so yesterday.”
“The Three Flowers is a famous painting.” He ignores my jab, pulling a chunky laptop from his backpack and setting it on his lap. “In 1950, Amélie LaFramboise—a famous French artist—painted it as a gift for Hyacinth to celebrate the continuation of the Rosewood line after Iris was born. It’s a highly valuable piece because it’s the last thing Amélie ever painted. She died five days after finishing it.”
“Brutal,” Leo murmurs.
“The artist’s name is familiar.” I try to dredge up where I might recognize it from.
“It should be, to you. Amélie also painted the portraits of Hyacinth and Petunia hanging in Rosewood Manor,” Caleb says.
As vivid as if I’m standing in the hall outside of Gram’s office this very second, I picture them.
“The Three Flowers is one of the best pieces in the museum,” Caleb continues. “Which means it’s on the third floor, where all the priceless art is kept.”
“Sounds like there’s a catch,” I say.
Caleb’s already grim face turns grimmer. “There is. On the third floor, there’re velvet ropes to stop people from getting too close to the art. But what you don’t see is the infrared system that will alert security silently. They’ll be on you before you know it.”
“So basically, if you hadn’t shown up today, we would have alerted the alarms and gotten in trouble,” I say, anger seeping into my tone.
He swallows guiltily. “Likely.” At our glares, he puts his hands up in defense. “Listen, I wasn’t about to risk my ass before knowing what I was even risking it for. But now I’m here, so no one will get caught. Probably.”
“Do we have to do gymnastics around the lasers?” Quinn doesn’t look stoked.
“No shot. It’s basically a wall,” Caleb says. “You need to turn the infrared off.”
“And you can do that?” Doubt sneaks into my voice.
“Yes. But, the second I turn them off, you’ll only have sixty seconds to search the painting before the system reboots and they turn back on. You have to find whatever you’re looking for fast.”
I mull it over in my head. Sixty seconds is barely any time at all. What if we need to take it off the wall? Should we invest in drills first?
My eyes gloss across the newspaper and the reminder that we have competition. No time for drills. No money for drills. I’ll pry that painting off the wall with my bare hands if I have to.
“So what are we looking for?” Quinn asks, looking at me.
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “Gram’s always left little notes. But usually that’s all they are—one or two to get me to my destination. So I guess maybe another note? Or a piece of paper, like a check or something if this really does lead to money for college?”
“Easy,” Leo says. “Between the four of us, we’ll find whatever it is.”
“I’m staying right here,” Caleb says adamantly. “I can’t be seen.”
He said his dad can’t know he’s here, but there’s more. I can feel it in the way he barely meets my eyes. “How do you know all of this? Why does your dad hate Rosetown?”
He throws an exasperated look my way. “You’re just as pushy as I expected.”
I smile with my teeth. “I’m worse.”
“I used to come here a lot when I was younger,” he relents. “I never lived in Rosetown, but my mom always wanted us to because she grew up here. She used to commute here for work until she died in a car accident. I think my dad always felt like if she hadn’t cared so much about this town, we could have moved farther away like he wanted and maybe she’d still be here.”
“The what-if game. I play that, too,” I tell him. What if I hadn’t made a scene at Gram’s birthday party? What if I had stayed and called for help when the heart attack hit? Would she still be here?
The problem is, once you start playing, you never stop.
“That still doesn’t explain how you know about the painting and security here,” Quinn points out.
“A couple years ago, I got into coding and computer stuff. It’s what I want to go to college for. Last summer, I did an internship at the museum and helped the director set up the security system. I figured an art museum looks good on college apps, you know?”
Quinn whistles. “You did an internship with Angeline Murphy? Damn, I’ve heard she’s even more high-strung than my mom.”
“Definitely can’t be worse than my dad,” Leo adds.
“Wait,” I say, puzzle pieces sliding together as I take in Caleb’s deep-set eyes and high cheekbones. I knew he looked vaguely familiar because I had seen him before, at the museum. Except long before last summer. “Your aunt is Angeline Murphy, isn’t she?”
He swallows. “The one and only.”
“Your mom’s sister?” I hazard a guess. “I remember seeing you there when I was little and would come with Gram to see new exhibits. Back then, Angeline ran it with your mom, Eva, right? But since the car accident, it’s just been Angeline.”
“Yes,” Caleb confirms. “And before you ask any more questions, that’s the other half of the reason I can’t go in. I haven’t spoken to my aunt since last summer, the final day of my internship. She’s in a massive fight with my dad, hence why I shouldn’t be here. And she knows everyone in town, so I shouldn’t be anywhere, really. She’s a huge gossip.”
“Okay, then the three of us will go.” Quinn steers the conversation back to the focus.
“We can text you when we find the painting,” Leo adds. “When we’re ready for you to, you can shut down the system and we’ll look. In and out, no sweat.”
I’m not quite as confident, but there isn’t time for debate—we’re here.
The Rosetown Museum of Fine Art is beautiful, made of white brick with black trim, three stories tall and oozing elegance. Gardens flowing with irises, hyacinths, and petunias surround it, and people sift in and out of the massive black doors, which are framed by life-size marble statues. Through the grimy window of the van, everything looks otherworldly, like it’s a painting itself.
I rip my gaze away, handing Quinn my phone. “Put your numbers in to start a group chat.”
They do, with Leo the last after he pulls into a space at the very back of the lot in the shade of a magnolia tree. By the time I get my phone back, he’s already sent a text to the four of us. And named the chat.
“Absolutely not,” Quinn says. “I will not be called the Goonies Gang.”
“C’mon, that vintage movie’s awesome,” Leo defends the title. “I even put the little map emoji. We need to set the vibe. We also need code names.”
“No.”
They bicker about what Quinn’s should be—Skater Girl spelled with an eight, Buzzkill, RBF—and Caleb looks at me like What is wrong with them? I wish I had an answer, but I don’t, so I open the door. “You two coming or what?”
Leo and Quinn shuffle out. I turn to Caleb. “How long will it take you to shut down the system?”
“If it’s a good day, five minutes,” he says. He cracks his fingers in a typical hacker fashion. “And if it’s a bad day, six.”
“How do we know we can trust you?” I ask, paranoia making a home in my head.
“If I was planning to screw you guys over, I would have just let you get caught.” Caleb gives me a thumbs-up as I close the door, which softens me a little. I catch up to Leo and Quinn, who are still talking about names.
“Don’t make this difficult,” Leo tells Quinn. “Lily has a code name too. Lily Rose.”
She rolls her eyes. “Super original. How long did it take you to come up with that?”
“And what’s your code name?” I ask Leo as we approach the doors.
To my surprise, he opens them for us, gesturing me through first. As I step past, he leans in for a conspiratorial whisper and says, “Gray Wolf.”
Quinn snorts. “Fuck that. You’re Frat Boy.”
I surprise myself by laughing. He opens his mouth to protest, but I walk past him with a smirk. “Sorry, Quinn has chosen. No redos.”
I smooth my expression as we cross the lobby and approach the front desk, an ornate crystal chandelier hanging over our heads. There’s free entry for locals, so we’re waved through by a girl a year below us in school in the typical uniform of black pants, a white long-sleeve shirt, and a maroon vest. She wears a plastic smile on her face, the telltale signs of a stressful day at what’s probably her first job. The museum is bustling, likely thanks to Daisy’s viral update herding people to Rosetown.
“Everybody’s looking at us,” Leo murmurs under his breath.
The girl watches with a wide gaze as we shuffle through, and I glance around to realize several others share her stare.
“Looking at you,” Quinn hisses to me. “You’re going to blow our cover.”
“I didn’t know we were under cover,” I mutter back. To the people looking at me, I flash a bright smile, the kind that would have been no sweat to bring to my face two weeks ago. Now, it feels like some low-grade form of torture. Each unsubtle glance is a judgmental jab, as if they’re all thinking the same thing:
What happened to your grandmother’s money?
But also, same.
“Stairwell.” Leo nods toward the emergency exit, keeping his voice low. “You go that way, we’ll go up the main one. Meet you on the third floor.”
Leo steps away from us—and directly into the path of a woman on her way out. In her hand is a bottle of water raised mid-sip, the only beverage allowed within the museum.
“Oh!” she exclaims as it tumbles out of her grasp, half spilling on Leo and the rest splattering across the polished checkered tile floor. Gasps echo, mine included but due to the elbow jammed into my side.
“Go.” Quinn shoves me toward the door to the stairwell.
I glance back at Leo as I push through, apologies spilling from his mouth, which is barely containing a mischievous grin.
He did that on purpose. A distraction.
A bit genius, but I’d never tell him so.
My feet pound up the stairs, the boards creaky and old compared to the slick elegance of the lobby. I’ve never been this way, usually choosing to travel the main staircase, which is extravagant and winding. But this stairwell is empty, exactly what I need.
Before I know it, I’m emerging on the third floor. There’s a low murmur of voices, but fewer people thankfully. It’s reverent, like people don’t want to talk too loud, lest they disturb the stunning art.
My phone buzzes. Caleb.
I’m ready. You?
Almost, I reply. I wish I’d paid more attention to paintings the previous times I’ve been here. Art has never captured my attention, although I recognize the talent behind it. But to me, fashion is art. Textiles and needles have always spoken to me more than paint and brushes.
But fashion isn’t helping me as I move from room to room, scanning each plaque before moving on to the next. I tilt my head down so my face is hidden by the wild strands of my hair, grateful everyone on this floor seems enamored by the art.
I’m in the sixth room when I see it. I don’t need to read the plaque to know it’s what we’re looking for. In a massive oil painting that spans nearly an entire wall is a picture of a graveyard. Vines twist over a tombstone, obscuring the writing on it. But in front of the tombstone are three flowers, the same that ornament the museum’s gardens. A hyacinth, a petunia, and an iris; the only colors in the image.
It’s beautiful, the brushstrokes textured on the canvas and the mixed grays of the tombstone mesmerizing. A chill runs up my back, and I squint as if I could make out the letters behind the ivy, but I can’t.
“It’s kind of sad, don’t you think?” a voice says from my right. I have the urge to jolt at Leo’s unexpected presence, but I hold myself still.
“Most beautiful things are,” I tell him, careful to keep my voice down and head trained at the painting so as not to draw attention from the few other people in the room. Like a phantom, I feel Quinn’s quiet presence at my other side. “Caleb’s ready.”
“Are we?” Quinn asks.
I glance behind me at the others in the room. If we’re seen snooping, that’s equally as risky as activating the lasers. I give a pointed look at Leo.
“What?” he asks.
“We need to clear the room.”
He takes in the other people. “I already had half a bottle of water spilled on me. It’s someone else’s turn.”
Quinn frowns at her phone. “Caleb said we need to do it now before he gets bounced out.”
“Dammit, I forgot to give him a code name,” Leo says.
I bite my lip, looking around. An idea grasps me, and I turn to Quinn. “Give Caleb the go-ahead at my signal.”
“What’s the signal?” she asks, but I’m already tugging Leo across the room.
“Lean against the wall,” I instruct him.
“Like, fake casual or real casual?”
“Just lean.”
He does, and I’m taken off guard by how ridiculously attractive he is like this. Surrounded by priceless artwork with some of his dark waves framing his eyes and an elbow propped against the crown molding.
“I know—it’s a good look,” he grins, catching my stare.
It breaks whatever momentary spell was on me. “A good setup.” I step closer, grabbing his hand with my left and pressing both to the wall. At our proximity, he swallows, heart racing. Or maybe that’s mine.
“Set up for what?” he asks, so close I feel the heat of his breath.
“For this.” I give Quinn a look, then step even closer to him, pressing myself against his front in what I hope is a flirty stance. He makes a light choking sound as if I’ve hurt him or something. It almost distracts me, but I keep to my plan, using our bodies to cover our hands. I bring them down the wall and they hit the light switch, flipping it off.
We’re plunged into darkness.