Cooper stood outside of his apartment, his backpack in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other.
Calla took the news pretty well, he thought, trying to cheer himself up. Her blank expression as he'd explained the situation with Tom had been downright tame, at least compared to some of her more...violent outbursts.
He shuddered.
"Coop?" a voice called from inside the apartment. "Is that you, honey bee?"
Cooper sighed and opened the door. "Yes."
"You're late," Amelia Daniels scolded from the kitchen, her arms wrapped around her middle. Her blonde hair was tucked behind her ears, a habit she'd gotten into ever since she'd cut it short earlier in the year. It made her look even younger than usual.
Cooper tried not to take her downturned mouth to heart. His mom wasn't the type to scold, or to grimace, or to shout. But there were exceptions to every rule.
And this day was an exception.
"Sorry," he muttered, setting the groceries on the kitchen counter and ambling off to his room. "I'm gonna hop in the shower."
She huffed, mumbling about dinner preparations as he shut himself in his room. He braced his back against the door and blew out a breath. He felt anxious and unsettled. And his mom's mood certainly wasn't making him feel better.
Tom Sahein knows nothing, Calla had insisted back at the mansion. Nothing worth a damn, anyway, or else he wouldn't be pestering you.
Her words brought him some small comfort. She was right. Of course she was right. Tom Sahein was just a kid with a camera and a nose for trouble. Nothing more...
Famous last words, Coop.
Pulling off his hoodie, he slipped across the hall and into the bathroom, stepping lightly to avoid drawing his mom's ire. His heart ached for her—it really did—but he had enough on his plate to worry about. He didn't want to add grounded for breathing too hard to his list of woes.
Cooper stood under the scalding water for a time, determined to find some semblance of peace, however brief. But it was useless. When he could stand the hot water no longer, he crept back across the hall. He'd just started sorting through his hamper when a familiar ping from the computer on his desk made him flinch.
"Cooper Cornelius Daniels." His mom's strained voice floated from the kitchen. "If you're playing that game of yours right now—"
"I'm not," he called back, rushing over to his computer. He cursed under his breath, pulling up the chatroom he shared with close to twenty other online gamers.
An unread message from Ryan Kane blinked out at him: You online?
Cooper quickly explained the situation—which essentially amounted to "my mom will kill me if I hop on right now"—and silenced his notifications, closing the computer for good measure.
Ryan would understand. He'd always been a pretty chill guy...maybe a little too chill, all things considered. After all, Cooper had basically accused the guy of murder, and they'd still somehow managed to maintain a steady friendship over the last year and a half.
I'll have to drop by the grill and see him soon, Cooper mused, thinking of the overcrowded sports bar Ryan now managed over in the city. He'd been there only a handful of times in the last year, but Ryan always made a point to comp his meal.
Bracing himself, Cooper emerged from his bedroom. His mom had already set the table. Cooper wordlessly joined her in the kitchen and began washing the dishes she'd left in her wake. She shot him a weary smile, piling their plates with food.
"Thanks." She bumped her hip against his. He nudged her back, relieved to see her smile.
Despite that smile, dinner was a silent affair. Cooper knew better than to ask how her day had been. She would be better after a glass of wine—and better still once she woke up in the morning.
Cooper stared down at his pasta, despondent.
Happy death day, Dad.
His mom didn't speak of his father often. There were no pictures of the man in their apartment. No sentimental keepsakes. Even today, on the anniversary of his death, Amelia Daniels did not utter his name. But every so often, Cooper watched her fingers drift to the delicate chain at her neck—and the diamond ring that hung there.
He didn't deserve you. We're better off without him, Cooper thought, but did not say. He couldn't bear to see the pain in her eyes.
"I've got a shift tonight," he offered finally, once they'd both cleared their plates.
His mom glanced up, surprised. "You do?"
"Maria can't come in. I offered."
After a moment's hesitation, his mom nodded. "Alright. I'll see you home at eleven?"
"Eleven," he agreed, pushing away from the table. He grabbed her plate and went to the sink.
She sighed. "You're a good boy, Cooper."
He glanced at her. His mom was still at the table, hunched over her napkin. Worrying at the seams in the cloth.
Cooper dried his hands. Checking his pockets—phone, wallet, keys—he went over to her, bent down, and wrapped her in a hug from behind. "Love you," he said quietly.
She reached up and wrapped her hands around his forearms. "Love you too, baby," she whispered.
Calla was right, he thought darkly, shooting her one last, pained look.
Everyone has their breaking point.
# # #
"Daniels!"
A year ago, that voice might have triggered Cooper's fight-or-flight response. But now, walking through the front doors of the Greenwitch Diner, he smiled.
"Walker," he greeted, slipping quickly behind the back counter. The local hot spot rang with the din of scraping forks and clattering dishes. A typical Friday night.
Loretta beamed at him from the register, her gray hair pulled back in a low bun. She'd been working at the Diner for most of her life; it had been her first job at sixteen, and she'd never been able to give it up, not for any stretch of time. Cooper couldn't imagine that life—couldn't imagine any life in this town. But he knew for many, that was the reality.
Oh, no one in high school would admit it. Everyone talked about getting out. Going to college. Moving into the city. But not everyone would actually make it. Cooper had seen it time and again: the college drop-outs, the unexpected pregnancies, the job at the Diner that turned into a career at the Diner.
The thought terrified him.
He gave Loretta a little wave before ducking into the kitchen. Gareth Walker joined him a second later, wearing the Diner's trademark green apron. He held an identical apron in his hand, which he tossed at Cooper's chest.
"You've got table seven." He had a smile on his face that Cooper didn't trust.
"Who's at table seven?"
Gareth grinned at him. He'd been growing out his hair ever since graduation, and now had it tied back in a low bun. "You'll see."
Cooper watched the other boy saunter back out into the main floor, bemused. They weren't friends, exactly—and they probably never would be. Unlike Ryan, Cooper and Gareth had a tumultuous past. But Cooper had to give it to the guy: Gareth had changed over the last year. He'd become...tolerable. Likeable, even.
I guess that's what happens when you lose everything, Cooper mused, knotting the back of his apron. And Gareth had lost everything. His coke addiction had cost him his spot on both the football and baseball teams his senior year, dashing his dreams of an athletic scholarship. His on-again-off-again girlfriend, Astrid, had transferred schools. And one of his few remaining friends, Cory Michaels, had been outed as a serial killer.
Talk about a tough year.
But he'd turned out all right. He'd gotten his diploma and this job at the Diner—a managerial role, too. And he's pretty good at it, Cooper admitted, dragging himself out into the fray.
"Table seven," Gareth reminded him, counting the cash in the register.
Cooper's eyes slid to the far end of the Diner—and immediately caught on a familiar, albeit ragged, face.
Detective Gerald Michaels.
The man had seen better days. He looked forlorn in a corner booth, wedged between the bathrooms and an out-of-order gumball machine. His grey hair hung into his eyes, which stared sightlessly down at a lukewarm cup of coffee. He was clutching the coffee mug with more force than was strictly necessary, his mouth a tight, unhappy line.
No one paid him any mind. Not even Deputy Mitchell Pendowski, still in uniform; the deputy meandered past the detective's booth without so much as a polite nod in his direction.
A pariah. That's what Gerald Michaels had become. And it was no fault of his own, not really. But his son had been a cold-blooded killer—and he'd carried out those kills from right underneath his own father's nose. His father, the detective.
Yeah. Some detective...
"Coop," Gareth drawled, ripping him from his reverie. "Table seven?"
Right. Table seven, table seven...
There. Venus wiggled her fingers in his direction, a sultry smile on her lips. The sight of her in a high ponytail and lipgloss momentarily stunned him.
And then he caught sight of her dinner companions.
Astrid sat across the table from the other girls, her arms folded and her eyes on the menu, despite the fact that she knew it by heart. Stephanie looked as she usually did—talkative. Her dark curls bounced when she spoke, waving her hands as she did so. Her audience listened half-heartedly. Venus widened her eyes at him, silently begging him to come save her.
Cooper tried to keep his breath steady as he wound his way over to their table. There's no reason to panic. Astrid's probably just having another "on" phase again with Gareth...yeah. That's why she's here.
"Ladies," Cooper greeted, pleased at how very normal he sounded. Suave, even. Venus threw out her hand and he took it, giving it a gentle squeeze. She practically purred at the public display of affection.
Astrid glanced up at the sound of his voice. Her eyes widened fractionally in recognition—surely she didn't know he'd been the getaway driver that day on campus? He quickly looked away.
"Hey, Coop," Stephanie said brightly, leaning forward so that her shoulder brushed against Venus. "Did you get my message about the yearbook committee meeting on Monday? We really need to get a head start—"
"Ew. Can we talk about school later?" Venus whined, wrinkling her nose. Cooper gave her hand another grateful squeeze.
"What can I get you to drink?" His eyes dropped to Venus. "Sweet tea?"
"How did you know," she cooed, doubly pleased. If he wasn't careful, she would combust right here in the dining room.
"Water for me." Astrid's eyes were still burning a hole through the middle of his forehead. Ignore her. Ignore her. Ignore—
"Sweet tea for me, too," Stephanie chimed in.
Cooper nodded and released Venus' hand. "Be right back with those."
He stopped by table four to drop off a bottle of ketchup, and then he retreated back to the kitchens. Gareth stood at the sink, methodically loading the dishwasher.
Cooper quickly retrieved three cups. "Are you and Astrid back on?"
Gareth smiled down at the dishes, smug. "Yeah."
"Thought so."
"Why?"
"Hmm?" The cup he was filling with water began to overflow. Cooper cursed, shut off the fountain, and wiped down the glass. "Oh. No reason. Just hadn't seen her around here in a while, that's all."
Yeah. No reason. Calla recently accused her of murder, but that's probably unrelated.
Cooper spent the next two hours in a daze. He kept asking himself, what would Calla do? She would put on a smile. She would laugh. She would ask how the girls had been—and maybe grill Stephanie about that yearbook meeting, just to insert herself into their business. And she would do it flawlessly.
But Cooper had not yet mastered the fine art of nonchalance. So instead, he busied himself with other tables, even going so far as to check in on the disgraced detective, who stared at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes when Cooper asked if he'd like any creamer with his coffee. After an uncomfortable pause, Cooper finally beat a hasty retreat, Detective Michaels watching him all the while.
That had been the last straw. Frazzled, he retreated back to the kitchens and started on the dishes—scut work. Gareth frowned at him. "Scut work is for the newbies", he said, over and over again. "You don't have to do that."
"I know." Cooper shrugged, dragging a bucket of silverware from the kitchen. The dinner rush had cleared out, leaving only a handful of tables left to wait on. Loretta could handle the remaining customers. Which, Cooper noted with relief, no longer included the detective. The corner booth was empty, save for a now cold cup of coffee.
Gareth shrugged. "Fine. Have it your way." His attention wandered back to table seven. He swatted Cooper's arm. "Heads up."
Cooper glanced up. "What—oh. Hey."
Venus plopped down on one of the open stools. "Hey."
He braced his forearms against the counter, silverware forgotten. "What's up?"
"Stephanie won't shut up about yearbook," she grumbled, reaching across the counter to take his hand. She rolled her eyes. "It's driving me crazy."
He grimaced in sympathy. "It drives everyone crazy. Trust me." He scowled playfully. "At least you don't have to go to that meeting."
"And Astrid..." Cooper tensed. Venus didn't seem to notice. She'd begun to play with his fingers, turning his hand this way and that. It felt nice. But it didn't distract from the panic he felt as she said, "She's been acting so weird today. She's all quiet and moody. Like, why come hang out if you aren't going to have a good time?"
Quiet and moody. Cooper had a good hunch as to why that was. But Venus had posed a valid question—why come out at all?
Cooper wanted to crawl into his bedroom and close out the rest of the world. Maybe then he wouldn't have to pretend like everything was okay. Maybe then he wouldn't have to pretend like he wasn't on the hunt for a killer in disguise.
Venus stared at him expectantly.
All you have to do is lie. Calla's voice was in his head. Strange, how she'd become his voice of reason these last few months. Just lie, Cooper. Lie like I taught you.
Cooper managed a somewhat believable scoff. "Well. That's lame. She should've stayed home."
"So annoying," Venus agreed, rubbing his knuckles, just the way she knew he liked. She glanced over her shoulder. "Don't you have tables?"
"They're fine," he assured her, very much wanting her to stay. Her skin was so soft...
She brightened. "Good." A troubled look came over her face. "Oh. You haven't talked to Mike at all, have you?"
Something about the question felt forced. Rehearsed, even. "Mike?" Cooper frowned, thrown at the question. "Why?"
She shrugged. "Isn't he in yearbook with you?" she hedged.
"Yeah." He still didn't understand where she was going with this. "I mean, we talk. I guess." Mostly about how much they dreaded their weekly yearbook meeting.
"Well." She drew the word out. "Mike's been acting weird, too."
"Weird how?"
Venus ran her fingers along the back of his hand. "He's been hanging around the cemetery."
"The cemetery," Cooper repeated. This conversation was making less and less sense. We're talking about the same guy who wanted to buy a cage of doves to impress a girl, right?
Venus leaned forward. Her breath smelled like spaghetti and mint gum. "I noticed it on the drive home yesterday. Mike's truck was parked there, at the cemetery. Which is, like, whatever." She scowled. "But his truck was there again today."
Cooper stared down at their intertwined hands. "Are you sure it was him?" It sounded as though she hadn't actually seen the guy. Maybe...
"It was definitely Mike. I saw him."
His brow furrowed. "I thought you said you saw his truck."
Venus shifted, uncomfortable. "Okay, technically Astrid saw him. She said they ran into each other."
Cooper's heart leapt into his throat. "When was this?"
"Earlier today. Astrid wanted to pay her respects, or whatever." Venus rolled her eyes. "I don't know. I stayed in the car. The whole thing was her idea."
"Oh." Cooper tried to wrap his head around this news. "Huh. I guess Mike was just...paying his respects, too?"
"It's weird," Venus insisted. She sounded far less endearing than she usually did. Or maybe talk of cemeteries had ruined his good mood. "Like, why are you hanging around a cemetery, my guy? He's really got no reason to be there. Jessica didn't even love him."
She loved his brother. Venus didn't say it aloud. She didn't have to.
Cooper desperately wanted to change the subject. They'd never talked like this before. Their conversations were more surface-level, and usually consisted of school, work, and the occasional piece of offhand gossip.
Maybe that made their relationship shallow, but it had never bothered Cooper. If anything, he'd been thrilled to find someone who didn't want to talk about the heavy shit. Everyone else wanted to know how he'd survived that horrific night at the mansion. The constant questions, the relentless intrigue...
He'd never had to worry about that with Venus. Until now.
Cooper pulled himself from his thoughts. He'd just opened his mouth to ask about how cheerleading practice had gone when she blurted, "And Rachel—"
He stiffened. "What about Rachel?"
Venus shifted in her seat, annoyed at the interruption. "That's the thing. Apparently, Mike was visiting her grave."
Cooper's mind went blank. "Oh."
"See? Weird." She smirked, confident she had won him over. "Mike told Astrid he was there to visit Jess, of course. But I'm pretty sure they're buried on opposite ends of the cemetery. And even if he was visiting Jess, she would've hated him dropping by...like he had any right..."
Cooper felt anger stir in his belly. "They dated for years, V."
"Not really." Her fingers stilled against his skin. "Their whole relationship was stupid. Constantly breaking up..."
"He's allowed to grieve," Cooper argued, not sure why he was getting so defensive. "Grief doesn't have an expiration date."
"I'm not saying that," she snapped.
"Well, what are you saying?" He pulled his hand from hers. "Astrid wanted to go to the cemetery, too. Why aren't you grilling her?" A different thought occurred to him then. The whole thing was her idea, Venus had said. "Is she the one who put you up to this?" he asked, gesturing across the counter. "Is that why you came over here?"
Venus stood quickly, anger simmering in her eyes. "Forget it. See you later, Coop."
She turned on her heel. Stephanie and Astrid had abandoned their table and now lingered by the door. Venus swept past them and barreled outside. Stephanie shot Cooper a questioning look and then followed, Astrid hot on her heels.
The door to the kitchen opened. Gareth's eyes swept the Diner. He frowned. "Where'd the girls go?"
To the cemetery, for all I know. "They just left."
"Oh." He braced himself against the counter, on the other side of the abandoned silverware bucket. "Why?"
Cooper sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know. I don't understand girls."
Gareth raised an eyebrow. "No one does." His bracing words were oddly comforting. "Trust me. Astrid does weird shit all the time."
Cooper cast him a grateful look, though his gratitude was short-lived. He couldn't stop thinking about the cemetery.
Or the dead girl buried there.
Is that why she got so angry? Cooper wondered, replaying his conversation with Venus over and over again. Grief doesn't have an expiration date, he'd said.
Venus hadn't been happy to hear that. He could feel her anger even now, lingering in the air.
Is she...jealous?
But that was ridiculous. Venus had no reason to be jealous about some fling he'd had over a year ago. A fling with a dead girl, he thought bitterly. And wasn't that all it had been? A fling? Rachel had died before they'd ever gotten the chance to see if it could be something more.
He grabbed a handful of silverware from the bucket, his own anger rising to the surface. Venus was being unreasonable. Cooper had chosen her. He'd moved on.
Sure. Maybe he still tossed and turned with guilt late at night, remembering the girl he'd kissed under the bleachers. But he dreamt of those warm brown eyes less and less. Rachel's face had all but faded from his memory. Every day, every week, he lost a piece of her.
The time had come to find a new face to dream of. To bury the past.
And now Calla wants to go digging it back up.
Cooper rolled a third set of silverware and sighed. He'd gotten sidetracked. Here he was, ruminating on his love life, when he should have been getting to the bottom of a murder mystery. And to think, his life had actually been peaceful these last few months.
Cooper picked up another fork and spoon. His eyes lingered on the stack of knives.
Astrid wanted to pay her respects. It was her idea.
Could it really be that simple? Had nostalgia driven the girls to the cemetery? Suspicion, maybe, because of Mike? And Mike...yes, he was allowed to pay his respects. But why had everyone suddenly grown a goddamn conscience?
The timing was suspicious. More than suspicious.
"Everyone's just feeling nostalgic," Cooper reasoned aloud.
But even he wasn't buying it.