I brace myself, waiting for the verbal blow, because it’s coming. Courtney is a master at delivering them. Dani clutches my arm, so tight I’m scared she’s going to cut off the circulation, but I don’t try to shake her off. I’m clutching at her, too.
“So how was I to know that when she said she wanted to do things that mattered, she meant she would do all the guys who mattered to me? Why did I always have to take her sloppy seconds? Yeah, not cool, Gretchen.” Courtney glares at the giant portrait. “Not cool at all.”
There is no more sobbing. In its place is absolute silence.
Oh, and Bob Rose frantically trying to grab the mic out of Courtney’s waving hand.
“Hold on, Mr. Rose. I’m not finished.” She dodges him and laughs into the microphone. “Let’s be real, people. No one liked Gretchen Nelson. She was mean. She was calculating. And she didn’t care about any of you. Not even you, Coach Smith.” The volleyball coach makes an unintelligible sound and presses her hand against her mouth. “Think whatever you want, say whatever you want, but Gretchen didn’t give a flying fuck about any of you!”
The sound of multiple cameras snapping makes me glance around to see everyone’s got their phones out, and the local news stations are filming away.
The vigil is definitely going to make the evening news. And the people of Cape Bonita are going to flip. We’re the quintessential beach town. Wealthy, with giant mansions on cliffs and glamorous cars and overachieving children, our little enclave doesn’t like it when bad stuff happens.
And the murder of Gretchen Nelson is the epitome of bad stuff.
Mr. Rose rips the mic out of Courtney’s hand just as the detectives approach. She laughs hysterically, trying to jerk away from their grasping hands, but they each grab Courtney by her upper arms and take her away.
We are still silent.
We are shocked by what Courtney just said.
Well. Some of us are.
And some of us aren’t.
At all.
Chapter
Eight
Saturday is Gretchen’s funeral. Dani and I drove over to the cemetery together for the graveside ceremony, the both of us all cried out after the long service in an overly crowded and extremely hot church. It is an unusually warm fall day, pushing almost ninety degrees by the midafternoon, and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. All the colors are so intense, like a saturated lens. With the blue, blue sky and the green, green grass, along with the trees and their changing leaves of burnished gold and orange and red.
It’s too beautiful a day to bury someone so young.
Standing by Gretchen’s gravesite, staring at the beautifully polished wood casket that’s covered with dozens and dozens of white roses while the minister drones on and on about the loss of such a beloved young soul, it almost feels like some weird form of punishment. Having to stand out here and suffer on such a gorgeous day.
But at least I’m not Gretchen, gone too soon. There’s still so much life to live, so much more she could’ve done. It’s still hard for me to believe she’s gone.
The minister is reading from a piece of paper, rattling off Gretchen’s attributes one by one, adding in all sorts of comforting words that I suppose should make her family feel better that she’s gone. I bet he barely knew Gretchen. I’d guess all the stuff he said about her was standard, words he’d repeated a hundred times before about other nameless, faceless dead people.
God, my thoughts are deranged and sad, but I can’t help it. When you go seventeen years without thinking about death, and then it’s suddenly thrust into your face? It’s weird.
Dani sniffs a lot and dabs at her face with the giant handkerchief that once belonged to her grandfather, who died when we were thirteen. He’s buried in this cemetery, too, and Dani told me on the drive over that coming here would dredge up old memories.
I didn’t know what to say. I’ve never really dealt with death before. I have my mom and dad, my older brother and sister. My grandparents on both sides are still alive, and all my aunts and uncles and cousins are, too. This is my first brush with tragedy, and it’s kind of overwhelming.
More like really overwhelming—and awkward. I never know the right words to say or how to act. I’m trying to be respectful and do the right thing, but it’s difficult. Sometimes I think it’s easier—and smarter—to just be quiet.
The minister finally finishes talking, and there’s nothing but silence as the family murmurs among themselves. I have no idea what’s coming next, but it can’t be good. Gretchen’s mom stands, and she’s clutching a handful of pale pink roses. A sob falls from her lips and she nearly collapses. Gretchen’s dad grabs hold of her arm and guides her back down into the chair behind her. Dani gasps next to me, new tears streaming down her face, and I send her a sympathetic look as I reach out and squeeze her hand.
“You’re a good friend,” Dani whispers to me as we stand behind the row of chairs that were set out for Gretchen’s immediate family members. “Thank you for being so supportive and not making fun of me.”
I send her a look. “Who would make fun of you for crying at a funeral?”
She shrugs and looks around before she says out of the corner of her mouth, “Courtney.”
Who did not make an appearance at the church service, and she isn’t here now, either. She hasn’t been back to school since her outburst. Turns out she was high as a kite on anti-anxiety pills the night of the candlelight vigil, and they made her ruder than normal. At least, that’s what Courtney’s mother told us when Dani and I went over to the Jenkins’s house on Friday night to check on Court. Her mom wouldn’t let us come inside to see her.
Rumors are now spreading that Courtney’s been sent to rehab.
“Well, she’s not here,” I remind Dani, hooking my arm through hers. “And you’re allowed to cry at a funeral.”
“It’s just, I feel like I’m crying more for my grandpa right now than Gretchen.” She meets my gaze, blinking at me. “That’s awful, isn’t it?”
“No, you’re not awful. You’re just being honest.” I give her a brief hug, clutching her close. “When is this going to be over?” I whisper in her ear.
“Probably in a few minutes.” Dani withdraws and turns to watch as Gretchen’s mother stands once more and approaches the casket.
“Pink was your favorite color,” Gretchen’s mother says to the shiny wood box as she sets the roses among the mountain of white ones. “I will miss your sunny face more than you’ll ever, ever know.”
And then she promptly collapses to the ground.
A chorus of cries and gasps rises into the air as Mr. Nelson rushes toward his wife. The minister stands over them, praying for them both, and I can actually hear Gretchen’s dad crying.
His loud sobs are making me incredibly sad and I’m on the verge of crying. I sniff loudly and wrap my arms around my middle, trying to ward off the sudden chill that washes over me. It’s like Gretchen’s entire family is falling apart in the most public way and we’re all just watching it go down.
Dani and I exchange glances, and then we both hightail it out of there without a word. Not that anyone noticed, which is fine by us.
“That was awful,” I say once we’ve walked far enough away that no one can hear us.
“I know. I feel so bad for her family. I can’t imagine what that must be like for them,” Dani says, her voice hushed. “It’s such a pretty day, too. It doesn’t seem fair.”
“I was thinking the same thing earlier.” I glance over at Dani. “Are you holding up okay?” My best friend is probably the most sensitive out of all of us. She doesn’t want to hurt anything, won’t even step on a spider or slap a mosquito. I know Gretchen’s murder has to be tormenting her.
“Sort of. I cry a lot.” She tries to smile, but her lips tremble and I’m afraid she’s going to start sobbing again. “It’s hard for me to believe that someone would do that to Gretchen.”
There’s nothing I can say to that, so I keep quiet.
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We walk across the smooth grass of the cemetery, my gaze drawn to the headstones. So many of them dot the landscape, some tall and grand, others small and plain. The cemetery is high up on a hill that overlooks the town and the ocean just beyond, and I can see the whitecaps that dot the seascape, the occasional fishing boat far out on the water.
Such a beautiful view. So many tourists come through our tiny town, but no one knows the best view of the ocean is at the cemetery. Kind of weird, but true.
It’s breezy up here, too, the wind catching my long dark hair and whipping it into my face, and I bat it away. A squeal leaves me when the wind catches the hem of my black skirt and flips it up, causing Dani to giggle, which is a relief to hear. I catch it before my butt’s exposed.
“Almost saw your underwear.”
The unfamiliar male voice makes both of us stop, then turn.
It’s Cass.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my tone snide. I can’t help it, after our last encounter left me so unsettled.
“I came to pay my respects to Gretchen.” He slips his hands into the front pockets of his black pants. He’s wearing a black button down shirt, too, and those faded, beat-up Converse. “We were…friends.”
“Funny, she never mentioned your name to us before,” I tell him.
“Penny,” Dani says, her voice low.
I send her a look. She knows how much I hate the Penny nickname, though she’s one of the rare few who can actually get away with it.
“We weren’t the kind of friends you brag about.” He smiles and slowly approaches us. “More like we met in secret.”
Dani’s mouth drops open. “What are you saying? You two were hooking up?”
He throws back his head and laughs, like Danielle just told the most hilarious joke ever. “Not quite.”
“Then what’s your deal with Gretchen?” Ugh, I sound like a complete snob, but I can’t help it. It’s like this guy brings out the worst in me and I don’t even know why.
“Did you ever think that maybe it’s none of your business?” He lifts a brow, smirks, and then brushes past us, bumping into me as he goes. “Have a nice afternoon, ladies.”
We turn and watch him go, Dani sending me a strange look when he finally disappears out of our view. “What the hell was that about?”
“I don’t know.” I’m fuming. I start walking toward the small parking lot nearby where my car sits. Dani practically has to run to keep up with me.
“You were totally hostile toward him,” she says, puffing like she’s out of breath.
“I don’t like him. Court’s right. He’s weird.”
“I think Court was hooking up with him.”
My mouth drops open, and I come to a stop. “Say what?”
She skids to a stop, too. “I’m serious. She was always talking shit about him, but I saw a bunch of texts between them once. She was sending him tit pics.”
Great. So he was hooking up with Courtney? And possibly Gretchen, too? What a man whore.
“Please don’t tell me he sent her dick pics in return,” I say, both curious and a little disgusted. I’ve had my fair share of dick pics via text. More like they were sent via Snapchat, since those can disappear in less than ten seconds.
“Not that I saw. I’m totally speculating, by the way. She was sending tit pics to someone, but maybe it wasn’t Cass, you know? Maybe she just used his name as a ruse.” Dani shrugs, and we start walking again. “Courtney sends topless photos on Snapchat to everyone. You know this.”
She’s right. I do.
We approach my car and once we’re inside I turn to look at her. “What exactly do you know about Cass?”
“Not much. His mom murdered his dad and now she’s in prison. He lives with his grandma up here, on Hot Springs Road.”
“In that brick house at the top of the hill, right?” It’s on the most coveted piece of property in the entire area, with a view of Cape Bonita and the ocean that most would pay huge money for.
But the house is small—an old, brick structure with ivy covering the entire front of the building, even draping over the front porch, giving it a spooky vibe.
Figures.
“Yeah. Have you ever been there?”
“Why would I have reason to go to Cass Vincenti’s house?” I start my car and drive slowly along the road that meanders through the cemetery, suddenly desperate to get out of here. I’ve had enough with funerals and graveside services and strange boys who make ominous statements, thank you very much.
“I don’t know,” Dani says. “Weirder things have happened. I remember there was that one time in the eighth grade when he had a Halloween party.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“Of course you don’t. Because you didn’t go.”
“Did anyone go?”
“Oh yeah, pretty much everyone, though I couldn’t. I went to a party with my parents instead, and it sucked.” Dani shakes her head at the memory. “I guess Cass’s party was super creepy and a lot of girls got freaked out, including Gretchen and Courtney.”
I frown, thinking back to eighth grade. Why didn’t I go to that party? Did he not invite me? I can’t imagine he would exclude me…
But then I remember. I was in cheer that fall, for a local youth football league, and our last playoff game landed on the Saturday before Halloween—most likely when Cass’s party was held. And none of my friends cheered with me except for Alexis.
“Why was his party so creepy?”
“It was like, literally scary. He scared the hell out of everyone who went, boys and girls. Some of the guys threatened to kick his ass at school on Monday, but he just laughed. Practically dared them to do it,” Dani explains.
“Isn’t that the point of a Halloween party, though? Like, we get older and we want to be scared,” I point out.
“There’s being scared and laughing, and then there’s being scared and shitting your pants.” Dani’s tone is dead serious. “Cass’s party was the last one.”
“Oh.” Yikes. Glad I didn’t go.
“But there’s always been something kind of…attractive about his creepiness,” Dani continues as she stares out the passenger-side window. “That sounds weird, I know. But he is weird. And he’s cute. If you like them quiet and sort of goth.”
“I don’t,” I immediately say as I pull out of the cemetery and turn right, so fast I make the tires squeal.
“Neither do I. Not normally.” Dani watches me carefully. I can feel her gaze on me, but I refuse to look at her. “I never said you did, either.”
“Good, because I don’t. He’s definitely not my type.” I don’t know why I’m arguing. Or who I’m trying to convince.
Her or me.
Chapter
Nine
Last week at school was a study in tragedy. Grief counselors on daily standby, open weeping in the halls, teachers breaking down midlecture. All tests and any fun activities were temporarily postponed. The football team didn’t play their home game Friday night as a show of respect toward Gretchen, which meant they forfeited the game. No big deal, since they suck anyway…
It’s like Cape Bonita Prep came to a complete halt, the entire school nearly falling apart after losing one of its own. The local news stations talked about Gretchen on a nightly basis, but with no new leads and no suspects mentioned, the story has gone quiet.
Typical. Cape Bonita would rather sweep Gretchen’s death under the proverbial rug. Pretend it never existed. Same with our school.
This week, it’s business as usual. The physics test just about killed me on Tuesday. I worked on an English paper long into the night on Wednesday and emailed it to my teacher at 11:59 p.m.—it was due by midnight. Now it’s Thursday afternoon, and I’ve called a Larks meeting after school in conference room three in the library.
Everyone’s there, even Courtney, who wasn’t put in rehab after all. Her parents kept her home for a few days after her mini-outburst, and when Court showed up at s
chool first thing Monday morning, fresh-faced and seemingly eager to be back, she explained that she had a hard time coping with Gretchen’s death, but she was feeling much better now.
It was really tough for me to keep a straight face when she said that, because I know she’s lying. I think Courtney’s pissed Gretchen showed her up yet again—even when she dies. And I know it’s wrong to think like that, to believe Courtney would act that way, but I can’t help it. I’ve known her a long time. I know how she operates, and how she always wants to be the center of attention.
I am glad she’s back, though, and that she can help with the Larks. We need to keep things going, not let it fall apart because we lost a member.
Once I get the meeting started, we discuss the little stuff first, then I move on to serious business.
“I need two new volunteers for the children’s hospital this month,” I start, my gaze briefly landing on every girl sitting at the table. Since the Larks organization’s main requirement is that we give back to the community, we’ve chosen specific charities to work with—most of them dealing with disadvantaged and sick children. We volunteer at the hospital, we help out in the special-needs classrooms at the local elementary schools, and a few of us are even a part of the Big Brother/Big Sister program.
Sometimes I think I’d like to be a teacher, but my parents always try to convince me to do something bigger and better—direct quote. They’ve controlled my life since I was born, so I usually just nod in agreement and keep my thoughts to myself. But being a teacher is a noble profession, right?
“I’d like to do it,” Alyssa says with a shy smile. I like her. She has great potential. She speaks up when necessary and knows when to hold her tongue. She’s always volunteering and helping out, and no one ever has to ask her twice. Plus, she’s a cheerleader, which is practically a prerequisite for the future Larks president.
Pretty Dead Girls Page 5
