Today, all I noticed was a large crowd forming near the north end of the park, on the stretch of lawn I recognized from the proposal video. An ambulance was parked on the grass, lights flashing but siren silent. I pushed my way through the lookie-loos.
A body-shaped lump lay on the ground under a blanket.
My breath caught in my throat. I’d hoped to find Bethany embarrassed or maybe injured, but the person under that blanket wasn’t moving and the paramedics didn’t seem to be in any real hurry. I closed my eyes and reminded myself that it could be someone else. Out of Williamsburg’s hundred and fifty thousand residents and countless visitors, I knew maybe a dozen. What were the odds that I knew the person under that blanket?
The EMTs laid a stretcher on the grass, and with practiced efficiency, moved the body onto the stretcher before lifting it onto a wheeled cart waiting nearby. Around me, a murmur went through the assembled crowd. “Make a hole!” one of the medics barked, and I was shoved sideways as everyone shuffled to give them room.
Then the cart hit a rough patch of terrain, jostling the stretcher. An arm slipped out from under the blanket to dangle for a brief second. One of the paramedics caught it and tucked it back into place, but that was enough. I recognized that arm. Or rather, I recognized the cute little turquoise owl tattoo on the inside of her wrist.
Bethany’s cute little owl tattoo.
Bethany was dead.
3
Untapped Books & Café @untappedwilliamsburg ∙ June 24
TODAY ONLY—try our delicious spicy roasted garlic white bean hummus with an ICE COLD craft brew for a fabulous summer treat! #delicious #Williamsburg
I TRUDGED BACK TO Untapped Books & Café in a fog. I’d never seen a dead person before today. No one I’d known had ever died before. Even my grandparents were still alive and well—older than dirt, but surprisingly healthy.
“Where on earth have you been?” Todd bellowed as soon as I entered the alley. He was pacing, smoking a cigarette with one hand and holding his phone to his ear with the other. I guess the stench of the dumpsters didn’t bother him. “No, not you,” he said into the phone. “I’ll call you back.” He slid his phone into his back pocket. “You better have one heck of an explanation.”
“It’s Bethany . . .”
“Don’t worry about Bethany. I’ve taken care of her. I warned her last time she pulled a stunt like this, disappearing in the middle of the lunch rush. Bethany doesn’t work here anymore. I already left her a voicemail firing her. If you want to keep your job, you’ll never mention her name again. Capisce?”
Hot tears stung my eyes, and they had nothing to do with the disgusting odor coming off the dumpsters or the smoke wafting from Todd’s cigarette. It was sheer frustration. If I didn’t need this job so badly, or if I had even one friend in New York outside of the bookstore, I would have told Todd where he could stuff his job. Without Untapped Books & Café, I wouldn’t have any connection to this strange—and often daunting—new world of Williamsburg. “But you don’t understand. Bethany . . .”
“I’m serious. Say that name again, and I’m docking your pay.”
“She’s dead, Todd. Bethany’s dead.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” Todd said, shaking his head. He dropped his cigarette and ground it out with his toe. “I know kids these days will say anything to get out of work, but there are some lines we don’t cross.”
“But I’m not joking,” I insisted.
“Enough. Get back to work before I fire you, too.” He jabbed a finger at the back door. “Oh, and, Odessa?”
“What?” I asked in a sharp tone. It was the closest I’d ever come to being rude to a boss before. I think New York was rubbing off on me.
“I liked your tweet earlier. Now that Bethany’s fired, you’re in charge of the social media accounts.”
I stared at him in disbelief. It was bad enough that he wouldn’t listen to me, but to order me to replace Bethany when her body literally wasn’t cold yet? That was unconscionable. “I can’t believe you.”
“Did I stutter?” He gave me a frustrated frown, assuming I was arguing about the extra duties. “Try to post at least one thing a day on all the platforms. I’ll write down the password for you later . . .” He really meant it when he said password, singular. He used the same password for everything to make it easier, and still managed to forget it half the time, so he resorted to writing it on a sticky note on his computer. He finished, “. . . so you can post on your days off.”
Geez, why was I not surprised? Todd had once called me on my day off to take Huckleberry for a long walk because “he was getting restless.” And no, he didn’t pay me for it. “Yes, sir,” I replied, knowing it wasn’t worth arguing over.
I walked past him and let myself in. It felt disrespectful, to go back to work as if nothing had happened, but what else could I do? I couldn’t force Todd to believe that Bethany was dead. The news would come out soon enough. In the meantime, I had a job to do.
I was sorely tempted to nudge the brick propping the door open out of the way so Todd would have no choice but to walk the long way around and go in the front entrance, but I couldn’t afford for him to be any more annoyed at me than he already was. He’d probably find another unpaid job for me to do.
Inside, a dozen neglected tables of customers all clamored for attention. I had finally gotten everyone sorted and served when Kim Takahashi, one of the waitresses who normally worked the night shift, showed up, snapping her gum loudly.
Kim kept her waist-length, jet-black hair in long, braided pigtails. She wore her neon green Untapped Books & Café polo and stained waist-only apron over a black lace floor-length dress, under which were knee-high motorcycle boots. Unlike me, Kim had worked here long enough to have a name badge pinned to her apron. My apron was plain, but I could recognize it because of a Rorschach-esque set of stains that looked like an elephant on the center pocket.
Kim wore more eyeliner in one shift than I wore in a year. And I was never as thrilled to see someone as I was to see her today. “Thank goodness you’re here. Todd called you in?”
“No worries.” She twisted her gum around one long, black-polished nail and pulled. “I needed the hours.”
“Hey, new girl,” a customer called, and I headed toward him. The man sitting at the table tucked into the corner, his back to the garish orange carnation wallpaper, was as much a fixture of Untapped Books & Café as the rope lights strung along each bookshelf or the glass brick stairs leading up to the front entrance. I hadn’t noticed him earlier, but considering he only ever sat in Bethany’s section, that wasn’t surprising.
“Seth, right?” I had to force a friendly smile. “How’s that coffee coming along?” I asked, gesturing at his empty coffee cup. Most of our regulars came for the atmosphere, free Wi-Fi, awesome sandwiches, and an impressive selection of local beers. This customer, however, sat for hours nursing free coffee refills, surfing on his laptop, and ogling Bethany while completely ignoring the rest of the staff. I wasn’t sure how to break the news, so I took the coward’s way out. “Bethany doesn’t work here anymore.”
“Oh.” He frowned and looked down at his coffee cup. “That’s unfortunate.”
“You need anything else?” He’d find another waitress to obsess over. I crossed my fingers and hoped it wasn’t me. If he was my regular, he’d drive me batty. Seth hogged a table for hours, refusing to relocate to a stool at the counter, and never ever left a tip.
He, like a lot of the New Yorkers I’d met, spoke so rapidly I had a hard time understanding him sometimes. “A million dollars in uncut diamonds, and a gluten-free donut that doesn’t taste like ash?”
“Sorry, we’re all out, but I can bring you a refill on that coffee.”
He shook his head, placed the exact amount of his bill—three dollars even, as always—on the table without me having to write up his ch
eck, grabbed his laptop and his bag, and left. I dropped the money into my apron pocket, cleared his cup, and wiped down his table as three loud women headed toward the newly vacated seats. I gave them the rundown of the menu, and noticed out of the corner of my eye that Kim was talking to one of my tables.
I’d never worked with Kim before. As the newbie, I got the early weekday shifts that no one else wanted. The real tips came in on evenings and weekends, when the patrons ordered round after round of local IPAs and shared appetizer platters. It was instantly apparent that she was good at her job, but she got the opposite impression of me.
She pulled me aside after she’d had to fix the third order I’d bungled in the last half hour. In my defense, it was way busy and my head wasn’t in the game. “Hey, Odessa, I know you’re new and all, but you can’t keep making mistakes like this. Table Four ordered iced tea, but they got Table Six’s beer instead. Some people aren’t cut out to be waitresses.”
I swallowed my pride. “I’ve got a lot going on right now.”
“Don’t we all? Leave it at the door and concentrate on the job.”
It was good advice, and any other day, I would have appreciated it. But I couldn’t get the scene from Domino Park out of my mind.
“It looks like we’re slowing down,” she said. I’d been so busy juggling the small, constantly revolving crowd that I hadn’t had a chance to catch my breath yet. I looked around and realized there were only three tables now, all with their drinks and food already, with no one waiting to be seated. No one sat outside in the courtyard out back since we didn’t open that area until after five. “Why don’t you take a break and get your head straight?”
“Good idea.” I headed for the front counter, where Izzy was finishing ringing up a customer. She handed him three thick books and a receipt before wishing him a nice day. Then she turned to me. “Odessa? What’s wrong? You’re pale as a sheet.”
“We need to talk.”
“Can it wait?” Another customer approached the cash register and put a pile of children’s chapter books on the counter. “Did you find everything you were looking for?” Izzy asked in her friendliest voice.
“Izzy, it’s urgent,” I said.
“Hold on just one second? I’ll be right with you,” she told the customer. Then she narrowed her eyes at me and took a step away from the counter.
I grabbed her arm and dragged her into the hall and toward the stockroom door. “You and Bethany are friends, right?”
She shrugged. “We hang out sometimes outside of work. Supsies? I heard Todd fired her for taking off in the middle of her shift. That jerk. I swear, we should all not show up for work one day. That would teach him a lesson.”
“That’s not it. I mean, yes, Todd fired Bethany, but that doesn’t matter anymore. Bethany’s dead.”
Izzy glared at me. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking,” I insisted. “Why does everyone think I would joke about something like that? She fell off the elevated walkway at Domino Park and died.”
“No. No way. Bethany’s fine. We’ll call her and prove it.” She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts, tapping Bethany’s name. After a few seconds, Izzy scowled at her phone. “Straight to voicemail. But that doesn’t mean nothing. She’s always forgetting to charge her phone.”
“I saw her. I saw Bethany. She was wearing an Untapped shirt.”
“Did you see her face?”
“Well, no,” I admitted. “But it was her. I know it was.” It had been her, right? I was certain. At least 90 percent certain. I wanted to be wrong; I really, really did. But deep down, I knew it had been Bethany on that stretcher in the park. “She had a turquoise owl tattooed on the underside of her wrist. And she was dead.”
Izzy scowled. “Lots of people have owl tattoos.”
She had me there. Owl tatts were to our generation what lower back tattoos and tribal armbands were to Todd’s. “Yes, but how many of them work here?”
“Excuse me, but are you going to be much longer?” a female voice asked. “I’ve got places to be, you know.”
I poked my head back into the main bookstore and noticed a line had formed in front of the cash register. “We better get back,” I said, even though my job didn’t feel very important right now in the grand scheme of things.
“Bethany’s fine,” Izzy insisted, ignoring both me and the customers. “You’ll see. You’re mistaken. You’ve gotta be.”
Without waiting for my response, she hurried back to the front counter, leaving me alone in the hall. I hoped that Izzy was right. To be fair, I’d only caught a glimpse of neon green in the background of a video and then a quick view of a fairly common tattoo on an otherwise bare arm. Something was off about that. It took me a minute to realize what it was.
Bethany always wore a gaudy, fake medical bracelet that she refused to take off. It was an old stainless-steel plate attached to a thick chain. The name engraved on it was Timothy O’Shay and, according to the bracelet, he was allergic to bullets.
Except the arm I’d seen hadn’t been wearing the bracelet.
Bethany had supposedly found it at a thrift shop ages ago. I thought it was creepy and a little disrespectful, but it was also very much on-brand for Bethany to wear something like that. Maybe Izzy was right. Maybe Bethany was fine and my imagination had run away with me. Maybe Bethany would come waltzing through the door any minute now, laughing at Todd when he told her she was fired, donning her apron, and getting back to work.
Speaking of which, I had to get back while I still had a job. But first, I should probably update all of the social media accounts so Untapped Books & Café’s followers could see what was happening today. I was about to head to Todd’s office when Izzy stuck her head back into the hall. “Kim’s calling you.”
When I stepped out of the hall and closed the door behind me, I glanced toward the front door and held my breath for a heartbeat. On a nice spring or fall day, the front door would be propped open to let in some fresh air and invite customers inside, but in the heat of June it was closed tight to keep in what little relief the ancient air conditioner could provide. In front of the door was a security gate tucked up into the ceiling that would be rolled down after closing to lock the store up tight. A small bell was rigged to tinkle pleasantly when someone entered or left, and I stared at it, willing it to jingle, announcing Bethany’s return.
Nothing happened.
Of course.
I made my way back to the café, even though waiting tables was my absolute lowest priority right now. I needed something to get my thoughts off Bethany. The mind-numbing act of serving food and drinks might be just what the doctor ordered.
Kim brushed past me. “You gonna stand around or are you gonna get back to work?” she asked, juggling a full tray in one hand and a pitcher of ice-cold lemonade in the other.
Before I could answer, she was already gone. She had a point. I headed for the window, where several plates sat, waiting for delivery. Parker poked his head out and said, “Orders are piling up.”
“Yup, taking care of that right now.” I checked the ticket, grabbed the plates, and lined them up along my arm to deliver them to the right table.
I’d hoped that work would serve as a distraction, but I was sorely mistaken. As the day wore on, the café was buzzing. As usual, everyone was focused on their screens. But unlike every other day, they were all watching the same thing—the viral video from Domino Park.
The rest of my shift went by in a blur. The early dinner rush was starting to slow when my replacement showed up. I happily cashed out my tips, hung up my apron, and headed for the front door.
“Odessa!” Izzy called out as I passed the cash register. “Wait a sec!”
“What are you still doing here?” I glanced at the clock on the wall behind her. The hands were enormous, mounted in the center of a n
umerically ordered ring of books with titles like Janet Evanovich’s One for the Money, Charles Dickens’s A Tale of Two Cities, The Three Little Pigs, and James Patterson’s Four Blind Mice where the clock’s numbers should be. When we got bored, we would grab a stepladder and swap out the books with other titles that fit the pattern. “Didn’t your shift end like an hour ago?”
“I was waiting for you, dummy,” she said, but I heard the affection in her voice. “Come on, let’s roll.”
“Where are we going?”
Izzy rolled her eyes at me. “We’re going to the police station to prove to you that the woman in that horrible video isn’t Bethany.”
“Why not go by her place and check on her?”
A shadow crossed Izzy’s expression. “I already called one of her roomies, and Bethany’s not home. But she’s hardly ever there.”
“All right.” I crossed my fingers and fervently hoped Izzy was right and I was wrong. “Let’s go, then.”
I’d been in the police station in Piney Island dozens of times. Well, maybe not dozens of times, but a lot. We went on elementary school field trips and to sell Girl Scout cookies. The police station was where I got my driver’s license and paid my first traffic ticket. I knew the cops by name, and they knew me.
The Williamsburg precinct was nothing like Piney Island.
The police station was uncomfortably warm with everyone crammed in like sardines. And like the New York City subway during rush hour, I smelled something strong and unpleasant I didn’t want to identify. We signed in at the front desk and were told it could be a while. There was one open seat in the cramped waiting room, but we took one look at the stained chair resting over a puddle that may or may not have been a spilled beverage, and elected to remain standing.
After an hour of waiting—long enough for Izzy to duck out and return with lattes and for us to witness two different men dragged into the station in handcuffs, blathering nonsense—a bored patrolman called our names and led us back to a small, cramped room. He told us to wait, propped the door open with a metal chair, and disappeared.
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