and by . . .’ It’s a close thing. She almost says, ‘Pierce Point trash,’ but substitutes, ‘Walker Pike.’
‘Poor Brad!’
‘We ought to go check on him. He could be a danger to himself.’
‘Brad hates these things, now tell me he didn’t get belching, puking drunk so he wouldn’t have to come.’
‘And he wouldn’t, if Walker hadn’t dragged him kicking and screaming. We should be over at Patsy’s, apologizing.’
‘Frankly, I don’t think she wants to hear from us. We talked her into that humongous party, and now look.’
‘Cecilia would have died.’
‘I bet Brad’s ashamed.’
‘Humiliated, I hope.’
‘He ought to check himself into rehab.’
‘Or do us all a favor and hang himself.’
‘Oh, he’s much too self-centered to do that. Like, what would Fort Jude do without studly, stupid old Brad?’
‘Who would we have to talk about?’
It’s interesting, watching Nenna writhe, Jessie thinks, but after a lifetime with these women, she’s expert at the quick save. ‘But if he did do anything drastic . . .’
Sallie twists her beads in a show of remorse. ‘It would be on our heads. We made him give that party, after all.’
‘For Cecilia. She’d want us to make sure he’s OK.’
‘After the way he did her?’
‘Because he did.’ Nenna is all wronged wife today, rehearsing for the divorce.
‘Did you see how he threw himself on her coffin down at St Timothy’s? He loved that girl in spite of everything.’
‘If Brad wants to kill himself, let him! It’s not our fault.’
Betsy sighs. ‘Unless it is.’
‘It isn’t safe. You know what he’s like when he gets mad. Let one of the guys check on him. Buck, maybe, or Stitch. They’re still friends.’
Kara says, ‘Not after last night. They’re over him.’
Betsy turns to Sallie. ‘Chape can do it. After all, they’re best friends.’
‘They weren’t that close,’ Sallie says. ‘Besides, Chape’s at the Florida Bar Association in Deland, and he won’t be back until tonight.’
‘By then it might be too late.’
Oh, Betsy, head cheerleader. ‘OK, then. It’s up to us.’
‘We can’t all go.’
‘You brought it up, Nenna. Maybe you should . . .’
‘Can’t.’ Their old friend’s mouth narrows. Her eyes are gun slits with a massed army behind them, glaring out. ‘I have a lot on my plate right now.’
‘It’s our duty.’
‘I would, but this is my acupuncture day.’
‘I promised to take Gramma Bellinger shopping after lunch.’
Betsy sets her cup down hard, like a gavel. ‘After all, we started it.’
Somebody ought to do it but nobody really wants to do it. Nobody present really likes Brad. Jessie gets up, broadcasting contempt. ‘When the check comes, my number is V48. Since you’re all too chicken, I’ll go.’
27
Steffy
And how she brought it off? Timing. When Mom went into the kitchen, she hissed, ‘Don’t tell Mom. I found something scary at the house.’
She didn’t have to say which house. He dropped that ancient yearbook he came with. Now all she has to do is make up some story, right?
But Dan’s all over it, like white on rice. ‘OK. What did you find in the house?’
‘Yeah, well. Whatever. It’s hard to explain. You kind of have to see it.’
‘Letters? Papers? Skeleton? Disembodied corpse?’
It’s just something she made up to spring him. ‘You mean, like, ghost? Not really.’ She fishes, but comes up empty. ‘It’s a lot and a lot stranger.’
‘Explain strange.’
Come up with something, quick. All she hears in her head is, duh. Duh. Duh. Only three more blocks. Duh! ‘So, where did you get that old Swordfish?’
‘Yard sale!’
Did he just turn red? Her tone says, Gotcha. ‘Yeah, right.’
Dan counters with, ‘So, what’s this, like, scary thing you found at the Archambault house.’
And Steffy knuckles. ‘Oh, that. That was just a story to get you out of Mom’s clutches. Like, you were desperate. Look, we’re here.’ Carter is here too. Her heart leaps up at the sight of his car. She jumps out.
He says, ‘OK then.’
‘Are you coming or what?’
‘Can’t. Researching down at the Star.’
‘OK. The something strange was just a story, but it wasn’t,’ she says heavily. ‘There’s. Um. Something in the attic that you have to see.’ That, at least, is the truth. She needs to get him in there long enough to mess Carter up a little bit, you know, to get him back for the hickey Jen plastered on him like a fruit label, then he can go. She leans into the car, wheedling. ‘Really.’
‘Look, you got your ride. If you’ll just close the door?’
‘Come on, it won’t take long.’ When he greets this with an apologetic shrug, she comes clean. ‘OK,