“How do you like your new room?” Madison asked.
“I love it,” Claire said. “It’s so private down here. Well, as private as it can get in this place. You know how Dad is.”
“Yeah.”
Madison did know. Her father wasn’t just critical about his daughters’ appearance, but there was a lack of privacy in the house. At random times, her father would come into their rooms without knocking, searching for things like drugs or hidden alcohol containers, just in case. South Haven might have been a small town, but there did seem to be a never-ending supply of drugs for those who sought it out, and even Madison and Claire knew this, they both wished their father trusted them.
“I got asked out to homecoming by Aron,” Claire said in a whisper, despite the fact that she was in the basement and away from anyone who might overhear her omission and despite the fact that her father was at work.
“That’s great!” Madison exclaimed. She knew Aron from Claire’s apt description of him being way smart, really cute – he wore glasses but they actually made him look cuter – and loved learning about Einstein as much as she did. Claire had met him freshman year of high school and they had been friends ever since. He had even met her parents, although apparently the girls’ father promptly ignored him, and after Aron left, her father told Claire she wasn’t allowed to see that boy ever again even though the two were just friends.
“No, it’s not great,” Claire murmured. “You know how Dad is. He’s never let me go to any dance ever. The only one I can actually look forward to is prom, and that’s months away! Who knows if Aron will even be interested in me?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down,” Madison said. “First of all, are you guys going together, as in, a date?”
“I – I don’t know,” Claire admitted. “He asked if I could go with a bouquet of roses and he never mentioned that we’d go as friends. But I don’t know if that means he just thought I’d assume we’d be going as friends or” –
“Stop.” Madison felt herself grinning because she was the same way. “You’re thinking too much about it.”
“I had to throw away the flowers,” Claire said. “I couldn’t bring them home. Dad would ask where I got them from and I just didn’t want to deal with that. It’s like, no matter how convincing I am, he knows when I’m lying.”
“Well, you’re going to have to lie if you want to go to that dance,” Madison pointed out. “Maybe you can tell Mom that you’re spending the night with your friends – what are their names? Emily and Sara? – after the game. Instead of actually sleeping, though, you guys get ready and go to the dance.”
“And how am I supposed to get a dress?”
“Go shopping, buy one – I know you have money saved up – and leave it at either Emily or Sara’s house.”
There was a long silence on the other end. Madison knew Claire was trying to decide if the pros weighed out the cons when it came to this instance.
“Okay.” Another pause, and then, “What about you, Maddy? How’s California? You know I’m going to be moving out with you right when I graduate. No community college for me.”
“Do the parents know this?” Madison asked.
“Yup, and they agree,” Claire said, “if I get a scholarship of some sort. Anyways, tell me how life is. How’s that job? School? Boys?”
Claire was the only one back home who knew that Madison was a Gulls Girl and had kept the secret to herself. She never judged Madison and said that doing something like that might actually be fun – and it would definitely help her meet hot, California guys.
Madison told her sister a short but detailed version of everything that had happened since the last time they spoke, including her interaction with Alec Schumacher, Brady, and her classes. Also that she was responsible for coming up with some sort of memorial for the owner of the Gulls.
“I can’t believe that guy’s dead,” Claire said in a hushed voice. “I’ve heard Dad talk about it since it’s hockey news and everything. I just didn’t realize that you used to work for him. I mean, before he died. But Maddy, if no one has been arrested yet, if the cops haven’t made an arrest, that means that the person who did kill the owner is still out there. You’re not in danger or anything, are you?”
“Oh no, definitely not,” Madison reassured her. In all honesty, the thought had never crossed her mind until Claire had brought it up. And even though she was still certain that her life wasn’t in danger, she would be lying if she said she wasn’t spooked at the thought that she might be interacting with a killer on a daily basis.
When the conversation wound down, Claire said, “I’d give the phone to Olivia, but she’s out with all her cool friends.”
Madison could have detected the disdain in her sister’s voice if Claire hadn’t made it as obvious as she had. Claire and Olivia were about as opposite in personality as one could get and that tended to cause a lot of friction. While Claire liked her independence and only had two close friends, Olivia – a sophomore – was one of the most popular girls in her class, though her grades were lacking in comparison to her two sisters.
“That’s okay. Send her my love. And hey, tell me how homecoming goes. If you need anything, day or night, don’t hesitate to call.”
After they got off the phone, Madison decided to shower and change into some comfortable clothing. When she finished washing her hair, she threw the dark locks up into a messy bun and headed out the door. She wanted to pick up some books at the nearby Barnes & Noble.
Madison skimmed through the Mystery section. She loved trying to solve the crime before the main character. She grabbed a couple of paperbacks from two of her favorite series and decided to browse through the magazines, hoping for the newest edition of Cosmo. Her father banned magazines that promoted sex, as he decided it did without actually cracking one open to actually check, but Madison would always sneak them back in South Haven. Now she could buy them without worrying about her father finding them. Hell, she might even buy a subscription.
“Well hello there Madison,” a familiar voice said from behind her. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
Madison jumped, the magazine already in her arms along with her paperback mysteries, and she turned, surprised to see none other than Brady standing there with a couple of books himself.
His beige eyes immediately descended to Madison’s arms. “Cosmo, eh?” he asked in an amused voice.
“What?” God, why couldn’t she have put any effort into her appearance? “Oh, yeah. I read it. Religiously.”
Stop babbling, stop babbling, please, for the love of God, stop babbling.
He said nothing, but his lips quirked up. His mouth might have been closed, but it was obvious that his twinkling eyes were laughing at her.
“Interesting,” was all he said. “How’s work at Sea Side. I heard Brandon Thorpe was arrested yesterday.”
“Actually he was just brought in for questioning,” she snapped, harsher than she intended to. She swallowed. The mention of Brandon Thorpe and Sea Side brought up memories of Alec Schumacher and him walking her to her car – like she had any choice in the matter – and the story he told her. The story that he supposedly hadn’t told any other girl except her. The fact that he would fight for the people he cared about, no matter what.
“Sorry,” she continued, shaking her head.
“No, it’s fine,” he said. “So, forgive me if this is a little blunt but I was wondering if you had plans for the rest of the day.”
Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!
“No…” Yes, she managed to get the word out. But she sucked in her breath, waiting, hoping.
“Good.” He smiled. “I thought for a second you might have a lunch date with your boyfriend or something.”
Madison laughed – she hated to admit that it was her nervous, obnoxious laughter – and diligently shook her head so hard she was surprised her neck didn’t snap. “Oh no,” she told him. “No. No. I do not have a boyfriend.”
; Brady’s smile only deepened. “This is good news,” he said in a low voice. “Well then, would you mind having lunch with me? We can talk more about this whole hockey murder or, if that’s not appropriate lunchtime material, we could talk about social psychology and how we can manipulate people to say yes.”
“Yes,” Madison said, with a nod. She chuckled at his little joke. “Yes, I would love to.”
She didn’t sound too desperate, did she?
It didn’t matter.
She was going on a lunch date – because it had to be a date, right? – with Brady. Brady. She couldn’t have been happier.
26. Friday afternoon was the only time Emma could meet up with her three best friends at Farley’s, a chain restaurant and brewery. She had fixed all the necessary mistakes and tightened up a couple of hits in her dance routine yesterday, and then practiced it over and over again this morning to make sure that every time she danced it, she nailed it. This was her little break before she had to head back to UCI in order to teach her team the dance which meant she couldn’t eat a cheeseburger and fries like she wanted to lest she wanted to puke all over the dance floor.
“Looks like it’s a salad for me,” she muttered under her breath.
Emma reached forward and grabbed the gaudy, gold seashell-shaped handle. The dark oak door was heavy, and it took effort to open the door and slip inside. Despite the fact that the restaurant opened maybe a half an hour ago, the lights were dim and different sports games on multiple flat screen televisions located at various places throughout rather than just at the bar were going off at the same time. A few people were already scattered, a couple off in a booth, middle-aged men sitting at the bar and mumbling about how they would coach whatever team they were watching, businessmen at tables talking to their clients. And there, located in the bar section of the restaurant at a high table with matching-in-height chairs, were Ariel, Michelle, and Carrie, Emma’s three best friends.
It was their table, a long standing tradition they had come up with their freshmen year of college, to meet at least once a week and catch up. Ariel was tall and slim – perhaps skinny was a more appropriate word – with luxurious, wavy dirt-brown hair and sapphire colored eyes. Though Ariel really was slender without being unhealthy and had legs up to her neck that Emma would kill for, she lacked curves to outline her body. She was wearing skinny jeans and a layered top, her hair pulled back into a casual ponytail and her thin lips curled into a smile. Currently, she was in her first year at graduate school at UCI, studying law. A fruity drink – probably a mimosa of some sort – sat just off to the side, barely touched.
Michelle was doing her usual crossword puzzles, seemingly ready to order. She had straight black hair that reached just past her shoulder and green eyes. She, too, was slender, but shorter and with more meat on her bones than Ariel. Unlike Ariel, she preferred to go makeup-less most of time unless they all went out on the town or somewhere special. Michelle invested in baggy clothing most of the time, and her chosen style was baggy t-shirts and tight jeans, whether they were skinny jeans or boot cut, it didn’t matter. On her feet was the same pair of Vans she had had since high school. She majored in psychology at Cal State Fullerton, with a focus of marriage and family counseling. A Coke half-drunk was just off to the side.
Carrie was writing something on a paper napkin, probably lyrics to another song she was writing. Originally from Georgia, Carrie’s goal was to be a country singer and she certainly looked the part. Carrie had deep, curly red hair that reached the middle of her back with side swept bangs that framed her oval-shaped face and dark brown eyes. Because she was from Georgia, she had more curves than her three friends, but there were times when she wished she had Ariel’s legs, Emma’s stomach, and Michelle’s arms. She was naturally tan, with freckles scattered across her face and a slight, Southern drawl that hadn’t been depleted since she moved here her sophomore year of high school. She loved dresses and was constantly wearing them, and especially loved that the weather in Southern California permitted her to wear her choice of clothing even in the summer. Because she was intent on being a country singer, she wasn’t in college, but she did have a manager and her demo was swimming around different labels both in Los Angeles and back east in Nashville. She had a lemonade to her left.
“Girls!” Emma exclaimed once she had reached the table.
They all looked up and began to comment on Emma’s casual attire – “I can literally predict what you’re going to wear to our get-togethers,” Ariel said – the fact that she was, as usual, late – “I actually won the betting pool so I should really thank you,” Michelle said in her normal dry tone – and her new routine – “You have to teach it to me,” Carrie said with natural enthusiasm – all the while dishing out hugs and air kisses.
When Emma finally sat down, she noticed an ice water just waiting for her.
“Guys!” she said, gesturing at the drink. “You know me too well.”
“Duh,” Michelle said with a grin.
“Actually, there’s something we want to know that we don’t,” Ariel said, her brows pushed up. “What’s been going on at Sea Side and with the Gulls? You know, with that whole murder thing and how that one guy is a suspect but it might be the uncle but they arrested the player.”
“Ooh yeah!” Carried said, nodding her head vigorously. “Sounds like tons of drama.”
“Eh.” Emma shrugged her shoulders, not quite sure if drama was the right word. “Well, I guess, for the new owner, Seraphina Hanson.”
“I heard she’s a UCI grad,” Ariel said.
“So is her sister, Katella,” Emma said. She took a quick sip of her water before continuing. “And technically speaking, Brandon Thorpe, the player, wasn’t actually arrested. He was brought in for questioning. I think he was released last night or something. And Seraphina’s uncle was the prime suspect but they cleared him. Although, my dad kind of knows him. Not personally, but you know how much he loves the Gulls and everything so he talks to, like, the trainers and coaches and stuff, and I think the uncle is the biggest asshole on the planet.”
“I saw that he came out against his niece in a video on The Orange County Register’s website,” Michelle said.
“Douche,” muttered Ariel.
“So how hot are the hockey players?” Carrie asked. Apparently the murder was brushed aside for more important things. “I mean, you get to meet them right? And your dad’s season tickets are, like, up close and personal. So? Do they have all their teeth?”
The table erupted in laughter.
“Carrie, they’re all rich and have access to the best dentists in the country,” Emma pointed out. “Even if they lost them, they can easily replace their teeth.”
“What about that guy that came up to you at that beach thing?” Ariel asked, pushing her perfectly plucked brow and looking at her friend inquiringly. “Has anything come from that?”
“What’s his name again?” Michelle asked.
“Kyle Underwood,” Emma said, feeling herself blush. And no, the lights weren’t so dim as to hide the new color in Emma’s face because her friends all picked up on it and all gave her crap for it. “Okay, okay. I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you.”
But before she could actually reveal what had happened between her and number sixteen, a waitress dressed in the typical black and white uniform, her brown hair pulled back from her face in a sleek ponytail, came over and took their order. Emma could barely get out the words Chicken Cesar Salad without grumbling. Farley’s was known for their burgers and fries. But since Carrie was getting that particular combination, Emma would sneak a few fries here and there.
“Okay,” Carrie said with narrowed eyes. “The waitress is gone. Dish. Now.”
Emma laughed but began to tell everything that had happened: how Kyle had given her his stick – “His stick? Really? And you don’t expect us to comment on the underlying meaning behind that?” Michelle asked – how they had met at The Canary, a place where he took all of his first
dates – “Um, skeeze much?” Ariel said – and how they had decided they would just be friends – “I don’t think it’s possible for guys and girls to just be friends,” Carrie said – but made sure to leave out that whenever she saw him, her heart got all funny.
“So is he cute?” Carrie asked, wiggling her eyebrows.
Before Emma could answer, a nearby sports game on a television broke out into breaking news. Brandon Thorpe’s official team picture of this season appeared on screen. He was staring straight ahead, and as Emma studied him, she felt a sliver slide down her back. Those pale green eyes looked as though they could see right through the lens, like they held a secret while at the same time, they looked lifeless, like there was nothing behind them. His short brown hair was unruly, locks going every which way but not enough to cover his ears, which prominently stuck out. Whiskers swept over his distinct jaw and the right corner of his lips curled up into a subtle smirk that seemed to taunt, ‘I know something you don’t know.’ Despite his obvious coldness, he was still good looking. Maybe not Emma’s type, but attractive nonetheless. Yes, Emma could see how people might assume Brandon Thorpe killed Ken Brown. The guy looked detached even in his Seagulls photo.
“This just in,” a well-dressed news reporter began, coming onto the screen so Brandon Thorpe’s picture was placed in the left corner of the frame. It shrunk to accommodate whoever Chip Donahue was. Probably some sportscaster. Every piece of his cut, (probably died, Emma figured) chestnut brown hair was perfectly in place and Emma could tell the suit he wore was custom-made. “We have just learned that Newport Beach Seagulls goalie, Brandon Thorpe, was release late last night from police custody after being questioned about the murder of Gulls owner and manager Ken Brown. He was taken in earlier yesterday morning and kept approximately ten hours before he was allowed to go. He did not make it in time to meet his team to John Wayne Airport in Orange County for their away game tonight, against the Vancouver Chiefs. As of yet, there is no word on whether or not Brandon Thorpe will continue with the Newport Seagulls as their goaltender. His contract has yet to be signed, and he has not publicly commented about the matter. We have tried to get the new owner, Seraphina Handson, and Brown’s granddaughter, to comment about both Thorpe and her uncle being suspects in her grandfather’s murder, but she has yet to make a statement to the media, besides, of course, playing Thorpe during the Gulls’ preseason games despite the suspicion surrounding Thorpe.”
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