Nice Girls(34)

Ron finally looked at me, his blue eyes beady, and he leaned in.

“I know a guy who can score us some weed,” he whispered.

I leaned away, shaking my head.

“I’m not interested—”

“It’ll be fun, Mary.”

“I’m really not interested.”

“You would be if Dwayne asked you,” he said quietly. It was an accusation.

My patience was gone. I felt a flash of rage in my chest, the words spilling out.

“What does he have to do with it? I’m not interested. I won’t be interested. Ever. That’s the truth.”

Ron blinked, his mouth slightly agape. I almost felt sorry for him. Then he leaned in.

“I wouldn’t think so highly of myself,” he muttered.

“I’m not—”

“You’re not hot like that Olivia chick. Nowhere fucking close. And you see what happened to her?” he hissed. “That slut went missing.”

My jaw dropped.

Ron bolted up from his seat. He grabbed his lunch and hurried out of the room at lightning speed, the back of his neck turning bright red.

A pair of employees turned in my direction, their interest piqued. One of them shook his head.

I left the break room fuming. The conversation with Ron had escalated so quickly. He thought I fawned over Dwayne. He’d attacked me personally. And while the city—even the country—was panicking over Olivia, he’d called her a slut. I heard no empathy in his voice, only disgust.

You see what happened to her? he’d asked me.

It almost sounded like a threat.



After work, I hurried out to Mom’s car. I avoided Ron on the way out. I didn’t think I could look at him without getting enraged all over again.

I followed my phone’s directions to La Rue. The restaurant had opened only a couple of years before, in the upper north side of Liberty Lake. It was about twenty minutes away from where the Willands lived.

From the outside, it looked like a typical upscale modern restaurant. The interior had dark purple lights and an indoor water fountain. It could have served anything—sushi, steak, seafood, gambling.

At the hostess stand, a young woman was stacking a pile of black menus together. Her hair was red, flowing down her chest. My heart suddenly started pounding, until she looked in my direction.

“How many seats?” she asked, then stopped. “Ivy League Mary!”

“Hi, Liz,” I said limply.

Liz was a high school classmate. Back then, she’d been one of the stars of our school’s musical theater department, playing Sandy in Grease and then Kim MacAfee in Bye Bye Birdie. Liz had been nice to me and the other stagehands. She’d also been stick thin. But since then, her chest had gotten significantly bigger. She’d either gotten breast implants or a better push-up bra.

“How’ve you been?” Liz asked.

I shrugged.

“Could I talk to the manager here?”

“If you’re looking for a job application—”

“I’m not,” I said firmly. “I wanted to talk about DeMaria Jackson. She used to work here, apparently?”

Liz froze, glancing behind her at the white tables and the servers who glided by.

“Could you get me the manager?” I asked again.

Liz suddenly walked around the hostess stand, her heels clicking on the wooden floor. She grabbed me by the wrist, yanking me with her. Liz was surprisingly strong, her red hair swaying in front of me.

For a second, I was back in the dorms with Carly, my hands flying out in front of me.

We were in the back of the parking lot when Liz finally let go.

“What the hell was that for?”

“I don’t want my boss getting pissed again,” said Liz, her arms folded together. “She already told the police everything she knows. My boss is, like, this close to having a meltdown over DeMaria. And I am not going to let her bitch at me during my shift.”

Out in the daylight, I could see the smudges of liner beneath Liz’s eyes, the black clumps on her eyelashes.

“I’m not trying to piss off your boss,” I said, trying to sound calm. “But do you know anything about DeMaria Jackson?”

Liz took a deep breath.

“I didn’t talk to her much. DeMaria seemed sweet, kind of shy. But I just got the sense that she didn’t belong, you know?”

I waited for Liz to elaborate. But she just stared back.

“She didn’t belong?”

“The vibe was off,” said Liz, shrugging. “DeMaria just seemed uncomfortable at the restaurant. She quit here about a year ago.”

“Do you know where she worked after that?” I asked.

Liz shivered in the cold.

“I’m pretty sure she went to work at a Vietnamese place in town,” said Liz. “Pho Village.”





18




On Friday morning, Jim came by my lane with a plastic box of headbands. I watched as he tried to pull one out.

“Uff da,” he muttered, struggling. He then handed me a black headband with two small pumpkins on top. He waited until I put it on my head.

“We have to be festive against the competition, Mary. If we bring in customers for Halloween weekend, then we’ve got them for Thanksgiving and Christmas,” said Jim. He was serious, eyeing the black and orange streamers that decked the checkout lanes.