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“My parents own most of Nutmeg,” Church explains, looking at me as he sips his coffee. I already heard that from the twins, but I’m interested anyway. I want to know more. “They want the whole town.”
“Why?” I ask, and Church blinks at me like he doesn't quite understand the question. “I mean, isn't the local flavor part of the appeal? Like the diner for example, why not just let Merinda buy it from you? She clearly does all the work.”
“It's complicated,” Church says, turning away suddenly and frowning. He looks out the rear windows, toward the patio area, as I poke at my tart with a fork.
“May I?” Ranger asks, pilfering a clean fork from behind the counter. He lifts it up in question, and I nod, pushing my plate his direction so he can grab a bite. He chews thoughtfully, and then raises both brows. “Not bad. The flavors are there. The crust could use a little work though. It's a bit dry.”
“This is my grandmother's recipe,” Jeff snarls, spinning around. He looks like a different person with that awful expression. “And there's nothing wrong with her goddamn crust. Now, I've told you once before, and I'll tell you again: I don't know what happened to your sister. I liked Jenica, and I was devastated when she passed. Leave me the fuck alone.”
“Then what the hell is this?” Ranger asks, reaching down to pull the gold key out from inside his shirt. It takes me a moment to figure out why he’s showing the key to Jeff. Then it hits me. Of course! How did I miss that?
Jenica’s ‘suicide’ note was addressed to JR.
Jeffrey Rabot.
I doubt I’m the first person to make that connection, probably why they all hate Jeff so much.
“Like I’m supposed to know what that is,” Jeff says, handing Ranger his soda. There are thunderclouds in his blue eyes, and he looks precariously close to kicking us all out of his store. “What does a key have to do with me?”
“Well, we both know the last note my sister ever wrote was addressed to a 'JR'. There were only three students attending Adamson at the time with those initials, and the other two had little contact with Jenica. But not you. You were 'friends'.” Ranger releases the key, letting it swing back down against his chest as he makes little quotes with his fingers.
“I'm sorry Jenica felt so alone, and so lost, that she did what she did, but I've told you this before—I've told the investigators this before—that I don't know anything about any note. We were casual friends, not nearly close enough that she'd dedicate her suicide note to me.”
“It wasn't a suicide note,” Ranger growls, his voice this terrifying note that's very clearly directed at Jeff.
“According to the detectives, it was.”
Ranger stands up suddenly, and there's so much fury in him that it's scary. I wonder why they didn't mention that JR could be Jeff before? Spencer moves up on Ranger's other side while the twins appear on either side of me, putting huge stacks of books on the counter.
“Ring us up, Rabot,” they say in unison. Jeff takes their books with a scowl and starts writing down prices on his carbon tablet.
“If I find out you know more than you’re saying, I swear to fuck, I will come back here and beat your ass,” Ranger says, and Jeff scoffs.
“I've heard that before, Woodruff.” He looks up and his pale blue eyes meet Ranger's sapphire ones. “I don't know anything about your sister. Now, please take your things and go before I call the police. At least the Montagues don't own them just yet.”
“No, but we own everything else. If you hadn’t noticed, my parents have no problem getting what they want.” Church rises to his feet, taking his coffee with him. The tension in that room is thick enough to cut with a knife. On the surface, it seems obvious why that is. But it feels like there's something else, something hiding just beneath the ripples that I haven't figured out just yet.
“Why didn't you guys tell me that Jeff's last name was Rabot?” I ask as we sit in the back of a limo, and I try not to squirm. There's no way to get from the academy into town without a car, not unless you're prepared to walk, oh, like sixty miles of wilderness. And the school itself doesn't provide transportation of any sort. None of that matters though since every student there (except me) is richer than sin. I'm not sure whose limo this is, or where it came from, but when the boys call, a car shows up. It's like magic. Magic fueled by cold, hard cash.
“There's a lot you don't know,” Ranger says, sitting kitty-corner from me on the posh seats, his eyes faraway and clouded with details from the past. He blinks to clear the cobwebs and looks up at me. “I've been looking into her death for years with no luck. It'll take time to fill you in on all my dead-end leads. I just thought …” Ranger exhales and closes his eyes. “I thought maybe if I showed Jeff that key …”
“He is suspect as fuck,” Micah says, lifting up his red and white checkered Vans shoe and placing it on the dash across from us. The tart scent of cherries drifts around with his movement, and I inhale more deeply than I intended. Spencer notices; I’m sure he does. “I don't trust Jeff for shit.”
“So it's Mark and Jeff, huh?” Ranger asks, giving Micah a raised brow. “They're ten years apart in age, and have zero relation to one another. The former is a rich jock asshole, and the latter is a relatively poor bookstore barista. Why would they kill Eugene? Why go after Charlotte?”
“I don't fucking know. It's just a gut feeling I have.” Micah pushes some hair back from his face while I sit awkwardly between Tobias and Spencer. Frankly, I'd rather be over there between Church and Ranger. There's too much tension on this side of the limo.
“Do you want to hang out when we get back to the academy?” Spencer asks me, voice pitched low enough that I have to strain to hear him. I turn my face slightly in his direction, and he reaches out, grabbing my chin and pressing his mouth to mine. A thrill goes through me, and I end up groaning and leaning in.
Of course … I do not pitch my voice low enough that anyone needs to strain to hear.
Tobias bristles on my other side as I pull back, but he doesn't say anything. Almost losing Spencer gave us all a real bitter taste of reality. Fighting over the little things seems ridiculous right now.
“Well?” Spence asks, but then we pull up the drive near my father's place, and I see him waiting there with Mr. Murphy. Shit. I duck low as Spencer chuckles at me. “The windows are tinted, Chuck. Chill out.”
“I don't want anyone else to know.” I murmur, and Church makes a low sound of acknowledgement.
“That's probably best until we know more about what's going on.” He presses a nearby button, and the window between us and the driver rolls down a crack. “Take us around to the back, please,” he says, and then rolls the window back up. The driver does as he asked, and the boys help shield me until I get inside the back door.
“Do you want to change and meet me somewhere?” Spencer asks, but the twins take up on either side of him.
“You are not getting out of spending time with us,” they say, putting their elbows on Spencer’s shoulders as he frowns at them, one dark brow twitching slightly.
“You don’t get to play ‘possum for a week, come trotting back, and then spend all your time with Virgin Chuck over here.” Micah smirks at me and winks dramatically.
“Non-Virgin Chuck, you mean,” Tobias corrects … just about the moment my dad comes around the corner.
Archibald Carson pauses, staring at me in my sundress, the boys all fanned out in front of me.
“Charlotte,” he says, his voice very low and very strained. My mouth twitches, and I have to resist the urge to grab the decorative iron swordfish off the wall so I can stab Tobias with it.
“Crap,” he murmurs, face flushing. He knows he messed up. Spencer looks like he’s about to make a run for it. I wonder if this is something he’s done a lot of, run from angry fathers? Better not be, I think, but then I can’t seem to get that number out of my head. Five girls. He’s touched five other girls the way he touched me … Jealousy rears its big, ugly head, and I have
to swallow hard to keep the emotion down.
“I see we’re no longer interested in playing a male student?” Dad says, approaching through the grass in this slow, easy sort of walk that he’s perfected over the years. Drives teenagers nuts, that menacingly calm approach. Trust me, I know best. Archie specializes in making my life a living hell.
“Just … not with my friends,” I choke out, hating that the jig with Spencer is up. I was sort of hoping that Dad really would pair me up as his roommate, and then … Well, I don’t know. I guess maybe I fantasized about us having wild, illicit sex every night in the dorms?
“Mm-hmm.” Dad scans the group, pushing his glasses up the wide bridge of his nose. “What does Non-Virgin Chuck mean?”
Kill me now, Universe, please, just kill me now.
“Charlotte was truly a cooking virgin when we first met her,” Church supplies, the lie rolling off his lips nice and smooth and easy. He has one arm across his chest, the elbow of the other resting in the palm of his hand, and his head resting on his knuckles. Very casual, very much the look of a Student Council President. “Excuse my fellow council members for being crude, but they find it hilarious to discuss her entry into the wonderful world of culinary arts in such a barbaric and immature manner.” Church splays his fingers on his chest and flashes an award-winning smile. Fuck, he lies as easily as he breathes. That’s terrifying. I file that bit of information away for later.
“I see.” Dad doesn’t look entirely convinced, but apparently he’s got some sort of strange affection for the academy’s golden boy. Still, I notice his attention move from Church to me, then Ranger, Micah, Tobias, Spencer … His eyes narrow slightly, and I flush from head to toe. “Remember boys: the words you present to the world tell a story. What you say is what society sees.”
“Wise advice from the wisest headmaster we’ve had in years,” Church agrees, reaching up to flick blond hair from his face like some sort of fairytale prince. “Well, we’ve taken up enough of your time today, Headmaster Carson. If you don’t mind, we’ll be heading back to the dormitory to prepare for a fantastical day of learning tomorrow.” I roll my eyes and, of course, that’s all Dad sees. Me. Being an asshole.
“I think that’s a good idea. Clearly, Charlotte’s had a long day already,” Dad quips, and I sigh. I’m not getting out of the house again tonight, am I? “Goodnight boys.” Archie moves forward, blocking my view of the Student Council, closes the back door, and locks it before he looks at me again. I’m prepared for some sort of lecture, some admonishment about half-truths or something. Instead, Dad just pats me on the head and moves down the hall.
My eyes narrow.
Not a good sign, not a good sign at all.
Like I said, I don’t trust the guy. Not one little bit.
The school is an uproar the next morning, news of the suicide spreading like wildfire. For the first time since I got to Connecticut, I actually feel like I belong here, like I'm not the loser outsider that everyone hates.
I sit with the Student Council at lunch as the gossip train takes off. The police might not be releasing the name of the student, but it doesn't take a seasoned detective to see that Eugene Mathers is missing.
“I was right about the silver hair,” I say, enjoying one of the academy's famous hot lunches. Their food really is good, but I'm not exactly looking forward to my required two weeks tending the chicken coops. Gross.
“That douchebag copied me back in ninth grade,” Spencer says, narrowing his eyes and reaching up to toss his pretty hair like he's fully aware of how damn good it looks on him. “Claims it was just parallel thinking, but come on, let's be real. You can do it first, or you can do it best, and when someone else does it first and best, you'd best just stay in your own lane.”
“God, do you hear yourself when you talk?” Micah asks, stretching his legs under the table and bumping one of mine with his foot. We exchange a look, but I can tell from his expression that he's just playing with Spencer. He clearly loves the hell out of that boy.
“I just don't understand who would kill Eugene or why,” Ranger muses, staring at his food with that razored dark hair of his hanging in his face. The whole emo persona makes a lot more sense now that I know him. Deep down, he's still the little boy who's missing his sister. “That’s what we need, to find a connection between Eugene and Jenica.”
“Easier said than done,” Spencer says, slapping palms with a passing student. I watch the exchange, but even knowing what he’s doing, it’s hard to catch any real evidence of it.
“Did you just sell that kid weed?” I ask, and Spence shrugs his shoulders before giving me one of those saucy little grins of his. Cocky asshole.
“Yeah, so?”
“But your family is richer than god. Why bother?”
“Public service. Somebody’s gotta do it. Would you really deny the students of Adamson the healing powers of pot?”
I raise an eyebrow.
“It’s supposed to make you dumb if you smoke it too much before your brain fully develops. I won’t argue that it’s medicinal, and extremely valuable, but like, for adults.”
“Okay, miss …” Spencer catches himself and trails off. “Mister goody two-shoes. Next time I pass around a blunt, you can decline and save those extra special brain cells of yours.”
“You’re a total dick,” I grumble, but my cheeks are flushing anyway. Tobias watches us and sighs, ruffling up his hair. He’s been watching me and Spencer all morning, rolling his eyes at me when I got tongue-tied at the sight of the jerkwad in his navy blue Adamson Academy uniform. Of course, they’re all handsome as hell in their blazers, matching slacks, and cream colored ties. Everyone wears loafers except for Ranger, who somehow gets away with combat boots most days.
“What’s the plan for today?” Ranger asks as Micah finishes his food, and then goes for his twin’s. Tobias stabs him in the hand with a fork. “I mean, besides kissing Spencer’s ass for still being alive.”
“I accept French kisses only,” Spence says, standing up and offering up his ass to Church. Church then stabs him with a fork in the cheek. “Ow, that fucking hurt. Aren’t you supposed to be kissing up to me?”
“Don’t forget you’re on cleanup duty during Culinary Club tomorrow. And today,” Church stands up from his seat, amber eyes dark and serious, “we have a Student Council meeting.”
“Student Council?!” Spencer groans, sliding his hand down his face. “After everything that just happened?” Church turns to look at him, not unsympathetically.
“We’re getting an early announcement from the administration about the … deceased student.” A quiet settles around our table. Ross, who’s been sitting silently at the end and taking notes on his phone, looks up, brown eyes darkening with sympathy. “They want us to plan a memorial for Friday.”
“Shit.” Spencer sits back down heavily, and we all take a moment.
That could’ve been his memorial; we all know it.
The bell rings and students stand up from their seats, leaving their trays behind. Blows my mind every time. Makes me think of Mom … I wonder how she’s doing anyway?
“Can I walk you to class?” Spencer asks, and I nod, standing up. When he reaches down and takes my hand, I shiver all over. “Oh come on, Chuck, I don’t bite,” he whispers, leaning in close. “You know, unless you want me to.”
“Stop it,” I whisper back as I notice people turning to stare. Nobody seems particularly surprised, but our intimacy is drawing plenty of attention. It hasn’t escaped the notice of the student body that the once-bullied scrawny dickhead son of the headmaster has made a bunch of new friends for seemingly no reason at all.
“Why? You can’t run from me forever. We need to talk about what happened.” He looks down at me, his eyes the color of a Caribbean sea, his hair a shimmering silver-gray that makes my heart thump. And that woody, earthy scent of his? It makes my toes curl in my shiny academy loafers. “Maybe not today with the Student Council meeting, but tomorrow, be
fore or after Culinary Club.”
“Can’t we just text about it tonight?” I whisper back, my cheeks coloring with a warm flush. I’m not sure if it’s from embarrassment, excitement or both. I’m just so goddamn glad to have Spencer back that I don’t really care which. He reaches out and straightens my tie for me, smoothing out some of the wrinkles. Can’t do much about the stain on the front of it though, now can he? I’m such a mess. I swear I wasn’t like this before.
“No texting. In person, Micropenis Chuck.” Spencer ruffles my hair as he leaves me at the door to Mr. Murphy’s English class, sauntering off down the hall with his firm, taut ass taking up all my attention. Takes me, like, ten blinks to clear the stars away.
“Oh, honey,” Ross begins, as the others disperse to their classes for the day. “You’ve got it bad.”
“I haven’t got anything; we used a condom,” I blurt, and Ross stares at me like I’ve grown horns. This time, when I turn pink, it’s most definitely from embarrassment.
“Girl, you’re in love with that boy.”
“I am not,” I growl as Ross turns and leads the way into the classroom, pausing to check out Mr. Murphy’s ass. Now that I’ve been with Spencer, I find that I’m not at all interested in it, despite its muscular perfection. Fancy that? “And stop calling me girl; people might get the wrong idea.”
“Hey, girl,” Ross calls, giving one of his other friends a little hug. The guy’s huge, too, with a hell of a lot of facial hair. Ross glances back at me as he leads the way down the row of desks to our preferred spots. “Shut your face. You’re fine. Nobody expects it, so they don’t see it. I said it before.” He takes his seat, and I grab mine, watching him warily. The guy does everything with flair. I’d say he was total gay cliché, but I think it’s just part of his natural personality.