Page 102 of The Debutantes
“That’s how you killed her,” I force out, eyes locked on the syringe. “Isn’t it?”
Marty chuckles. “Quite a stroke of genius, although I can’t take the credit. Reed was quick on his feet that night.”
I watch it hit April at the same time it hits me. It was Coach. Coach killed Margot. I look to him for some kind of confirmation, but he only stares at the ground, face burning with shame. It’s a far cry from his usual self, bounding around Beaumont with the goofy confidence of a family’s treasured Labrador.
“Poor boy got a bit of a shock when he found my private messages with Margot,” Marty continues. “I’d imagine he was none too pleased to see them, but every father has things he’d rather keep from his son, doesn’t he?”
He gives Reed an almost affectionate look, and my stomach churns as the truth sinks in. It was Marty who brought Margot to the Pierrot, who manipulated her into thinking they were in a relationship. Distantly, it hits me that their age gap is similar to that of the twenty-year-old Deus Queens and their sixty-something Kings, and the thought makes me feel even sicker.
“Well, regardless, I’d already handled it. Things were getting too messy. Margot had gotten it in her head somehow that I’d leave my wife, and some of the brothers at the Pierrot were starting to catch on, so I ended it. Politely, of course. Like a gentleman. Her reaction, however, was rather… unladylike.” Marty frowns. “Threatening to tell everyone about us, to make me look like a fool—to expose Reed’s past, too, the unfortunate scandal at his former job. Of course, I knew she’d cool off eventually, but Reed… he took her threats to heart. And I can’t blame him. I’d just set him up with a fancy little Beaumont job, hadn’t I? And if this got out, he thought, if Margot went and tarnished our reputation… well, then. He’d certainly be in a bit of trouble.”
I stare at Coach, but he’s still glaring hard at the ground, neck and jaw tensed.
“So he decided to take matters into his own hands. Even though I had ithandled.” Marty sharpens the last word into a reprimand. “Reed took the phone, pretended to be me, and set up a meeting with Margot. And what happened then?”
He looks at Coach, waiting for him to answer.
“She was angry,” Coach forces out. “Crazy. I just wanted to make her calm down and be quiet. I just wanted—”
He chokes out a sob, and Marty lays a hand on his shoulder.
“There, now. No need for that. We cleaned it all up, didn’t we? With a little help from our dear friends at the Pierrot.”
April shakes her head, her face warped in a mix of rage, disgust, and disbelief.
“And what were those ‘friends’ doing tonight?” she demands. “Are they seriously stupid enough to join your cult and cover up a murder just because you promised them a fake crown and their pick from a bunch of women who can’t say no?”
Marty smiles. “My dear, I think you misunderstand. Tonight was a celebration of our brotherhood. Of Reed’s return.” He claps his son on the shoulder. “You see, after all of the Margot mess, Reed wanted to take a step back. Our cover story worked, of course, but I think he was afraid it was too… open-ended.” Marty glances at Coach, who’s still silent, face almost blank. “But now the police have their killer, and we can all rest easy. That’s certainly a cause for celebration.”
He grins, and my blood boils.Their killer,meaning Dad.
“Think of it as a passing of the proverbial baton, from father to son,” Marty continues. “I even gave him my old mask. He wore it well, if I say so myself.”
I want to scream, break out of these ties, and throttle him, but then I catch the look shining in Marty’s eyes. Not just evil, but almost… proud.
Because that’s what’s underneath it all, the Pierrot and the lies: fathers protecting their sons. Dad only joined to save Wyatt from the consequences of his own actions. And Wyatt protected him right back—that’s what he was doing as the Jester, wasn’t it? Trying to keep Dad from going down for a murder he didn’t commit. It’s what Coach thought he was doing, too, when he killed Margot: saving his dad from his own mistakes. Men protecting each other, over and over and over again.
But we protect each other, too, the mothers and daughters. It may not be as loud or as bloody, but mine taught me how to make even the sweetest of smiles into a deadly weapon.
So I do exactly what she would: I straighten my shoulders and lift my dimpled chin.
“I think we’re more than willing to come to an agreement,” I say.
“Well.” Marty lifts his eyebrows, surprised. “Good.” Helooks to April, the syringe still gripped in his hand. “And what about you, dear? Does your clever friend speak for you both?”
Her eyes lift from the ground, searing into Marty with more hatred than you’d think a girl so small would be capable of holding.
“I think you’re all sick,” she says. “And I’d rather die than do a single thing you say.”
Marty holds her stare for a moment, like he’s bathing in her disgust. Like he likes the way it feels.
“Well, then. If you’re sure.” He turns to Coach. “I believe she’s chosen option two.”
Coach’s eyes widen.
“Take it back,” I order, but April won’t look at me. “Tell them you don’t—”
“She’s made up her mind.” Marty plunges the syringe into the vial, pulls the pump. He looks at Coach. “What do you say, son? Do the honors, for old times’ sake?”
