Along the Indigo

by Elsie Chapman

  As soon as the door shut behind him, Dany had come over to where Marsden was standing by the sink, squeezed her arm, and smiled so knowingly that the skin on Marsden’s arms prickled to life with goose bumps.

  “Ever see a forest fire when it’s just on the cusp of really catching?” Dany had asked. “Right before it takes on a life of its own and it’s beautiful to watch but also frightening?”

  Marsden shook her head and felt her heart twist.

  “Watch Jude Ambrose’s eyes the next time he looks at you, and you’ll know what I mean.”

  twenty-four.

  Nina was in the kitchen, dressed as she always dressed, carefully and for company.

  Sometimes Marsden forgot that the boardinghouse owner and Shine were the same age, each seeming older than the other for different reasons. They’d gone to school together, had been semi-friends as teens. Then her mother had gotten pregnant and left school, while Nina graduated and went to college; having once been friends must have seemed like another lifetime. It wasn’t until her mother became a widow with nothing to her name but a piece of land no one wanted to buy, and Nina took over as manager of her family’s boardinghouse that sat next door to that land, that they reconnected in the strangest of ways.

  She was at the table with a cup of coffee at her elbow and a half dozen mini blueberry pies on a plate in front of her—more of what Marsden had baked that night when she’d been too full of dread to sleep.

  The coffee in the cup would be, she knew, as black and unforgiving as tar, unsullied by even a single grain of sugar. The sweet, fragrant pies, which Nina would have pulled from the freezer, would be merely lusted after and breathed upon.

  As slim as a willow, her mother’s boss had begun to worry lately about losing her figure.

  Marsden could have assumed Nina was sitting at the table waiting for her, knowing that she wanted to talk to her again about becoming one of her girls. So far, Marsden had managed to avoid running into her alone.

  But she wasn’t the company Nina was looking for that morning, because seated across from her at the table was Hadley.

  Marsden had missed seeing the cop’s car parked outside the boardinghouse. She’d been distracted and thinking of cameras and drownings and Jude.

  “There you are.” Nina pressed a rose-tipped hand to her front, the nails like gems against the paler pink of her blouse. Her brown bob swung as she shook her head, concern all over her face. “Please tell me you weren’t in the covert this morning—I know you like to take walks there, even now.”

  Even now.

  Marsden tried not to roll her eyes.

  Nina’s show of distress over Marsden having found Rigby’s body—someone so close to her age, with people in common—was for appearance’s sake. Her mother’s boss knew she was more effective as a cutthroat businessperson by being selective about when she showed her claws; bodies in the covert bothered her only because it was bad for the boardinghouse, and a nuisance to deal with.

  More than the bodies that bothered her, though, were Marsden’s reactions to them. Marsden knew it unsettled Nina, the way she was able to report a body and then go about her day. But Nina didn’t know she needed those bodies more than she could ever be scared of them.

  “No, I was walking along the river,” she said, trying not to fidget, feeling stained by the covert. How much did she smell of ginger when what she needed was the scent of the mud from the Indigo? “Why?”

  “Did you see a car parked along the highway out there?” Hadley asked. He took a sip of coffee, slurping just the slightest. His coffee would be thick with cream and sugar and lazy indulgence. “A brown Buick?”

  “Yes, it’s still out there now.” She couldn’t lie about that. There was no way she could have missed seeing that car if she’d been where she said she was.

  “It appears to have been abandoned. The owner . . . Well, unfortunately, we think he went into the covert. You understand what that means.”

  She nodded. “Suicide.”

  “Most likely.” The note of sadness in Hadley’s voice almost sounded authentic. “People don’t go there for much else, as you know. It’s a terrible state of affairs—not just for your family, but for Glory as a whole. We’re not sensationalized in the news much anymore, but people still know, and they still talk. Unfortunately, we can’t just block off the entire west end of town from the world.”

  “If you want to do something, patrol the area more. Get Glory to pay for a proper fence. Cement over the covert so people have no dirt to touch.” It was a mistake to goad the cop, but the shame she lived with—actually needing the covert the way it was for her own purposes—was suddenly suffocating. She wanted Hadley with his too-sweet coffee to feel some of that shame, too. Nina paid the cops well to do as little as they did, at both their conveniences.

  The money stuffed into her pocket seemed to grow heavier.

  The head cop stared at her with flinty eyes. “Yeah, well, too bad we can’t change town history.”

  Marsden fought to keep her expression neutral at the dig at her great-great-uncle. It stung being blamed, but it wasn’t wrong. And she’d half expected it, knowing Hadley would recognize her own dig.

  “I called the police as soon as I saw that car out there.” Nina’s bob shimmied again. “And I’m glad Shine’s in town, as she’d be distressed to see this. She always is, each time this happens, considering it’s her property—as you’re affected, too, Marsden. I was so very worried of what you might see.”

  “Where is she?” Marsden asked. “Do you know when she’ll be back?” She wondered if Brom was with her. If Hadley weren’t there, she might have asked Nina, but she didn’t want the corrupt cop to know any more than he had to.

  “She’s at the mall,” Nina answered, “with plans to be back after lunch.”

  The revelation at Seconds—the possibility that Brom had been there with her father that night—had stuck deep, like something caught in her teeth, so she’d decided she would take more notice of her mother’s lover. Until now, she’d never had reason to watch him, to even want to acknowledge his presence. But things had changed. She wanted to know all about his days (she already knew too much about his nights). Shine had said his time at the boardinghouse was when he had weeks off from his job. So where did he go during the days? What was he doing to fill his hours when he wasn’t busy “courting” her mother, trying to be who her father had been? Or was he simply with her all the time?

  Hadley lumbered to his feet, tugged his hat back on. “I’ll tell Shine myself if I find anything.”

  Marsden eased away, her skin crawling as Nina saw the cop out. Of course he would tell Shine himself. He took three of the mini blueberry pies on his way, his hands soft and white and absurdly delicate as he slid them off the plate. She could imagine his fingers on the body in the covert, not being careful at all as he skimmed from it before walking back to his car.

  In the bedroom she shared with Wynn, Marsden dug out the pair of old boots from the closet and slipped in the money—she would change the bills for smaller ones from the till later. She used to store her cash in between the pages of books, but then Wynn started wanting to read what she read. She considered putting all of into the bank, but the owner liked to gossip on top of being friends with too many people in Glory. So she’d bought the used boots from a garage sale a couple of years ago, realizing they were just ugly enough that no one else in the boardinghouse would even think about touching them. Beneath the pair of socks she kept pushed down into them, the boots held all the money she’d saved over the years. They held her and Wynn’s escape from Glory.

  She left her room and went upstairs. It was still morning, but late enough that Peaches would be alone in her bedroom, her john gone. Marsden needed to ask to borrow her camera.

  She silently named the girls as she passed their rooms: Kim, early thirties, whose boyfriend lived overseas; Wendy, late twenties, who used to teach Spanish part-time; Bridget, mid-thirties, who talked about one
day going to fashion school. Shine. Marsden remembered how once, when she was too young to know that her mother was no longer employed as just the housekeeper, she’d heard a man’s voice come from behind her door. She’d thought absolutely nothing of it until later that night when she fell asleep wondering if her mother had actually met someone else and was going to get remarried. If he would ever be willing to drink pretend tea with her.

  As she neared Peaches’s room, she heard laughter from behind its closed door. Wynn’s.

  Marsden’s heart sank as she knocked.

  She really wasn’t much different from her sister, wanting something from Nina’s girls. But Wynn wanted to learn their secrets, while Marsden had too many to hide—she needed Peaches and Lucy and all the others to stay away.

  twenty-five.

  She said Peaches and Lucy can show me how to do my hair and makeup. So I can look as nice as I want.

  Lucy came to the door. The scent she brought with her was not her own, but the heavy musk Peaches liked to wear. “Marsden?”

  “I was just looking for Wynn.”

  Lucy opened the door wider and motioned her inside. “Oh, she’s with us, in here. She was wandering around the house bored.”

  Marsden had seen Peaches’s room before, but only in flashes, and only when she was helping Dany the times she was running behind—to drop off laundry or ask about bedding, to double-check about a spot on a dress. Sometimes, though, when it was just Peaches, Marsden was tempted to linger, to study the older girl and see past what she worked as. To pretend her room was that of a typical twenty-somethings, that she and Peaches were typical, too, and something close to friends.

  Pale pastel floral prints and framed mirrors covered nearly every inch of the gray-papered walls. The bed was a king-size patch of yellow, topped with blue throw pillows, its headboard a panel of cream corduroy. A crystal chandelier sprawled from the ceiling like an oversized flower. Instead of a vanity, Peaches used a long wooden table that spanned the entire length of the back wall, a long mirror propped up on it so that it reminded Marsden of a ballet studio. Shoes and perfume bottles and sparkling coils of jewelry were scattered on nearly every flat surface in the room.

  Everything was cluttered, overwhelming; she couldn’t help but contrast it with her half of the bedroom she shared with Wynn, where her most important things were tucked into places no one could even see. As one of Nina’s girls, Peaches’s strengths were her exaggerated good looks, the way she swaggered in her femininity, her desires never a secret. Once, Nina had called her a barracuda, and Peaches had taken it as a compliment. But here in her room, her being a woman felt soft, not like a skill set. It left Marsden confused.

  Who was the real Peaches? Where did the lines blur between person and performance? How far did she have to go before pulling back?

  “Hi, Mars!” Wynn was sitting in a chair in front of the long table that doubled as a vanity. Her reflection waved madly. “Caitlyn’s mom had an appointment this morning, so she had to bring me back early. But look—I’m getting my hair done!”

  Standing behind her sister, winding a black lock around the curling iron in her hand, Peaches met Marsden’s eyes in the long mirror. The cool smile on her face said she knew Marsden’s wariness and was amused. “A royal coming to visit the commoners?”

  “If you say so.”

  Peaches snorted. “It’s going to be a bit before I finish, so you might as well sit. Your sister’s hair is even thicker than mine.”

  Marsden sat tentatively on the edge of the yellow bed. She tried not to think about how Dany had yet to change the bedding for any of the rooms. “Thanks for keeping her company.” She knew she sounded stiff, maybe even insincere, when she was only feeling awkward. “I didn’t know she was home, or I would have found her.”

  “I don’t mind. I’ve been meaning to do this for months anyway. I know she’s been asking.” Peaches winked at Wynn in the mirror. “And we’ll do our faces together afterward.”

  “She’s eight,” Marsden said.

  “And?”

  “And she’s eight. Take her for ice cream if you want to spend time with her.”

  Peaches sighed, released the lock of hair from the iron, and wound another. “It’s lip gloss, not a career choice.”

  Marsden stared at her in the mirror. “Maybe if we didn’t live here,” she said quietly, “in this house, or if Glory was any different. Maybe if Shine was anything else.”

  In the mirror, Wynn’s gaze darted from Marsden to Peaches, confused.

  Lucy sat down beside Marsden on the bed. “Can I try something new with your hair?” she asked. “You have the nicest hair, and I’ve been dying to experiment.”

  Marsden lifted a hand to it, felt the thick, familiar strands. Aside from a ponytail, she hated fussing with it. It was a waste of time, and watching herself try to style it, it was always Shine she saw in the mirror. “No, it’s okay.”

  “Mars never styles her hair.” Wynn bobbed her head despite the curling iron still attached to it. Her whole head was now covered with spiraling black curls. Marsden wouldn’t have been able to do that for her, not in a million years. She would have burned both of them trying. “It’d be really pretty if she tried, I bet.”

  “Thanks, runt. Very sweet.”

  Lucy smiled at Wynn. “Your sister’s hair is pretty as is.”

  “Prettier, I mean.”

  “Nice save,” Marsden said. She got up, tired of her hair being the center of attention. “Here, I’ll do yours,” she said to Lucy. “French braid. I haven’t forgotten, I don’t think.”

  Lucy slid into the chair next to Wynn, and Marsden stood next to Peaches. In the mirror, the four of them made for a disjointed image, all different colors and desires. Marsden thought their eyes best said who they were: Peaches’s bright, sharp hazel; Lucy’s quiet pools of pale green; Wynn’s sparkling, curious brown; Marsden’s the same brown but wary instead of sparkling, careful instead of curious. She saw the window of Peaches’s room in the reflection, too, thrown there by a mirror on the opposite wall. The trees of the covert filled it like a smear of gray shadow. It seemed nearly like another eye in the mirror, watching them, and Marsden dropped her gaze back to her braiding.

  “Who taught you how to do that?” Wynn asked, sounding almost hurt as she watched Marsden weave sections of Lucy’s hair together, as though a secret had been kept from her.

  “Nina, actually, years ago.” She’d forgotten until just that moment, and now she wondered about the undertones of the gesture, of the remembered feel of rose-tipped fingers smoothing out her stubbornly thick hair. How much of that had been a gesture of comfort, how much an early mark of ownership?

  “Can you do mine like that one day?” her sister asked as Marsden’s hands worked. It was taking a bit for her fingers to remember, but soon they were doing well enough that the braid stopped trying to fall apart.

  She had to grin at the awe in her sister’s voice. For years, she’d been keeping her from seeing dead bodies in the covert, but it seemed Wynn was more impressed with her ability to twist hair together. “Sure.” It surprised her that she half meant it. That maybe she actually would. For the moment, the world of the night brothel, the future Shine and Nina threatened, seemed far away.

  Peaches tugged at some of Wynn’s curls. “Hey, I’m starting to feel like a third wheel.”

  “I love my curls, Peaches!”

  “Another nice save, and fast. Didn’t even blink, either. I smell a future politician.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Someone who works in the government.”

  Wynn shook her head. “I only want to work here when I get older. In the boardinghouse.”

  Marsden’s fingers slowed on Lucy’s hair, listening for more and absolutely dreading it.

  “Like a cook, same as your sister?” Peaches’s gaze met Marsden’s in the mirror, and Marsden saw how she knew exactly what terrified her and actually sympathized. “Or a housekeeper like your mom?�
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  Wynn shrugged. “I just want to live here, like you and Lucy and the other girls do. Like forever guests—so I never have to leave.”

  “You know, it was the same for me when I was a little girl,” Lucy said. “I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to leave Florida. But then I got older, and I realized home was just one tiny part of the world.”

  “Do you miss it?” Wynn’s eyes were on Lucy’s in the mirror, curious against sad. “Home, I mean?”

  Distress flickered across Lucy’s face. “I miss . . . parts of it.”

  “Do you ever want to go back?”

  “I don’t think so, no.”

  “You don’t miss any—?”

  “Talking about Florida is giving me a headache.” Peaches unwound the last of Wynn’s hair from the iron and unplugged the appliance from the wall with a yank. She glided her hand down the length of Lucy’s arm—Marsden sensed the comfort in the gesture, the need to soothe—then turned to Wynn. “Come help me make punch?”

  After they left, Lucy swept her braid over her shoulder. “Just a hairdo, but you see Wynn’s possible future.” Her voice was soft. “The idea scares you.”

  Marsden stiffened. “Nina does. My mother. This whole entire town.”

  “Do we disgust you? Me and Peaches? The other girls?”

  “No, I never said that.”

  “But our work does.”

  Marsden flushed. “I’m trying to remember they’re separate things. I’m not always able to. Glory makes it easy to keep things mixed up.” She would know.

  It was a few seconds before Lucy spoke again. “Wynn doesn’t mean it, you know. About never wanting to leave. She’ll change her mind once she finds out about the boardinghouse, about your mom.”