8. Piper

8

PIPER

DECEMBER 30, 2:00 P.M.

"Shit on a fucking stick," I hiss. "Someone followed us. What the actual…"

I reach for my phone, but Vivian's shocked expression stops me. "What are you doing?"

I stare back at her. "Calling the police. Or an adult. I don't know, someone to help?"

"Wait, hold on."

"Why?"

"Just—I don't know. Can we figure out what's, like, actually happening first?" Vivian picks up the invitation, reading the inky script. " We all know how hard it is to keep a body underground in this city. What does that even mean?"

"The cemeteries," April says quietly.

"What?" I ask.

April pulls at her camera strap, a haunted look in her eyes as she stares at the mess of photos on the floor. "That's what it's referencing, I think. Since New Orleans is below sea level, and we can't bury anyone underground or else they'd, you know. Float back up."

"That's… creepy," I manage. I've also heard that fun little tidbit about the cemeteries—everyone who grows up here has—but I'm a little shocked that April jumped right to the most macabre of conclusions. Although actually, looking at the mausoleums she's apparently chosen to photograph, I shouldn't be surprised.

But that's the least of our concerns. Because this message, combined with the stunt at the ball last night…

I reach for the invitation, and Vivian lets me take it.

" The Jester, " I read aloud. "Whoever left this is the one who sabotaged the ball. The guy in the costume."

An uneasy feeling washes over me. Yesterday, I thought the stunt with the blood was a bad joke at best. At worst, it was some disgruntled person trying to take a stand against Les Masques and whatever elitism they assume it stands for. But now that Lily's missing, it seems so obvious: what if it wasn't a threat against the organization but against this specific Queen?

"This is about Lily," I say.

"It's about Margot."

We both turn to look at April. Suddenly, it seems, she has a lot to say.

"Lily wanted to talk to us about Margot," she continues. "And last night, at the ball, that was about Margot, too. And this…" She brushes the weird clown picture on the invitation. "This exact image was engraved on a lighter that Margot used to have."

I cross my arms. "A lighter?"

April nods.

"That's a weird coincidence, I guess," I concede. "But Lily's the one they threw the blood at." And then I get another idea. "What if the Margot stuff was some kind of threat? You know, like… remember what happened to last year's Queen."

It's far-fetched, maybe, but Lily is missing, and the possibility is enough to make my skin crawl.

April looks down at her camera. She doesn't argue, but from the way she's winding the strap around her hand like she wants to cut off the circulation, it's pretty obvious there's something she's holding back.

"April," Vivian says carefully, "why did Lily say you'd know where to look in the darkroom?"

I search April's stony expression, wondering the same thing. She practically lives in the photo lab, clearly, but it is weird that Lily implied some kind of shared knowledge between them.

Finally, April looks up at us.

"That ceiling tile. Margot used to hide things there, sometimes. And I guess Lily knew about it, too, because—" She pauses. "For a month or so, we were all sort of… friends?"

Her face reddens again, like she's embarrassed to have said the word. Friends. It makes sense, now, why Lily would have roped April into whatever this is, but still, I'm surprised. I make a habit of knowing what's going on socially at Beaumont—part curiosity, part scoping out the academic competition—and while April ranks low on the list of valedictorian contenders, I've definitely never seen her hanging out with Margot or Lily.

"I didn't realize," Vivian says quietly.

April shrugs. "We didn't really hang out at school, but we'd been friends for a while, Margot and me. Lily didn't come into the picture until the summer before junior year."

"After that Mississippi trip, right?" Vivian asks. "I knew they got close."

Judging by the look on Vivian's face, she wasn't too happy about that.

April nods. "We all hung out that summer, but by the time the school year started, we'd kind of… drifted apart, I guess." She winds her camera strap around her fingers. "And then by December, Margot was…"

She trails off, the implication clear.

Finally, it hits me. April was Margot's friend. For me and Vivian, Margot's death was a school tragedy, but nothing more than that. For April, it was personal. I've never been good about grief—for someone whose dad is a psychiatrist, I'm not great at any emotions, and that's the most complicated of them all. There's no solution, no easy fix, and so I try to focus on the task at hand.

"There wasn't anything hidden behind the tile, was there?" I ask.

"No," April says. "Maybe I read the message wrong. Or maybe she just didn't leave anything here in the first place."

There's an edge to that second option, like April thinks that's exactly something Lily would do.

My eyes track to the photos on the ground, and an idea starts to form.

"Or maybe ‘the Jester' got to it first," I say. "Maybe he beat us here, took whatever Lily left for us, and then…"

I notice the closet door, cracked slightly open. It was closed before, wasn't it?

"He must've hidden in there when he heard us coming."

"Shit," Vivian says.

The invitation pulls my gaze. We all know how hard it is to keep a body underground in this city. That feeling creeps up on me, just like it did when we found Lily's necklace in the Den. When I knew that something was definitely, distinctly wrong. But just as quickly, I snap myself out of it.

"We need to figure out what Lily left there for us," I say.

Vivian frowns, like she's thinking it over. "Could it have been something about Margot? I mean, that was her hiding spot, right?"

She glances at April, who has a distant look in her eyes. Again, I get the feeling there's something she's not saying. But she just shakes her head, like she's not sure.

Well, I'm not waiting around.

"I'm calling Detective Rutherford," I say, grabbing my phone.

"Wait," Vivian starts. "I don't think we should—"

"Someone followed us here and threatened us," I tell her. "I don't know about y'all, but this is the part of the teen TV thriller where I'm always screaming at the main characters to call an adult."

This time, when I call him, no one stops me.

He picks up after two rings. "Hello?"

"Hi, Detective Rutherford? It's Piper. We're at the darkroom, and—" I pause, trying to shape my tone into calm and professional. "We found something."

I put him on speaker and explain it all, from Margot's empty hiding spot to the Jester and his message, as April and Vivian listen anxiously. When I'm done, I can feel a shift, even though the detective is silent.

"You're safe?" he asks finally.

"Yes."

"Good."

He sounds relieved, and so am I. Finally, someone's taking this seriously.

"Well, thank you for calling," he says. "I appreciate it."

"Of course," I say. There's a small silence. "So what do we do?"

"Well, we'll look into this ‘Jester' character, of course. It sounds like this could be the same person who pulled that stunt at the ball."

"Right," I say. "But what can we do?"

He pauses, like he hadn't expected the question. "Listen," he says, "I'll bet this guy was just trying to scare you. And I'll look into it, I promise, but for now… well, I think the best course of action is to be careful, relax, and let me do my job. That sound all right to you girls?"

I don't think he means to sound patronizing, but frustration makes me grip my phone tighter.

"Of course," I say. "Thanks, Detective Rutherford."

"Marty," he says kindly. "And anytime. Y'all be safe, now."

He hangs up, and I let out a sigh. "Well, at least they're looking into it." Then I notice April's scowl. "What?"

"Nothing," she says.

"You look like someone's about to force you to do a deb ball again. It's obviously something."

"I just—I don't know. I don't trust him."

"Why?" I ask.

April swings an arm at my phone, like it's obvious. "Y'all heard him just now. He thinks the Jester is just trying to ‘scare us.' He probably still thinks Lily just ran away, and Margot was a—" She stops. "I can tell from the way he talked about her. He thinks she was a lost cause."

Vivian shifts. "Marty is being weirdly chill about this whole thing. I don't know. He kind of gives me a bad vibe, too."

I tap my nails against the back of my phone case, thinking. Unlike April and Vivian, I don't have an innate distrust of authority figures with bad vibes, but they do have a point. Someone followed us here, and Marty acted like it was nothing to worry about, like we're just teenage girls being anxious. It's the same way he's been acting about Lily. Earlier, I might have believed him, but if there's one thing I respect, it's evidence, and right now, it all points to one conclusion: something is really wrong here. And something has to be done.

"Okay." I clap, making them jump. "Sorry. Force of habit when I have a plan."

"Which is?" Vivian asks.

"We do our own investigation. Track down the Jester ourselves."

April frowns. "How?"

"We start with the Dukes. The Beaumont ones, at least. Milford, Jason, and Aiden. They were all up on the stage when it happened, so they must have seen something." Another idea slots into place. "Y'all are coming to the party tomorrow, right?"

April looks like she'd rather dive straight into a tub filled with glass shards. "What party?"

"The one at my house," I say. "My mom sent an invitation to all of the Les Masques Maids. It's a New Year's Eve celebration for the debutantes."

And, as I'm well aware, an excuse for all the kids who show up—and some parents, probably—to get wasted, but that's beside the point.

"Yeah. Me, Sav, and—" Vivian stops herself. Clearly, she was about to say Lily. "We were planning to. But…"

I roll my eyes. "Obviously, I'm not suggesting we all do shots together. I mean we should use it as a chance to talk to the Dukes. They'll all be there."

Vivian crosses her arms. "You're sure your mom won't cancel, considering?"

I almost laugh. There's no way in hell. For one thing, she already knows that Lily's missing—I called and filled her in on my way to the LeBlancs' this morning—and she still hasn't made any moves to cancel the festivities. When Genevieve Johnson sets her mind to hosting an event, not even the hand of God can stop her. Literally: once, there was a tropical-storm warning the weekend of a Johnson family reunion, and instead of rescheduling, she rush-ordered monogrammed rain ponchos to hand out at the door.

I shrug. "She's had the caterers booked for months. And anyway, isn't partying, like, the number-one coping mechanism in New Orleans?"

They can't argue, because I'm right. This city literally turned funerals into an excuse to get drunk and parade down the street.

Vivian sighs. "I guess it's better than just waiting around and hoping they find her."

"April?" I ask.

Her mouth opens and closes a couple times, like she's short-circuiting. "Parties aren't really my—"

"Don't think of it like a party, then," I say. "It's an undercover mission. One that we need you for, by the way."

She blinks. "Why?"

I hesitate. Normally, I'm not the best at complimenting people, but in this case, it's merely a statement of facts.

"You notice things," I tell her. "And you have a weirdly good memory. Also, you knew Margot well. That could come in handy if we're trying to figure out how she fits into all this."

April presses her lips together until they turn white.

"Fine," she says.

I can't fight the grin that spreads across my face, the little thrill I get whenever a plan starts to come together.

"Great. Then I'll see y'all tomorrow at eight. Attire is festive casual." And then, with a quick glance at April's baggy bleach-stained clothes, I add, "But let's put an emphasis on the festive."