Page 68 of The Debutantes
Isn’t it time we let the dead stay buried?
Now I’ve dug so deep that I don’t think my hands will ever be clean again.
But I can’t just sit here. I wipe my eyes, take a breath, and delete Margot’s name from the search history in both Dad’s email and his patient portal. I close out of his email, leaving the patient-portal tab open, like it was before. Then I put the desktop to sleep and tuck Dad’s chair back in where I found it. All traces of me erased.
I’m walking to the door when it swings open, Wyatt standing on the other side.
I freeze, wracking my brain for some kind of explanation. But then I see the look of absolute fear on his face, and I know instantly it has nothing to do with me snooping around Dad’s office. Dread curls out from my center, reaching all the way to my toes.
“What’s wrong?”
“Mom just called.” He sounds younger than he is. Petrified. “She’s at the police station.”
“What? Wh—”
But before I can even get out the “why,” he tells me, in a voice as distant and frightened as I feel.
“It’s Dad. They arrested him.”
BREAKING: NOPD MAKES ARREST IN THE DEATH OF MARGOT LANDRY
New Orleans—The New Orleans Police Department has made an arrest in connection with the death of Margot Landry, 17, which was ruled an overdose last year. Dr. Stephen Johnson, a prominent local psychiatrist, was taken into custody this afternoon after new evidence led police to revisit the case. As of the publishing of this article, no specific charges have been made. This is a developing story.
25APRIL
JANUARY 2, 5:30P.M.
We get to Piper’s house at the same time. Vivian and I both climb out of our cars and lock them, staring at each other for a few silent seconds.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey,” I echo.
We haven’t talked at all today, but now doesn’t feel like the time for heartfelt apologies or explanations.
“You saw the—?”
“Yeah,” I say. Even if I’d somehow missed the article about Piper’s dad, it’s all over socials now, too. It would be hard not to know—and clearly, we both rushed here as soon as we heard.
We climb the steps to the porch, and for the first time, my brain slows down enough to think about what this really means. Piper’s dad was arrested in connection with Margot’s death. I should feel angry and vindicated, ready to beat this door down and demand answers, but instead, I’m hesitant. There’s something else, a feeling I can’t quite describe. Almost like the pieces don’t fit. Like it’s all too easy.
But I force it down. There have to be answers inside this house, and I’m not leaving until I get them. I ring the doorbell, and the sound fades into the foyer. Vivian knocks, and I move to the shuttered windows to peer through the slats, and that’s when I see it—a little envelope tucked behind them.
“Shit,” Vivian says, seeing it, too.
I pull out the envelope. It’s addressed to Piper in the Jester’s too-familiar script. I rip it open and read the message inside. This time, it’s as brief as a puncture wound.
I warned you.
Heart jumping, I go to ring the doorbell again, but Vivian’s reaching behind the other shutter.
“They keep a spare somewhere over here,” she says. “Wyatt’s always forgetting his.”
She pulls out a key and slides it into the lock. As soon as we’re inside, Vivian’s bounding up the stairs.
“Piper,” she calls. “Are you up here?” She pauses. “Come on. We saw your car outside.”
There’s quiet for a few seconds, until a weak voice calls, “Yeah.”
