The Maple Murders

by Micol Ostow

  Hermione Lodge:

  The natives are restless, Hiram. This Revels was supposed to be a boost for the town—not another dark secret.

  Hiram Lodge:

  Natives? I think you mean your constituents.

  Hermione Lodge:

  I mean our NEIGHBORS. And I can’t say I blame them entirely. It was a gruesome scene.

  Hiram Lodge:

  Mi amor, I told you—don’t worry. My men will take care of this. There are plenty of reasonable ways to play this one. Keep in mind—the original Revels dropped off the town calendar 75 years ago, and no one seems to know why. If there’s one thing this town is good at, it’s a cover-up.

  Hermione Lodge:

  I hope so. We can’t afford a slip right now. The Revels need to go off without a single hitch.

  Hiram Lodge:

  Leave it to me.

  ARCHIE

  I had to hand it to Veronica: When things went upside down, she really was her mother’s daughter. And I meant that in the best possible way. No matter what came at her, Veronica always stood strong and powered through. The Revels’ opening ceremony was no exception.

  Immediately after the time capsule was opened, it was total pandemonium, I mean, we’d seen death in Riverdale—too much of it, recently—but I guess on some level, we’d been operating on the idea that evil was a newer side to life here in this town. Just a bunch of random, unfortunate, isolated instances. Were we kidding ourselves? Being deliberately delusional? Sure, maybe. But it was way more appealing than the alternative.

  A body buried in a time capsule? That was different. That was old-school evil, literally planted in the ground for future generations to find.

  Hermione snapped into action, though, with a quick but solemn announcement that of course the identity of the body would be investigated “thoroughly.”

  “But for now,” she said, “we don’t have the full story, and it would be wise not to panic and assume the worse. I think it best that we adjourn to La Bonne Nuit, as per our original plan, and allow ourselves some revelry despite this unexpected twist.”

  “ ‘Unexpected twist,’ ” Veronica had scoffed to me. “God, my parents really do have the gift of spin.” She sounded totally repulsed. “It was a body in a barrel—a time capsule, no less—but nope, nothing to see here.”

  I took her hand. “What now?”

  “What now?” She squared her shoulders. “Archiekins, I’ve never been much of a thespian, but nonetheless, the old saying would serve us well at this moment: The show must go on.”

  I was stunned. I looked around—at the police tape perimeter FP was currently stringing up around us, at the little pile of dirt left on the pagoda from when the barrel had first tipped over … At the sight of my own dad’s face, totally stricken by what he’d just seen. “Ronnie, you’re seriously still having the after-party?”

  “I don’t have much choice, do I?” she said. “My mother just announced it to the crowd. But look.” She gestured, indicating all the people who were currently wandering off, slowly and dazedly making their way to their cars. “After what just happened? These people deserve a party.”

  “I hear you, but—”

  “But nothing.” She waved me off. “You heard my mother. It’s too soon to panic. This party is happening. We may as well get on the train, since it’s way too late to get off the tracks. It’ll be worse if we’re not there.”

  “I … guess that’s an okay reason?”

  “It’s a fine reason,” she conceded. “But truthfully, it’s not my only—or even my primary—objective. The thing is, Archie? My mom is going to the party. As we speak. So if I want to pin her down on how exactly she plans to sweep this little catastrophe under the rug, that’s the place to do it. In a contained environment, where she can’t easily dodge me. Before the cleaners have finished their dirty work.”

  So Veronica went into her own get-it-done mode, and there we were at La Bonne Nuit. Hermione did her best, making the rounds and shaking hands and nodding very seriously, but unsurprisingly, no one was feeling all that festive. The music felt too loud and the half-empty room was awkward. I kept thinking back to the horrified look on Betty’s face when the barrel first tipped over. To the way she went unsteady on her feet. To the way my father staggered back from the barrel in total shock. I mean, I’ve seen my father shot, right in front of me—and I swear, I’d never seen an expression like the one on his face when the time capsule opened and that body came tumbling out.

  Someone pushed a tumbler of amber liquid into my hand. “Bro, drink up. We could all use one tonight.”

  “Thanks, Reggie.”

  He wasn’t bartending tonight; he’d only just grabbed a drink from the tray of a passing cocktail waitress.

  “I’m okay, though.” I passed it back to him. I wanted a clear head, especially for Ronnie.

  She was in the far corner of the room with her mother, who she’d managed to pull aside. Both were trying to be as discreet as they could, but their body language was beyond tense.

  “I’ll take that.” I looked up to see Fangs Fogarty reach for the drink eagerly. He raised it in a small cheers to Reggie before taking a sip. “That was pretty messed up, back there at the pagoda.”

  “Please. For this town? That was so banal it’s almost quaint.” Cheryl sidled up with Toni, the three of them making a wall of Serpent leather and worried looks. I noticed Cheryl’s little throwaway sarcastic comment didn’t match the tense crease between her eyebrows.

  “The real Twilight Zone sitch on our hands?” She went on, sipping daintily at something bubbly and pink. “The fact that this party is even still happening. So weird.”

  “So weird,” Kevin said, entering our little circle.

  “Definitely not of the normal,” Toni agreed.

  “Mayor Lodge wants people feeling reassured,” I tried to explain, even though in my heart I didn’t really buy it myself. “She thought this was the best way. It’s like Veronica told me, ‘The show must go on.’ ”

  “Hmm.” Cheryl eyed me. “Somehow, chum, there is a smack of conviction lacking in your words. And based on what I can see?” She glanced over to where Veronica and her mother were still talking, both of them looking way more upset now. Arms were waving and faces were looking very pinched. “Your petite copine has her doubts as well.”

  I didn’t have much of an answer to that.

  Saved by the bell, though. From just outside the ladies’ room, Betty caught my eye and waved me toward her.

  “Excuse me for a second,” I said to the group.

  “Fear not, Galahad, this fete will most assuredly be over before you can come back.”

  As I moved away, I heard Kevin respond, “We can only hope.”

  “Hey,” I said, craning to Betty to talk over the weirdly loud music. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “You just had a deer-in-headlights look on your face and I thought maybe you could use a smooth exit.”

  I smiled, grateful. “You thought right. Man, I want to have Veronica’s back tonight—I mean, I do have her back, always—but they’re not wrong about the vibe in here right now. I really don’t think this is what anyone had in mind when they thought of an after-party.”

  Betty shrugged. “And I really don’t think a jumble of bones was what anyone had in mind when they thought of opening a time capsule. And yet, here we are. Irony, thy name is Riverdale.” Her lips curled into a hint of a smile. It was definitely the best she could do.

  “But speaking of having V’s back—and graceful exits—do we think she needs to be rescued from her mother?” Her eyes darted over to Veronica and her mom, not waving their arms quite as much, but still pretty worked up.

  “The good news is, no one’s really even paying attention,” I said. “Everyone’s pretty much caught up in their own thing right now. Look.” I pointed. It was Penelope Blossom, stirring her own drink with a look of … well, I couldn’t tell. Boredom? Distraction? She didn’t seem a
ll that stressed about the body. But then again, if there was anyone in this town who would take that kind of thing in stride, it was her.

  “Betty, such a kind soul. Always wanting to rescue people.”

  We turned, and there was Evelyn, her curly brown hair bouncing at her shoulders and looking super intently at Betty. The words she was speaking were friendly, but the tone she was using, less so.

  Betty gave a tight smile. “Hello, Evelyn. Fancy meeting you here.”

  “The mayor herself said the after-party was still on. Of course I’d come by. I’m so thrilled to share the Revels with the town of Riverdale.”

  “It is … thrilling,” Betty said, obviously fighting back an eye roll.

  “Betty.” Evelyn reached out a hand to Betty’s arm, and Betty flinched. “I just wish—and I know your mom and sister both wish, too—that you could be more open-minded.”

  Betty’s eyes went dark. “Listen to me carefully, Evelyn. I know you think you’ve got all the dirt on my family. Because of my mom’s and Polly’s testimonies. But believe me when I tell you: You. Know. Nothing.”

  Evelyn pulled back, blinking. “Hmm. I think you’ll find that’s not the case.” She smiled again. “Either way—it’s nice to see that your impulses are always to be helpful. I wonder what would happen if you directed those energies in a more positive, productive direction? I bet it would be glorious.”

  “Like the direction of the Farm, you mean?”

  “I didn’t say that. But that’s a very good example. Why n—ouch!”

  Abruptly, someone bumped Evelyn from behind, sending her bag off her shoulder and onto the ground. Girl things scattered everywhere—at least a half-dozen tubes of lipstick, jars of face cream, those compact powder/mirror things, and two different mini cans of hair spray. Evelyn didn’t even look like the kind of girl who wore much makeup, but it just went to show, I didn’t know everything, either.

  Betty dropped down to help her pick it all up, sighing. She seemed way more concerned with seeing Evelyn on her way than with the weirdness of the contents of Evelyn’s bag in the first place.

  I mean: valid. And compared to the other things we’ve seen tonight, I guess it wasn’t actually all that weird. Hair spray was pretty tame, in the grand scheme of things.

  “See?” Evelyn said when they were finished and both standing up again. “So helpful, Betty. Although”—her voice went low—“I have to say, people in this town really should be more careful.

  “See you later, guys!” she said, suddenly cheerful, leaving Betty and me standing together, unsettled.

  “Be more careful?” I said as soon as she was gone. “That was weird. It almost sounded like … a threat.”

  “Yeah,” Betty said, fists clenched. “It did.”

  Unknown Number:

  FINALLY ready to duck out of here—if I should still meet you at La Bonne Nuit?

  Evelyn:

  Actually, the after-party is not really happening. I’m pretty sure it’s going to end any minute. So honestly, I don’t think you need to bother. I’ll text you later.

  Unknown Number:

  Sounds good.

  VERONICA

  “Okay, Team Sane People: So who do we think it is?” Betty couldn’t keep the creeping terror out of her voice. This was the third time she’d circled back to this question, and we were no closer to coming up with any truly solid theories.

  You’d think, after living through so many other depraved and violent acts, we “Riverdale youth” (as my mom termed us at the ill-fated time capsule opening) would be all but immune to yet another dead body, especially one that, for the time being, at least, bore little connection to us specifically.

  You’d think that, but you’d be wrong.

  We were all still processing the grisly contents tucked away inside that maple barrel. In the immediate wake of the discovery, everything happened very quickly. Our parents—ever familiar, it seemed, with elaborate cover-ups and quick-response triages—rushed into action to sweep things back into order as best they could, as quickly as they could. Mom gave some half-hearted rallying cry about how we, as a town, deserved an after-party. All I could think then was how she’d said we deserved the time capsule, too. And look at how that had ended up.

  Maybe we did deserve it.

  In any case, the parents were all playing “ignore the stench of rot in the state of Denmark.” Nothing to see here, folks. Naturally, we weren’t buying a moment of it. We knew way better than that. In the wake of the ill-conceived after-party, we core four had hunkered down as soon as we were alone and the coast was clear. Right now, La Bonne Nuit was the one place where we could talk freely about what the hell we’d seen—and what the hell to do next.

  We were seated, buzzing and alive with dread and morbid curiosity.

  “Well, that capsule was buried seventy-five years ago,” I said. It was all I had to offer, and it wasn’t much.

  “Yeah, the body was put in the capsule then, but it was a skeleton, V. Who knows when that person actually died? The bones could have been from any time before that.” Betty shuddered.

  “In other words, we basically have nothing by way of leads.” And add to that the fact that my very own Mommie Dearest would rather die than pull at this loose thread anymore. She’d made that abundantly clear.

  “I mean, I didn’t get that great of a look before my dad hauled me out of there,” Jughead said, “and I was pretty freaked out. But from what I did see? It definitely looked bigger. Adult-sized bones.”

  “It was hard to tell anything from the … clothes,” Betty ventured. “I mean, it was all pretty tattered. But I’m going to assume female, based on the long hair. And that flowery print.”

  “Only forensics and DNA testing will tell us for sure,” I said, well aware that I sounded uncomfortably similar to a bad crime procedural. “And while my mother assured me—and the rest of the voting public—that she’s all over it, I think we can agree she has no plans to approve a deep-dive investigation. No pun intended, but she won’t waste any time burying the evidence, as I’m sure I don’t have to convince you.”

  “Sadly, no,” Betty said. “Zero convincing necessary.”

  “Yeah, that tracks. Totally,” Jughead said.

  “So,” I said, sighing, “what fictions did our respective parental figures peddle to us all, respectively? I’ll go first: Mom refused to engage and would only tell me that she’d ‘take care of it,’ whatever the hell that means. She’s insisting another dead body is strictly NBD, which, I mean, maybe in her world that’s actually true? But no less chilling. ‘We don’t even know that this body—assuming it is a human body, and not some sort of tasteless prank—is from Riverdale in the first place.’ She actually said that. Like the fact that it was found in a Riverdale Revels time capsule wasn’t sufficiently convincing.”

  “That’s … some high-level self-delusion,” Jughead said, arching an eyebrow. “Impressive.”

  “That’s one word for it.” I frowned and rubbed my hands up and down my arms. I suddenly had a chill that wouldn’t go away. “I mean, is she covering something up about the body, some information? Or does she have another, more sinister agenda that requires her full attention, making the body little more than an inconvenience?”

  Archie looked at me. “Which would be better?”

  I shook my head. “None of the above. I’m certain Daddy’s offering to find her a good, thorough cleaner who will make this all go away. Whatever else might be motivating her, she’s determined to go through with the Revels, come hell or high water. And an unexpected dead body definitely doesn’t fit anywhere up there on her shiny, happy vision board.”

  “Well, I struck out, too.” Jughead punctuated his pronouncement by noisily tearing into a bag of potato chips that I didn’t even know we had in La Bonne Nuit. He must have had them on him when he came in. For a moment, the room was filled with the sound of aggressive crunching. He swallowed, exaggeratedly, before continuing. “Dad put me off—he w
as too busy looking around, which, to be fair, made sense. Given he’s, you know, the sheriff.”

  I nodded. “At least one adult is taking this semiseriously. Still, though, if my mom wants this swept under the rug, she’ll find a way to make sure that’s where it goes. And she’ll somehow get your father on board and complicit with her plan. It’s what she does.”

  “He told me not to worry,” Jughead said, chuckling slightly to himself at the idea. “He said it with a straight face. As if that were possible. I mean, he always says that. And pretty much always about things that are definitely cause for concern.”

  “He’s trying to protect you,” Betty said, putting a hand on his knee.

  “I wish he wouldn’t, though. I mean, sure, I get it. It’s what dads are supposed to do. I just wish the adults would realize that it’s literally impossible to truly protect us in this town. Being honest would actually be safer, in the long run.” He didn’t even really sound bitter, just matter-of-fact—which was all the more heartbreaking.

  “Honesty. That’s a pretty subversive concept around here,” Betty said. She rested her chin in her hand.

  “Anyway, he assured me he and his team would be looking into it all,” Jughead said, skeptical.

  “What team?” Betty asked.

  “My father’s flunkies, no doubt,” I fumed. “It stands to reason that my parents would have pounced on the opportunity to bring your father in line with whatever this new dark mystery may be.”

  Jughead shrugged. “He swore they’d be very ‘thorough.’ ”

  “Thorough at wiping the place, maybe,” Archie said, frustrated. “If that’s what Hiram and Hermione want. No offense, Ronnie.” His cheeks were red with anger, almost brighter than those ginger locks I so adored.

  I waved a hand. “Please, Archiekins. You’re preaching to the proverbial choir.”