I stare down at the picture of the sign, wide-eyed.

Ripley somehow transformed the entire billboard to look like the front cover of a vintage crime thriller. He painted the whole billboard black, and the decaying old advertisement beneath gives the background cracks and texture, as if this is the cover of a very well-loved, often-read book.

In the center of the billboard is a skull, with a lit candle on top. Melting wax drips down from it, forming a pool next to the skull. Above the candle are huge block letters, painted in a shade of golden-yellow.

BODY BAG BOOKS

And beneath it, in a font straight from the cover of a 1940s crime thriller: Keep It Creepy!

In the bottom corner of the billboard is what looks like a linework logo. But upon closer inspection, it’s a very simple map of how to get to Floyd’s shop from the highway. The lines are painted to look like one long zipper.

“Oh, my god,” I whisper, stunned.

After our long discussion about John Botswick, Floyd took us through Body Bag Books, gave us a little tour. He showed me and Aiden some vintage edition books he keeps there, not for sale. Old paperbacks from the 1930s, 40s, and 50s, with titles like The Groom Lay Dead and True Crime Cases and Homicide Johnny. Most of them are stamped with their original price: twenty-five cents.

I told Ripley about these, because there was one called The Art Studio Murders, with the tagline: He was an artist - with canvas and with women. Then he painted his masterpiece - the face of his own killer!

I thought that Ripley would find it funny, but now I think he actually went and looked up a picture of the cover. Of many different covers, maybe. The style he opted for is a perfect distillation of all of them.

The billboard looks like an actual book right out of Floyd’s vintage collection, blown up to tremendous proportions.

But the art has its own distinct, Ripley flare. I can see his tag, sneakily worked into the wax of the melting candle. The three concentric curves, three ripples. You would never notice it, if you weren’t seeking it out.

“Oh, my fucking god,” I mumble, staring and staring. “Holy sh-”

My phone starts buzzing again. Floyd is calling me back.

“Jesus Christ!” I sputter, as soon as the call connects.

Floyd’s excited laughter comes bursting through from his end of the line.

“I know! I’ve never seen anything like it, my goodness - did you and Aiden do this, Jamie? You mentioned something about a friend?”

I mentioned this before I realized that Ripley went out and vandalized a billboard. Now I know that I can’t exactly cough up a name, so I hesitate, searching for an acceptable version of the truth.

“Yeah, he - um... you know what, Floyd? I think that this particular mystery might have to stay unsolved.”

Another bright, cackling laugh. “I do love a good unsolved mystery!”

I’m starting to laugh, too. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

“Well - if your friend did have anything to do with it,” Floyd continues, “Please tell him - tell him I said…”

There’s a long silence.

“Floyd?” I ask, checking to make sure that the call didn’t drop.

“Tell him I said thank you,” Floyd finally manages, his voice thin and wobbly.

My fingers curl tightly around my phone, my heart lifting.

“I will, but - I have to tell you, Floyd, we didn’t pay for that billboard or anything, it might get taken down-”

“I know,” Floyd says hoarsely, before I can finish. “But I’ve got the picture, and that’s not the point, anyways, it’s… it’s perfect. Even if it does come down, it was perfect.”

I stand in the cool darkness of my bedroom for a long time after we hang up, smiling to myself, my fingers pressed against my mouth.

“Damn, Ripley,” I say, beneath my breath.

I can’t believe that he did this. In fact, I’m struggling to wrap my mind around it. The scale and scope is so much more than what I expected. I also probably should have paid more attention to what we bought Ripley at the hardware store. But, in my defense, super thick paint markers and cans of spray paint can be used for many other things, besides redesigning a billboard with nobody’s permission. I assume.

I open up the picture again, stare at it in disbelief. Then I spin on my heel and head for the door, because I have got to show Aiden and Will.

I pause just outside of the living room, voices drifting to me in the hallway.

“-remember anything else about him?” Aiden is asking Will. “Caleb Callahan?”

I stop, not sure if I should go into the room.

Will doesn’t know about the connection between Aiden and Ariana, so he doesn’t know about Aiden’s connection to Caleb, either. He’s gone this whole time without learning Aiden’s last name.

Kasey said that she offered to tell Will everything, and Will wanted to wait. He wanted time to adjust to his new form - his new life, really - before we start revealing complicated truths about his past.

So we’ve all been treading carefully around the subject, and I’m a little surprised to hear Aiden bring it up. But it does make sense to me, that he’s been thinking about this. Will personally knew two of Aiden’s ancestors, from centuries back. I don’t blame Aiden for being curious about what they were like.

Will’s soft southern lilt drifts out from the living room.

“Yes, I remember Caleb well. He married Ariana, after I died. They had a family, children. All boys.”

I peek around the corner and see Aiden sitting forward, his elbows on his knees, listening closely to Will.

“He was a good man, Caleb,” Will continues. “I didn’t watch their family too much, after I passed on. It felt wrong to always be there, when they did not know of my presence. But I did… I did go to the garden window every night. Ariana would come sit there. It had been a special place for us, in life. She would speak to me as if she somehow knew that I could still hear her.”

Something moves behind Will’s green eyes. Love, undiminished by time.

“Caleb knew that Ariana did this,” he says, a little distant. “But he never begrudged her for it, and never asked her to stop. It didn’t bother him that she continued to do so even when they were both old and grey. I know that he didn’t understand it, but - that didn’t matter. He cherished her, complete with all of her broken pieces. There was no doubt in my mind about that.”

Aiden’s expression is complicated. He runs a hand over his mouth, stays silent.

Will blinks, and seems to come back to the present.

“Ari was happy with Caleb,” he says firmly. “For that, I was happy, too.”

Aiden breaks into a small smile. He looks at Will thoughtfully, his head tipped to the side.

I’m smiling, myself. I’ve always seen a bit of Ariana in Aiden, but now I see a bit of Caleb, too. It sounds like Ariana and Caleb were both people with a vast capacity for love, just like Aiden. The Guardianship isn’t the only legacy they handed down to him.

Realizing suddenly that I’m eavesdropping, I clear my throat and step into the living room. Will and Aiden both turn and look up at me.

Aiden surfaces from the depths of his thoughts. The little smile playing around his mouth grows wider when his eyes find mine. I love this look on his face, the one he gets when I walk into a room. His smile is so sweet, a bite out of a honeycomb.

He reaches for me. I’m already headed towards him.

“Hi,” I say, dropping down onto the couch.

Aiden folds an arm around my shoulders, draws me up close to him. “Hi.”

“You were gone for some time, Jamie,” Will observes. “Is all well?”

“Yeah, sorry to interrupt your conversation,” I answer, already typing my passcode into my phone, “But Ripley finished the sign, and believe me, you two are gonna want to see this.”

~~~~

I do a full lap of City Hall before I track down Ripley. He’s in Gabby’s office, arranging some papers on her desk. I go directly inside and close the door behind myself, then plant my hands on my hips.

Ripley glances up, then does a double-take. He stops, biting his lip, and slowly pulls his AirPods out of his ears.

“You,” I say, with no preamble, “Are fucking wild, you know that?”

Ripley shrugs his shoulders, all innocent. “What are you talking about?”

He takes one look at the indignant expression that rises on my face in response to this, and immediately bursts out laughing. I start laughing, too, despite my best attempts to look angry.

“Dude!” I go to the desk, stand across from Ripley. “Don’t even give me that! You know exactly what you did!”

Ripley shrugs again, failing to bite back the grin on his face.

“My art teacher said I should never miss the opportunity for a solo exhibition.”

“Oh, my god.” I press my fingers to my cheeks, shaking my head at him. “Ripples, that was so much more than we asked you to do - and you drove out there to do it? You said that you don’t like having to use your license.”

“Alix drove, not me.” Ripley folds his arms over his chest, his smile growing even wider. “I asked her if she wanted to come with me, and she did. You said I should go for it, right?”

“What-?" I close my eyes for a second. "So, let me get this straight. I ask you to make a sign for a little bookshop, and I say that you should ask out the girl you like. And you hear - take the girl on a vandalism excursion in the dead of night, to do a guerilla art revamp of an entire fucking billboard?”

“Um…” Ripley presses his lips together, but the corners of his mouth are turned up. “Yes?”

I stare at him for a moment, wide-eyed. Then we both dissolve into laughter again.

I can’t help myself. I can’t believe that this is the interpretation of my advice that Ripley ran with. And he’s laughing at my expression, covering his mouth with both hands.

“Okay, first of all,” I say, when I get my breath back, “If Gabby asks, I did not directly fund any vandalism, and neither did Aiden.”

“Oh, oops.” Ripley winces at me. “I already told her. Why didn’t you warn me sooner?”

“Stop it,” I groan, to another snicker from Ripley. “Second of all, you have an interesting idea of what a date is supposed to be. I’m sure Alix would agree with me.”

“It wasn’t a date, nothing happened like that.” Ripley fidgets with the stud in his ear, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. “I wanted to see what it would be like to hang out with just the two of us, that's all.”

“Well, now we know that she’s down for vandalism, so that’s a good sign for your relationship.”

“Shut up,” Ripley laugh-groans, tipping his head back. “It’s not - we don’t have a relationship in the way you’re thinking.”

“But you got the chance to hang out with her one-on-one, right?” I prompt him.

Ripley nods slowly.

“Yeah, it was - it was really fucking fun, honestly.” He smiles at me. “Really, I should be thanking you for asking me to do the sign. Gave me a chance to chill with Alix. And I discovered some interesting artists when I researched those crime thriller book covers. Like Harry Bennett, and Robert K. Abbett, and-”

“No, dude,” I cut in firmly. “Don’t thank me, I came here to thank you. Floyd is just - I wish you could have heard him on the phone. He’s beyond stoked. He’s already had three customers, thanks to you. Which doesn’t sound like a lot, but I’m willing to bet that’s more than he’s had all year, so.”

Ripley pauses, surprised. He drops his gaze to the desk, but I catch a brief glimpse of the smile on his face.

“Cool,” he says, very casually. “I’m glad that Floyd liked it.”

“I can’t even tell you how much of an understatement that is, man,” I laugh. “He loves it. Seriously, thank you.”

Ripley pushes his green curls out of his eyes, and I see that his fingertips have no paint stains today.

“No problem. Happy to do it.”

“Frankly, I’m shocked that Alix was able to climb up onto that billboard,” I tell him. “She’s not the most graceful person I’ve ever met.”

“Yeah, it - it took a few tries.” Ripley puts his fingers to his lips, suppressing a laugh. “She never gives up, though, I swear.”

“Well, again, that feels like a good sign for your relationship,” I answer.

Ripley tips his head to the side. "Why?"

“Because neither do you.”

Ripley smiles at me across the desk. He opens his mouth to answer, but the door suddenly opens, startling both of us.

Gabby cruises into her office without breaking stride, a coffee in one hand, her phone in the other. She’s typing away with her thumb, French manicure flashing.

“Hey, boys,” she says, without looking up or slowing down. “What’s going on?”

Ripley hurries out of the way, and Gabby crosses to stand behind her desk, setting down her coffee.

“Got everything organized for your afternoon meetings,” Ripley says, “And the guy from the Emergency Management department called back. Apparently, that budget problem you tried to warn them about-”

“You mean the one they promised me would be no big deal?” Gabby asks, still typing away.

Ripley nods. “Yeah, it turned out to be a pretty big deal.”

“Ha!” Gabby clicks her tongue. “I knew it would, and they said not to worry. Calm down, they said. Send them a message from me, Ripley. The message is this: chúpalo.”

Ripley picks up a notepad and a pen. “Is that spelled how it sounds?”

“Oh, no - don’t actually tell them that,” Gabby laughs, looking up from her phone. She flaps a hand at Ripley, her bangles jingling. “I’ll call them back when I get a minute.”

Ripley sets down the notepad. “Sounds good.”

Gabby nods, then turns to me. “And you, Jamie?”

“Um - me?”

“Yes, you.” She arches an eyebrow, glancing between me and Ripley. “What are you doing in my office? Besides distracting my intern?”

The intern in question bites his lip behind Gabby’s back, then slips out through the door, leaving me to explain.

“See, this is unfortunate,” I tell Gabby, my cheeks heating up. “Because I’d love to say that I’m not just here distracting your intern, but, um. I’ve found that lying to you in the past has never gone particularly well for me.”

Gabby laughs again, shaking her head at me.

“This is unfortunate for me, too. Because I’d love to tell you off for distracting my employees, but I also find it sweet that you came down here to visit him. You’ve put me in a tough situation.”

“Less tough than that budget situation, though?” I say hopefully. “Totally small by comparison?”

“Yet to be seen,” Gabby chuckles, taking a sip of her coffee. “As it happens, I’m glad you’re here, Jamie. I was hoping to speak with you, and I finally have a free moment. Sit, please.”

She gestures to the chairs in front of her desk, and I take one. Gabby drops into her seat, too, crosses her legs, and smooths out her sleek navy dress.

“I think it’s time we spoke about Ellen, don’t you?” she asks. “You’ve been teaching her for a while, now. I’m sure you’ve got some observations about the way she learns, and I want to hear them. Anything that could help us figure out some long-term solutions for her. Do you have time to talk about that?”

“Oh,” I say, caught by surprise - “Yes! I definitely do. Anything to help Kent and Ellen.”

Gabby fixes me with a warm smile.

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” she says, and clicks on a pen, ready to take notes.