Killer Content

by Olivia Blacke

  “That’s dumb,” Todd said, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t do anything for yourself?”

  I shrugged one shoulder. “Who says that’s not for myself? Making the world a better place is selfish, because I live here, too.”

  Todd rolled his eyes. “Millennials. We open in five, so chop-chop.”

  He walked away and we all collapsed into laughter. “Millennials,” Parker said, in a fair imitation of Todd’s nasal whine. “With your avocado toast and your fancy beard oils, it’s no wonder you haven’t bought a house yet.”

  “Don’t forget man-buns,” Kim added. Her impersonation was worse, but still identifiable.

  “Do I need to get all of you trophies to convince you to get to work?” I asked, trying to replicate Todd’s voice. “Chop-chop.”

  Parker doubled over in laughter. “Please, Odessa, don’t ever do that again. With your accent, it hurts.”

  Kim nodded in agreement. “Let’s never speak of this again. In your case, literally.”

  I stuck my tongue out at them. “Don’t accent shame me.” I grabbed a knife off the block and cut the remaining croissant into three pieces. Ooey gooey lemon custard oozed out of the cuts. I swiped a corner piece and popped it into my mouth. Parker tugged his long sleeves down over his scarred arms and snagged the middle piece. Kim snatched the last piece and tucked the empty box into the giant trash bin in the corner.

  The bell over the front door tinkled faintly. I straightened my apron and washed my hands in the kitchen sink. We were open for business.

  The first customer through the door was Seth. He made a beeline to his favorite table. “Flip you for it?” Kim offered.

  I shrugged. “I got this.” As easy as he was to take care of, I didn’t want to wait on Seth because I knew he’d sit for hours and not tip a dime. Our earlier conversation about how we would spend sixty grand was a good reminder that I could do more for my friends, coworkers, and neighbors. Saving the world didn’t always mean composting every bit of organic material. Sometimes, saving the world was as easy as paying for someone else’s subway ride or letting someone cut the line when they only had one item in their basket.

  “Morning, Seth!” I said brightly. “Let me guess, you would like Parker’s world-famous avocado toast with a side of fresh strawberries grown in the lush rooftop garden next door and a glass of fresh-squeezed guava juice?”

  He frowned at me. “Allergic to gluten. You should know that by now. Coffee. Black.” He powered up his laptop and made himself comfortable. As usual.

  I guess Seth left his sense of humor at home this morning. “Coming right up.”

  We had a slowdown about eleven, and after updating each of Untapped’s social media accounts, I found myself scanning Bethany’s feed, too. Unlike before, when I was looking for some kind of clue that would bring meaning to her senseless death, now I was getting a real sense of her life for the first time.

  Bethany was snarky, but she leaned toward funny rather than mean. At least half of her posts were filled with sarcasm and biting insights into the human condition. I’d always known that Bethany was street-smart, but diving deeper into her posts, I realized that she was also smart smart. But what really got me were her replies to other people’s posts. She was encouraging. Honest. Thoughtful. Totally not the Bethany I thought I knew.

  I wished I’d gotten to see more of this side of her while she was still alive. Many of her friends had offered touching tributes to her. I don’t know who was cutting onions in here, but they needed to stop. The ones that got me the most were the ones that tried to be funny, but I could tell that they were hurting.

  Izzy was right. We all needed this wake tonight. It was one thing for people to pour their hearts out on the internet, but they needed something more. We needed to be surrounded by other people who cared for Bethany, and take an hour or two to celebrate her life.

  22

  Untapped Books & Café @untappedwilliamsburg ∙ June 28

  ALERT—closing @ 6 today! #familyemergency #lastcall

  HEY, ODESSA, C’MERE,” Todd said, summoning me from across the room.

  “Yes, sir, just a sec,” I replied, distributing plates around the table. “That’s one kale salad with strawberries, walnuts, and blue cheese; one free-range turkey and organic Swiss on whole grain gluten-free pita bread; and one black bean and quinoa wrap with carrot tahini dressing. Am I missing anything?”

  I got a few responses of “looks great,” and turned toward Todd. As usual, he was on his favorite perch at the top of the stairs. I had never noticed before, but my cowboy boots had a bit of a heel on them, and now that I was wearing Bethany’s orthopedic loafers, I felt even shorter than I had before. “How can I help?” I asked, hoping he wasn’t going to ask me to do something nasty like pull a hair ball out of the drain.

  Then again, that would still be better than the time he’d had me go all the way into Manhattan to stand in line in thousand-degree weather at Madison Square Garden for tickets to some rock band that had one hit song back in the early nineties that I’d never even heard before.

  “I need you to update the Twitter.”

  I bit my tongue. I was not going to correct him. Someday, maybe, but not today. “Already took care of it this morning. I pushed those hardback books you were complaining about taking up too much shelf space.”

  “Good, good. But I need you to announce that we’re closing at six today.” After years of waiting tables, I had a world-class poker face. I once dropped a butcher knife on my foot, and I never stopped smiling, not until the nice doctor at the walk-in clinic started putting in seven stitches. But I guess my confusion was evident, even to a person like Todd who wasn’t exactly known for kid gloves. “You seem surprised.”

  “More . . . confused. You know it’s Friday night, right?”

  He nodded. “Yup. And we’ll lose a ton of business, but as Izzy couldn’t see fit to arrange Bethany’s memorial for a decent time, say Monday between two and four, I don’t see that we have much of a choice, do we?”

  “You’re closing early so everyone can attend the wake?” I asked, still not believing my ears.

  “Of course. What do you think I am, some kind of heartless lowlife?” He clapped his hands. “Now get to it. I’ve got to call everyone scheduled to work tonight and tell them to go to the memorial instead.”

  “Wait a sec, if you were planning on closing the shop anyway, wouldn’t it have made more sense to have the service here?”

  “What, and have to clean up after all those people? No thank you,” he said, turning and walking away.

  Six o’clock finally rolled around. We gently shooed the last customer out the door, did a manic clean-up, and headed out together as a group.

  When I was seventeen, I went to New Orleans on a family trip. We did all the touristy things. Beignets at Café Du Monde. A riverboat ride. A tour of St. Louis Cemetery No. 1. A mule-drawn carriage through the French Quarter. We even did a late-night ghost tour, including a stop at one of the famous voodoo shops, and one full block of Bourbon Street (just to say we did it). My parents were teetotalers, and I was underage, so Bourbon Street fell flat, but the rest of the vacation was amazing.

  The day we were packing up and heading out of town, we got stuck on a side street as an authentic New Orleans jazz funeral parade marched down the crossroad, trumpets blaring and drums thumping. People were singing and dancing in the street, some dressed in ornate costumes and others in tank tops and flip-flops. Behind the big brass band, a horse-drawn carriage pulled a hearse. No one was crying. They were celebrating.

  In a lot of ways, that’s how it felt to march the eleven blocks to Aunt Melanie’s building with my friends and coworkers in tow.

  Parker brought up the rear of our ragtag procession, the cart of his electric bike carrying bags we’d filled up with ice from the café. In addition to everyone on the day shift, S
ilvia, Andre, and Emilie met up with us at Untapped Books & Café. We didn’t have any tambourines, but we were laughing and remembering good times instead of dwelling on the bad. In lieu of feathered headdresses, we all—even the folks who hadn’t worked today—wore our UB&C neon green polos in solidarity.

  We stopped at the bodega so everyone could run in and buy six-packs of beer. Kim, always one to shirk tradition, grabbed a box of wine instead. “I don’t get it,” I mentioned to Andre while we were waiting in the checkout line. “Why didn’t we grab the good stuff before we left? A whole case of Pour Williamsburg came in today.”

  Andre hefted the red-white-and-blue pack of cans he was carrying. “Bethany was partial to PBR. Troglodyte. Amiright?” He paused and his face fell. “I’m really gonna miss her, you know? She was fierce, even if she had questionable taste in beer.”

  “I know,” I said. We paid for our purchases and I led the procession into the lobby of Aunt Melanie’s building. “Hiya, Earl.”

  “Miss Odessa,” he replied, sounding grumpier than usual.

  “Thanks for helping steer people to the wake.” Izzy had told me that he’d agreed to let people up onto the roof as long as too many people didn’t show up, but warned us that the first time any of the residents complained, he was shutting us down. “Can I get you anything? Snacks? Beer?”

  “Thank you, no. Miss Izzy already dropped off a lasagna.”

  I smiled so hard my dimples hurt. That was so like Izzy. Here I was, offering him potato chips and cheap beer, and she’d gone to the trouble to make him a whole lasagna. I could learn a thing or two from her. “We’ll be on our best behavior,” I promised him as we headed for the elevator.

  At least two dozen people were already milling around the rooftop deck when we arrived, even though it wasn’t quite seven yet. We deposited the ice and beer into coolers scattered around the pool. I wondered where Izzy had found the coolers. She’d probably bargained with someone for them or convinced a total stranger to loan them to her for the day.

  I spotted Jenny Green hanging out near the potted plants. Her wheelchair was decorated with a pink boa, and she wore a fluffy pink dress than made her look like a little girl’s third birthday cake. “Nice outfit,” I said as I approached. “It’s very pink.” It was not at all what I expected, especially since the first time I met her, she was dressed in black from head to toe.

  Jenny laughed. “Bethany always said she wanted people to wear cheery colors to her funeral. She thought black was depressing.” She noticed my polo. “I’m not sure that counts as cheery, but she would have gotten a kick out of it.”

  “Thanks.”

  She fingered the material of her skirt, yards and yards of it arranged in big, poufy layers. If she hadn’t been in a wheelchair, she would have been tripping over it or knocking things over anytime she tried to move. “Pink’s really not my color. You want it when we’re done here? I’m sure you could make something more practical out of it.”

  “I’m good,” I assured her. “That would make some nice soap packaging, though. Speaking of which, I sent you a DM the other day. I’ve got all of Bethany’s soap-making equipment in a box down in my apartment, and I hoped you could get some use out of it. I think she’d want you to have the molds.”

  “Sorry, I never check my DMs. Bethany was always so good at keeping on top of all that stuff, but I’m lucky if I remember to reply to my emails. It’s too many different sites to keep up with, you know?”

  I nodded. “Do I ever? I’ve got my own accounts, which get hardly any traffic, but then I’m also managing three different accounts for Untapped Books & Café.”

  “Try adding a YouTube channel and Etsy store to all that,” she said. “But yes, I’d be honored to take Bethany’s supplies. I always envied her molds. Plus, I teach a soap-making class down at the community center once a month, and there’s never enough equipment to go around. You should come sometime. The invite’s up on Facebook.”

  “Yeah, I’d like that. I’ve been watching your and Bethany’s videos online, and it looks fun. Come grab me before you go, and I’ll help you with the box,” I offered.

  A long shadow fell over us, and I turned to see Marco approaching. “Odessa, sorry I didn’t call you back.”

  “No worries. I just wanted to make sure you knew about the wake, and to talk about a few things. Marco, do you know Jenny?”

  He scowled at her. “Sure do. That’s the reprobate that was trying to muscle in on Beth’s business. Did you know that she stole the recipe to her maple bacon soap?”

  “Oh, please,” Jenny said with a huff. “Bethany and I developed that recipe together. It was her idea to make it look like we had some big online feud to hype up each other’s sites, and it totally worked. My traffic practically doubled overnight, and if it weren’t for all of that attention, we never would have gotten that deal.”

  “Deal?” I asked. “What deal?”

  Jenny looked mortified. “Oops. I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

  Marco loomed over her. “What kind of deal? Look here, I’m her boyfriend. I have a right to know.”

  “Ex-boyfriend,” Jenny corrected him with a hard edge to her words. “Why are you even here? You didn’t care about Bethany. If you did, you wouldn’t have broken her heart.”

  “That’s not fair.” I stepped in, trying to keep the peace. The last thing we needed was people fighting at a wake. “Who are we to say what is really going on in a relationship? Besides, Izzy said they broke up every other week, and always got back together in the end.”

  “Not this time,” Jenny said, glowering up at Marco. “He accused her of cheating on him. He said he never wanted to see her again. He even threw out her best soap recipe ideas.”

  “So what if I did? We were supposed to be moving in together. She’d already moved most of her stuff in and was gonna break her lease. But then she started getting real secretive and was never home, and she wouldn’t admit it, but I knew she was seeing someone else,” Marco said, and my heart went out to him.

  At the same time, I wondered if Cherise and Tran knew that Bethany planned on moving out, leaving them in the lurch. Was that why Cherise took thirty-five hundred dollars out of Bethany’s bank account? If she was vengeful enough to steal from a dead woman, could she also have been responsible for Bethany’s fall? I hadn’t noticed Cherise in any of the photos on Instagram from the time of Bethany’s death, but then again, I hadn’t been specifically looking for her.

  Wait.

  No.

  Stop.

  I’d promised Detective Castillo I would stop looking for murderers when there were no signs of foul play. Tonight was supposed to be about Bethany’s life, not obsessing over her death.

  “Bethany wasn’t cheating on you,” Jenny insisted. “She wouldn’t do that.”

  I tried to get between them and de-escalate before a full-fledged argument erupted. “Come on, you two. This is supposed to be a wake.”

  “Have you never been to a wake before? If the cops aren’t called to break up at least one brawl, it’s not a successful wake.”

  What? Izzy hadn’t told me that part. I hoped Marco was kidding, but from the way the veins in his temple stood out and he was clenching his jaw, maybe he wasn’t. Although, he wouldn’t start an actual fight, would he? Not with a woman.

  “I think I’m the authority on what my girlfriend would and wouldn’t do,” he continued, ignoring me to focus on Jenny. “And I’m telling you, she was seeing someone else behind my back.”

  “You big dummy! Bethany wasn’t cheating on you! She was working on a big secret project with me! We couldn’t tell nobody because we signed an NDA, but if you’d waited a few days, she would have told you everything.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?” he asked.

  She bit her bottom lip. “The cat’s gonna be out of the bag soon anyway,
so I might as well tell you. But you have to promise me that you won’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”

  “What’s the big deal?” Marco asked.

  “We sold the formula to the maple bacon soap we developed together to one of the big-name cosmetic companies. Those nights she came home late? We were in negotiations with their lawyers. Bethany said she was gonna use that money to start a new life with you. Then you dumped her.”

  “I didn’t know,” he said, looking pained.

  “She tried to tell you,” Jenny said, “but you didn’t trust her.”

  “I didn’t know,” he repeated. “I need a drink.” Marco headed for the closest cooler. I still needed to talk to him, to see if he wanted to keep any of Bethany’s belongings or if I should donate them, but this wasn’t the time for that conversation.

  “I didn’t mean to upset him.” Jenny sounded embarrassed. “But he needed to know that Bethany wasn’t a cheater. She loved him. Like full-on head-over-heels cheesy love.”

  “I know,” I said, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder. “Hopefully this will help him find some closure.” Speaking of closure, Jenny’s revelation had left me with more questions than I’d had before. “With Bethany gone, what happens to your big cosmetics deal?”

  “It’s already gone through,” she said. “They’re gonna make an announcement next week about their new product line featuring our maple bacon soap formula. We don’t get any credit for it because we sold them the rights, but still, it’s a pretty big honor, and then there’s the money, of course.”

  That explained why Bethany’s bank account was flush with cash, but not where it had all disappeared to so quickly. “What about residuals and royalties?”

  Jenny shook her head. “We don’t get any. Bethany said she needed the money and I’ve got medical bills like you wouldn’t believe, so we negotiated for a larger price up front instead.”

  “Good for you. I’m really happy for you,” I told her. “Can I get you a celebratory beer or something?”