by Micol Ostow
She rested her arms on my shoulders, clasping her palms behind my head, at the nape of my neck. She traced circles in my skin with her fingers. “How about,” she said, leaning in for a kiss, “let’s not find out?”
Instead of answering, I gave myself over to the kiss. I knew she understood just exactly what my heart was trying to say.
Toni was the first person—other than JJ, of course, but that was different—who truly saw me. Saw me, and loved me for myself.
Today’s accident reminded me of one thing: If anyone out there tried to harm so much as a candyfloss hair on her head, they’d have to answer to moi.
JUGHEAD
“So what next?” I stood on the steps of the school, shivering a little in my Serpents jacket. It felt like overnight the weather had gone from autumnal to borderline frigid.
“I … guess we have to find some way of cross-referencing the torn article from the library,” Betty said, looking helpless. “But I don’t know what way that is, Juggie. I mean, I don’t know how many other online searches there are, or where else I could even find information about old newsp—” She stopped as it hit her. A smile spread over her face. “No, wait. Actually, I do know where I could find information about the newspaper.”
I nodded, getting it. “Because you have a connection in the industry. Your mother, formerly of the Riverdale Register.” I looked at her. I couldn’t believe it had taken us this long. “Why didn’t we think of this sooner?”
“Because my mother is insane, and the chances of her actually being helpful are basically below zero,” she said, not missing a beat. “Also: We’ve been pretty busy.”
“Well,” I protested. “If chances of getting anything from her are zero, so be it. If we come out empty-handed, we’re in the same place we started, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” Betty said darkly, “we would be the exact same amount of screwed we are right now.”
“Oh, sweetie,” I teased. “Your positivity is simply an inspiration.”
I got her to laugh, at least. But her laugh was hollow.
We headed straight to the Cooper house on my bike. When we got there, though, we realized there was a car in the driveway that we didn’t recognize.
“Any idea who’s in there?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Which just means it’s even odds it’s someone I don’t especially want to see.”
Someone from the Farm, she means. “Want to take a minute to get, like, ready for this?” I asked, sensitive to how she must be feeling.
“What?” She turned and looked at me, first as though she hadn’t even realized I was standing there, and then, as what I said sunk in, like I was absolutely out of my mind. “No, Juggie, I’m fine to go inside. I’m mad as hell at my mom and Polly, and you can bet just being in the vicinity of any Farmies gets me crazy upset all over again—but I’m fine. I promise. But before we go in there, you have to see this.”
She held up her phone so the screen was just inches from my face.
Kevin:
911, Nancy Drew. Incident at the pageant. Falling mascot on Toni.
Betty:
The mascot from the auditorium? Is she hurt?
Kevin:
Yes, and no, but she could’ve been. And it’s looking like that’s what someone wanted.
Betty:
So she was targeted?
Kevin:
IDK if Toni herself was being targeted, but someone definitely tampered with that mascot. I watched that thing topple. I shoved her out of the way myself.
Betty:
Good job, Kev! But also, be careful!! It could have been you.
Betty:
Wait—Veronica said something weird happened with Archie and Josie. Similar?
Kevin:
Maybe? I only have rough details—Josie got stuck in a closet in the music room? She thinks she was locked in?
Betty:
So, maybe related. And maybe connected to the body in the time capsule. Crap.
Kevin:
Not the most implausible theory.
Betty:
Okay. Well, like I said, BE CAREFUL. And keep an eye and ear out for any clues. I’m at home, about to try to pump Alice for information on the time capsule.
Kevin:
Oh, Betts …
Betty:
I know. Operative word: TRY But we think we have a small lead, and she may be the only one who can help us find the thread. God help us.
Kevin:
In that case, I wish you Godspeed, Betty Cooper.
When I finished reading, I looked up to see Betty staring at me, impatient for me to be done so we could both be all caught up.
“Well?” Her eyes were wide with meaning. “Someone is messing with stuff at school while people are preparing for the pageant, aka a Revels event. Josie supposedly got locked in a closet. And then Kevin saved Toni from a falling mascot in the auditorium.”
“Okay. That feels … borderline pattern-ish.”
“Yeah.” Her eyes were wide. “And meanwhile, the time capsule that kicked the Revels off in the first place contained human bones.” She gave me a meaningful “Connect the dots, Jug” look.
“I mean …” I sighed, considering. “The connection to a body in a barrel and accidents happening around school is … slightly tenuous? For all we know, that bulldog mascot was loosened well before this happened, and someone’s plot just took a lot longer than they planned to go into effect.”
“Something happening to Josie and then something happening to Toni? Less tenuous. And even if the connection to the Revels is less obvious, I don’t know … Two super-shady things that both began around the same time …” Betty arched an eyebrow at me. “The accidents are connected to the pageant. And the pageant and time capsule are both connected to the Revels. That’s more than enough of a link.”
“True. And how often is a coincidence just a coincidence in Riverdale, anyway?”
“Which means that we have to at least entertain the possibility that they’re two shady sides of one much larger, totally shadier coin.”
“Also true,” I said, taking her hand. “I’m right there with you. This is me, entertaining it.”
Betty set her jaw, a determined glint coming into her eye. “If my mother knows anything at all about this, you can bet I’m going to get it out of her, one way or another.”
“Oh, I’d never bet against you, Betty Cooper. That would be a fool’s game.”
I gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, and we went inside.
Of course, it was just our luck that Evelyn Evernever was the first person we saw when we walked inside. Betty certainly hadn’t been wrong about who her mother’s guests would turn out to be.
Evelyn was in the living room, seated on the floor in front of the coffee table, wrapping up … what looked like gift bags? In front of her lay a giant tangle of gauzy white drawstring bags, a huge tin of what looked like some kind of small chocolate candies, and spools of ribbon in big, lazy coils.
“What was I saying about even odds?” she whispered to me now.
“Betty! Jughead!” Evelyn looked up and waved enthusiastically. “Betty, your mother had no idea Jughead would be stopping by.”
I inhaled sharply, seeing Betty clench her fists hard enough to break glass through the corner of my eye.
“Yes,” Betty said, offering a small grin, “it was kind of a last-minute thing. Sorry to barge in. Is it a bad time?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “I had no idea you’d be here. In my house. Hanging out.”
“Of course it’s not a bad time!” Evelyn said. “This is your home, Betty. No matter where you stand with your mother and your sister regarding your trust issues.”
I reached out one arm so it stretched across Betty’s torso. Easy. Evelyn was trying to get her riled up; it wouldn’t do to let it happen.
Betty took a deep breath and managed a tight smile. “That it is, Evelyn. That it … definitely is. And”—she glanced at the heap of glittery su
pplies on the table—“it looks like you’re really making yourself at home here, too.”
Evelyn gave a little laugh. “Your mother insisted. She’s such a sweetheart. It’s been wonderful. I’ve just been assembling the gift bags for Friday’s Cocktails and Canapés,” she gushed. “Your mother is outside in her cutting garden, gathering some perennials for a few of the centerpieces.” She shrugged. “Mayor Lodge gave her a budget to order flowers, but you know your mom—she wanted to add a personal touch. Make it really special.”
Another strained smile. “How neat. And speaking of my sweet mother,” Betty went on, “I think I’m going to step outside and have a quick talk with her. If you don’t mind.”
“Oh, Betty.” Evelyn gave a light laugh again, this time sounding more forced. “You’re such a hoot. Of course I don’t mind. I’ll just be in here, if she needs me.”
Betty clenched her jaw. “I’ll be sure to let her know.”
“What exactly are you asking me, Betty?”
Alice’s voice was growing flat. We were in the cutting garden now, a small enclosed patch behind the patio where the barbeque grill lived. Betty and her mother side by side on a small stone bench. A large pair of dented pruning shears that had seen way better days lay beside Alice. Sitting there on the bench, teeth opened into a slight yawn, tilted toward Betty, the tool managed to look more than a little bit ominous.
“Mom,” Betty said, patience rapidly draining from her tone. This was the third time she’d tried to get an answer from her mother about news archives, and the replies were getting less and less promising—and less and less polite. “I’m telling you: Juggie and I went to the library to try to find more information about the history of the Riverdale Revels. We wanted to have … historical context for our Blue and Gold article. And there was nothing there. Nothing.”
“And?” She tilted her head as if saying, What do you want me to do about it?
“And? Don’t you think that’s strange?” I put in. “This is apparently a huge deal of an event that everyone celebrated for more than a century and then poof. Gone. It’s done, no one does it anymore, and there’s not a single written record of it anywhere in our local papers?”
“No, that’s not quite true, Jug,” Betty interjected. “There actually was one single written record.” Alice’s eyes widened. “Yes, it’s true, Mom—we found exactly one news article about the original Miss Maple pageant. Or, we thought we did. Because when we went into the microfiche archives to dig up the article, it wasn’t there. Someone had tampered with the slide.”
“Well, then, I guess you’re at a dead end, Elizabeth,” Alice said, terse. “Which I can only hope means you’ll be leaving me to my Farm responsibilities?” She rolled her eyes. “Or is that too much to ask?”
Betty’s eyes welled up. “Mom, why are you being this way?” she demanded. “This is the sort of weird cover-up thing you normally live for. Why would you not want to get to the bottom of this?” She glared. “What are you hiding?”
Alice gave a huff and crossed her arms over her chest. “For the millionth time, Betty, I’m not hiding anything. I am busy with the Farm. I don’t know why you’re so determined to paint me as some great conspirer.” Her voice softened. “I get it: You don’t like the Farm.”
“I don’t trust the Farm.”
“Yes, you’ve made that perfectly clear,” Alice said. “And while I don’t like that, I suppose, for now at least, I do have to accept it.”
“I … I’m sorry, Mom.” Betty did sound truly sorry—and Alice did seem truly hurt. Emotions were running high out here.
“Don’t be sorry, Betty, be smart,” Alice said. “If the mayor says it was a prank, and the one article that might be helpful has been damaged, then you’re at a dead end.” She wagged a gloved finger at us. “If there’s one thing the two of you should have learned by now, it’s that digging around for trouble in this town will only lead to you finding some. Is that really what you want?”
I stepped closer. “Not a complete dead end,” I clarified. “Because whoever tried to disappear that article left a fragment of a photo behind. And eventually, we’ll be able to trace that photo to its document of origin.”
Alice stood, her face flushed and her eyes shining. Her distress was visibly rising. “Now, see here, you two—” she started.
“It’s a body, Mom,” Betty said, incredulous, cutting her off. “I hate to break it to you, but the trouble is here.”
“It’s a joke,” Alice said, her voice thin. “It’s some subhuman’s sick idea of a joke! So let sleeping fake bones lie!”
“Too late for that,” I said. “Seeing as how we dug it out of the time capsule and all. Cat’s out of the bag. Or the barrel, as it were.”
“Jughead Jones.” Alice shot me one of her patented classic withering looks. She always managed to make my name sound like the lowest of insults in her mouth. It was the abject lack of respect, I think. “You think you’re so clever. Shaking trees to dredge up silly ancient history that couldn’t possibly be any use in the here and now.”
“Mom—” Betty reached out, trying to calm her. I swallowed. Maybe we’d pushed too far. Alice was strong willed and outspoken, but she was also vulnerable, fragile in a lot of ways. It was how she’d managed to get swept up in the Farm in the first place.
“I think you’ve done enough, Betty.” The voice that echoed from behind us was firm and we turned to it instantly. Polly Cooper was staring us down with what could only be described as full-on malice in her eyes.
“Polly,” Betty tried, “we just wanted—”
“I don’t care what you wanted,” she spat. “Whatever you wanted means that Mom is a wreck. I don’t know what kind of little games you and your Detective Holmes boyfriend are playing, but you have no right to come traipsing over, into our calm, peaceful home, and start asking questions that clearly upset people.” Her voice was shaky, verging on hysterical.
“It’s okay, Polly,” Alice said. She had pulled herself together a little bit. “I’m fine. It’s just that Betty and Jughead’s questions were interfering with my personal psychic frequency.” She glared at us. “Your energy is really quite toxic, did you two know that?”
“Yes, my energy,” Betty said dryly. “Definitely.”
“We’re sorry for … frequenting on you,” I said, barely able to fathom the words coming out of our mouths.
Alice straightened and dusted some lingering soil off the front of her jeans. “Apology accepted,” she said, snappish. She fixed her gaze on Betty. “Elizabeth, I only hope that the next time you take it upon yourself to embark on an impromptu visit, it’s for more pure-hearted reasons. All this stress and subterfuge can’t be good for your digestion.”
Betty shot her mom an “Are you kidding me?” look as Alice flounced off. Then we were alone, face-to-face with the wrath of Polly.
Polly stepped closer to Betty, so their noses were almost touching. It was a sister face-off, and from the looks of it, both were eager to come out of this the dominant one.
Too bad there could only be one.
“Mom may accept your apology,” Polly said, “but I don’t. Not yet. If you truly want us back in your life in an authentic way—”
“I do, Pol, of course I do. You know that,” Betty said. “But it can’t happen as long as you two are brainwashed by this low-rent Manson-family knockoff. I mean, come on!”
“Funny,” Polly said, but she didn’t sound like she found it amusing at all, “because I was going to say exactly the opposite. From where I sit? It can’t happen until you come to embrace and accept the Farm. Even if you’ll never be a Farm sister yourself, you need to be okay with the fact that Mom and I are.”
“I know,” Betty said sadly. She seemed to come to some sort of realization, her features softening slightly. She stood on tiptoes to give Polly a gentle kiss on the cheek.
“What are you doing?” Polly stammered, pulling back.
“See ya, Polly,” Betty said quietl
y.
Polly looked upset but no less determined. She squared her shoulders, then leaned to pick up the pruning shears Alice had left behind. As she moved, I saw a glint of silver at her collarbone. My pulse stuttered and kicked into overdrive.
“Polly,” I said, trying to sound calm, curious, “where did you get that necklace? It’s so original.”
“This?” She rubbed it between her fingers, musing. “It was a gift from Nana Rose. Back when Jason and I first told her we were getting married. I tried to refuse, seeing as how she’d already given us her ring. But she insisted. Said I could think of it as an engagement present.” She looked wistful for a moment. “Such a sweet woman. I never get to see her anymore.”
“Truly,” I agreed. “She’s always been very kind to Betty and me when we’ve seen her. And she has really unique taste. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a cross like it before. All that filigree.”
But I had, though. Seen it before. That was the thing.
Seeing Polly’s necklace dangling, I realized—
Our “photo” was blurry and hard to make out, but I’d be …
Well, I’d be the Farm’s new convert if that cross wasn’t exactly the same one we saw in the torn Miss Maple article.
Edgar Evernever:
You’re all finished with the gift bags?
Evelyn:
All packed up and ready for Friday night. They’re waiting in Sister Alice’s garage.
Edgar Evernever:
Excellent. The one becomes many and the many become one. Such is the profound and transformative power of working toward a common goal.
