Stay Sweet(13)

“Hey,” Cate says from behind the sunglasses display. “Did you ever write back to your roommate at Gibbons? Whatsherface?”

“Cecilia Brewster.”

“Cecilia and Amelia,” Cate repeats with dramatic flair, and has a good chuckle.

Amelia winces. “Ugh. How did I not notice that before?”

“Well . . . did you?”

“Not yet.”

“Amelia. She’s going to think you’re weird. Write her back.”

“Okay, okay.”

While Cate tries on sunglasses, Amelia takes out her phone, intending to respond to Cecilia. But she gets distracted by the rack of newspapers. She flips through the Sand Lake Ledger, looking for a mention of Molly Meade’s death. A knot tightens inside her when there isn’t one.

“Should I have written an obituary for Molly?”

Cate looks over the top of some mirrored aviators. “No one could think that’s your responsibility, Amelia.” She spins the plastic rack. “That’s like . . . a family’s job.”

“Yeah, except she doesn’t have any family.”

“Fine, it’s at least a friend’s job. You didn’t even know her!”

It stings Amelia a little, even though she knows Cate doesn’t mean it that way. “All the summers we worked there, when did you ever see friends at Molly Meade’s house?”

“I bet someone from the newspaper does a story on her.” Cate takes off the aviators and tries a pair of turquoise knock-off Ray-Bans. They make her hair look extra blond. “These ones,” Cate says, smiling at her reflection. “Right?”

Amelia nods. “Love them.”

As they walk up to Peyton’s register, Amelia passes a small selection of cat food. Five cans for five dollars. Okay, so an obituary isn’t her responsibility. But what about Molly’s poor kitten? Who will feed him now that she’s gone?

Amelia picks cans in a variety of flavors—Salmon Feast, Whitefish, Roast Chicken, skipping Turkey and Giblets because gross—then stands behind Cate in line. Cate glances back at her, confused.

“Don’t ask,” Amelia says, unzipping her purse. “But can we please stop by the stand quick before we head to the lake?”

*

Cate’s truck hops the lip of the road. They don’t need to bother with the parking lot chain, just make a wide turn and pick up Molly’s driveway. She points across the cab and out Amelia’s window. “Your newbie sign is still up.”

“I wonder how many girls came yesterday,” Amelia says, wistfully. “You know what’s crazy to think about? Even after everyone in Sand Lake finds out that Molly Meade is dead, vacationers will be stopping by here all summer.”

“Probably for the next few years,” Cate muses.

Amelia shakes her head. It’s beyond depressing—the thought of people driving past this place year after year, seeing it slowly decompose, rotting until it falls over, the way some other properties in town have, when there isn’t anyone around to care for them.

Up at the farmhouse, things are quiet, which is a relief to Amelia after last night. She gets out of the truck and clicks her tongue for the black-and-white kitten. There’s no sign of him.

Someone did move Molly’s Cadillac up here. Amelia looks inside. The keys are on the dashboard. It must have been the police here last night, she’s sure of it now. They probably swung by to move Molly’s car and make sure the property was secure. Amelia wonders what will happen to the stuff inside the farmhouse. The things Molly Meade collected over her lifetime.

On her way up the front stairs, Amelia steps around a chipped teacup half full of brown triangles of cat food. She opens the cans she brought and sets them down on the steps. Despite her being picky about flavors, they all smell horrible.

While Cate tries to find better music on the radio, Amelia calls the local Animal Control to see if someone can come to the farmhouse with a trap. As the line rings, she leans over the railing. The front window is curtained with a sun-bleached bedsheet. There’s nothing to see besides a couple of dead ladybugs lying belly-up on the sill.

She’s starting to leave a message when Cate gets out of the truck, shielding her eyes from the sun—forgetting, Amelia guesses, about the new sunglasses perched in her hair. She hops up the stairs, passing Amelia, and opens the screen door.

Amelia covers the phone. “What are you doing?”

With a devious smile, Cate reaches for the doorknob.

For a second, Amelia can’t breathe.

Cate pulls a couple of times, hard, and the door shakes on its hinges. “Locked,” she announces, glum. “But could you imagine?” She backs down two, three steps and gazes up at the farmhouse. “I would love to see what Molly’s got inside there. What she did with all her money. Maybe she’s got a crazy fine art collection. That house could be full of Picassos or whatever.”

Amelia seriously doubts that, though she would love to look inside the farmhouse too. As much as everyone in Sand Lake knew Molly Meade, she was also a complete mystery.

After leaving a message, Amelia hangs up and pulls Cate back over to the truck by her arm. “Let’s get out of here before someone sees us.”

*

There are already plenty of kids from their high school at the lake, blankets and towels spread out in the same groups found during the school year in the cafeteria, a catwalk of sand in between clusters. Amelia expects someone will ask about Molly Meade, wondering why she and Cate are at the lake and not at the ice cream stand getting it ready to open tomorrow, but no one does.