Frankie
Accompanying Millie to the Book Bonanza is like running a marathon. You have to prepare by making sure you have water, a snack, money for an iced tea, probably another snack, and so much patience. Something I definitely lack.
We’re here because Millie’s refused to talk about that photo of Trevor since I showed it to her at the solstice party a few days ago, and insisted that if we were going to do it, we’d have to go far away from home. And yet, we’ve been at the shop forever, browsing books.
“C’mon, Millie,” I say, tapping my foot against the wooden floorboards. “Can’t we sit over there for a sec?” I point to the cozy reading corner where two overstuffed purple armchairs face each other against the window.
“Chill out,” she says, pulling another hardcover from the romance section, where she’d been methodically moving down the aisle for the past twenty minutes. “I still haven’t gotten to the new releases.”
I smack my palm against my forehead. “Why are we hanging out with the books you already know?”
A small smile spreads on her lips. “Because,” she says, “it’s fun.”
“Fun for you. We have things to discuss.”
Millie turns back to the stacks like she doesn’t hear me. I cross my arms over my chest and give her the most powerful glare I can muster, but she doesn’t look back at me.
“Millie,” I say, growling her name.
“I don’t want to go around accusing him of something, okay? Maybe that photo was from another night or something. He and Erica are friends. It’s not that weird.”
My chest tightens with anxiety. Yesterday, I slipped Erica’s bag into the welcome hut’s lost and found, but I haven’t had the guts to call her yet and tell her that it’s waiting for her.
Maybe it’s because I know that once she gets it back, she’ll start to wonder where it went—who took it.
Who knows about that photo of Trevor and the baby.
Millie shakes her head. “Go wait over there, okay? Or outside on the benches,” she says. “And text Mom that we’re still alive. She’s been blowing us up for the past ten minutes.”
I stomp my way out of the shop and plop down on the bench in front of the store. I pull out my phone and see Mom’s messages.
Are you girls still at the Bonanza?
Let me know asap.
I see your locations but I want to HEAR FROM YOU.
HELLO?
If you don’t respond in two minutes, I’m going to have to come down there myself.
I let out a puff of air and type fast.
Still at the Bonanza, don’t freak out!!! Millie just has to read the whole store before we leave.
Mom responds immediately. Ha. Ha. Home by four.
I drop onto the wooden bench and a bead of sweat forms on my forehead, the heavy heat of summer burning my scalp. I should have brought a hat. I stretch my achy legs out and catch a big whiff of wet sand and deep-fried food from Hot Diggity. Yep. It’s definitely summer.
The street is lined with the same type of security guards we’ve seen at the Club, plus Pelican Island police officers. From my perch, it looks like they’re all scrolling on their phones, trading pieces of gum back and forth. Not sure how they’re going to keep us safe, but sure.
Up on the announcement board staked into the grass is a piece of paper with Billy’s face on it. Above the image, the words Justice for Billy are typed in bold. But someone’s scrawled red devil horns above his head, which seems like a little much. He may have been a douche, but he’s dead. Yeesh.
I pull out the puzzle book I bought when we first got here and crack open the spine, but I don’t get through more than a few lines before I hear bike tires crunch over gravel.
Shit. It’s Erica pulling up on her bicycle.
She’s got big sunglasses hiding her face, and even through that shield, her distress is obvious: Her dark hair is tangled, and her skin is red and splotchy.
A lump forms in my throat and nerves flutter in my stomach.
“Oh,” she says when she sees me, pushing her hair away from her face. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I say tentatively, clutching my book.
Erica whacks the kickstand of her bike with her heel and lifts her face.
“Your bag,” I say, the words coming quickly. “It’s in the lost and found.”
Erica’s eyes go wide. “Really?”
Shit. What if she suspects I put it there? “I think so. At least, there’s a bag in there that matches the description you gave us.”
Erica’s shoulders relax. “Thank god,” she say. “I’ll get it today.”
“Cool.” My heart rate begins to slow as Erica turns around so she’s facing the poster of Billy, the one that’s been vandalized.
“Messed up,” I say. “Whoever did that’s sick.”
Erica spins around, and she’s got a strange look on her face, her skin bright red.
“I mean, he’s dead. It’s like, be nice.” I should really shut up, but the words come out of my mouth like vomit.
“You don’t know anything, Frankie,” Erica says, her voice a mixture of venom and rage. Then she gets back on her bike and hurries away.
I watch her go, speechless for a moment. Is that how someone would act if they found a defaced poster of their dead ex-boyfriend, their potential baby daddy? I have no idea, but it sure as hell seemed weird. Wouldn’t she have agreed with me? Or at least torn it down?
But Erica did neither of those things. Her tone almost made it seem like she was justifying the poster, like maybe Billy deserved to have those devil horns drawn on him, even in death. If she believed that, then maybe…
Maybe she’s not pregnant with Billy’s baby after all. Maybe she’s pregnant with someone else’s.
“Frankie?” Millie calls from the front door of the Bonanza.
I head over to her and gulp, not wanting to say anything and have my voice betray me. She’s got a book tucked under her arm—A Young Person’s Guide to Grieving. I take a deep breath and finally feel like when I speak, I’ll sound normal.
“Is that for Lucy?” I ask, though it doesn’t really seem like Lucy needs any form of self-help.
She’s been cool as a cucumber since everything happened, barely showing any emotion as she heads off to work at Mayor Cho’s office.
When I asked her how she was doing, she said she was mostly worried about Ethan and Erica, not herself.
Hearing her talk about Erica and not saying anything felt like a total betrayal.
“Oh,” Millie says, covering the title with her palm. “No, it’s for Ethan.”
“That’s nice of you,” I say.
Mille slips it into her tote bag and grasps the straps tight. “Come on. Let’s go home.”
But just as we’re about to get on our bikes, our phones ping with a text from Lucy to our family group chat. Millie gets to her phone before I do, and her hand flies to her mouth, her fingers pressed to her lips.
“What?” I ask.
She looks up, her eyes wide in shock. “Justin Vreeland was just arrested.”
—
We’ve never biked faster in our entire lives. All I can focus on is that the investigation is over. Justin killed Billy. “What’s his deal, anyway?” I ask Millie, my breathing shallow as we pedal uphill.
She glances over her shoulder. “Lucy says he deals drugs.”
“Drugs?” I’m not naive enough to think that no one on Pelican Island dabbles in the dark arts of substance abuse, but to hear Millie say it so plainly is jarring. “Like what kind?”
“I don’t know,” she says, slowing down so we’re side by side on the shoulder of the road. “It’s not like he’s offering them to me.”
“Right.” I pause. “So, you think Billy was into drugs?”
Millie sighs. “Frankie, how many times do I have to tell you? I don’t know. Come on, we’re almost there.”
We turn onto Pelican Island Road, but as we bike toward our house, Mom rushes out the front door and starts waving her hands. “Girls!” she calls. “There you are!”
“We’re fine, Mom.” I brake to stop and let my bike drop onto the lawn as Mom reaches for both of us, wrapping us in her arms. “We’re fine,” I repeat.
Behind me, Lucy’s car pulls into the driveway and she steps out, shielding her eyes from the setting sun. “Let’s go next door,” she says, her voice clipped. “The boys are all there.”
“Now everyone’s interested in the investigation!” I say, throwing my hands up. “But when I was trying to figure out what happened, no one cared.”
Mom snaps her attention to me. “You were trying to what?”
Lucy makes big eyes at me and runs her pointer finger across her neck, telling me to cut it out. “Nothing,” I say.
Mom hurries us across the driveway and as we walk, it’s like she’s trying to keep her hands on all three of us at once, like letting any of her daughters go might cause one of us to spontaneously combust. My first instinct is to elbow her away, but I can’t deny that it’s nice to have her attention, even though I’m sharing it with Millie and Lucy.
We head around to the side door, and Mom knocks on the glass so Paula can let us in, the alarm beeping behind her as we file inside.
“Oh good, you’re all together,” she says, kissing each one of us on the forehead. “We ordered Chinese for everyone.”
“Thanks, Paula,” Lucy says, pressing her lips together. “Can I help with anything?”
Paula’s face softens, and she shakes her head. “No, dear. I can’t believe you heard first.”
Lucy winces. “Perks of working at the Mayor’s office, I guess. I thought it was weird when I saw him in the station yesterday, but never did I think…” She shudders and Paula pats her shoulder gently.
“Why don’t you keep Ethan company, okay?” Lucy nods and trots off, but Paula looks at Mom and drops her head. “Have you talked to Deirdre?”
“No,” Mom says, her voice a hiss. “What would I even say to her? Did your son really murder Sally’s boy?” Mom shivers. “No doubt they’ve brought in that criminal attorney friend of theirs from the city.”