Dare Me - By Megan Abbott Page 0,52

best for Sarge,” he says, nobly. “And I want to protect your…sarge too.”

Beth nods, slowly, her slowness a hint to him that maybe she has no “sarge” other than the truth.

“So they can’t rule out anything yet?” she asks, fishing. I marvel at her big-eyed frail routine. It’s like she can make her body smaller somehow just standing there. She can make her rough-skinned voice go soft and helpless.

“Well, the detective said that a lot of times the autopsy only tells you so much,” he says, talking slowly so we can understand. “You have to look at the behavior the weeks, days, hours leading up to the death. That’s how you figure out what was going on in a guy’s mind. To figure out if it’s a suicide or homicide.”

“Homicide?” I blurt, almost a laugh. Then it is a laugh.

He’s not laughing, though.

There is a long second when both of them look at me.

“What are you two talking about?” I ask, trying to keep the laugh going.

“A young guy, prime of his life,” the PFC says, swapping a grave look with faux-grave Beth, the two of them admonishing me. “There wasn’t any note. They have to look at all possibilities.”

“But his wife…he…”

He bows his head, sighs, then looks at me intently. “The point is, they’re trying to figure out what was going on with him, they’re going to ask questions, and I’ve got to answer them.”

I look at him, at Beth squirming delightedly beside him. These two. Who do they think they are, citizen soldier and good Samaritan?

“Just say it. You’re going to tell them about how it was,” I say. “With Coach.”

“I have to.”

I look at him, a bristling rising up in me.

“Sorry,” I say, after a pause. “I was just thinking of the last time I saw you. Watching me knot this one’s legs together in the parking lot of the Comfort Inn.”

He looks at me, stricken.

“But back to your point,” I say. “Yes, I guess you’re going to tell him everything then. Like about all the booze you fed us, even fourteen-year-olds. You do know that JV is fourteen. And about Prine.”

The PFC’s face bursts redder than ever, a blaring siren.

Beth harrumphs like she’s both annoyed and impressed. My lieutenant, my lieutenant.

“Girl looks out for her Coach, like she’s a mama tit,” Beth says to PFC, shrugging. “Point is, scrub, we all wanna protect our top dogs.”

The PFC grates the back of his scarlet neck till it blazes, then nods, white at the mouth. White at the mouth like he’s a little scared of both of us. Like he might need to start whistling again.

That word homicide snakes through my brain, its tail snapping back and forth.

Walking side by side back to the car, Beth twirls a finger through the bottom of my braid.

“Foul play,” I say, eyes rolling.

“He’s no JV runt, Hanlon,” she says. “You get more honey from that hive if you buzz softly in his ear. You with your fucking chainsaw. Bringing up the Comfort Inn.”

“I studied at the feet of the master lumberjack,” I say, sounding like no one if not Beth.

“But our goal isn’t to intimidate into silence,” she says. “It’s to find out what happened.” She looks at me. “Isn’t that right?”

Of course this is neither of our goals.

“And I’m sure Coach above all wants to know what happened to her man,” she says, dipping her head closer to mine, so enjoying all this. “I’m sure she’ll be grateful to know. I’m surprised you’re not more eager to help her.”

“I don’t want him getting any of us in trouble,” I say. “I’m looking out for the squad.”

“Spoken like a born captain,” she says, grinning. “I always knew you wanted to be captain.”

“I never did,” I say, turning from her to continue down the trail. It’s so dark now, and I can hear her behind me.

“Of course not,” she is saying, and I can hear a grin on her.

She’s wrong, I never did. Not once. It was hard enough being lieutenant.

“Besides,” she says, sidling next to me, “it does seem weird, now that I think of it. A man in the prime of his life. And bang, bang, puts a gun to his temple?”

“His mouth,” I correct her.

As the words come out I feel myself go ice cold.

“His mouth?” Beth asks, lightning quick.

My whole life with Beth, under the hot lights. Standing beside her as she hotlights someone else.

“That’s what I read, I think,” I stumble. “Wasn’t it his mouth?”

With her or