Andrea reached down to retrieve the blanket. Her head nearly banged into the corner of one of the console table drawers.
She looked inside.
Ricky had left the drawers open. She had shown Andrea some of the contents. She had no reasonable expectation that Andrea would not see the rest.
Andrea stood up, then she backed up a few steps, standing on the tips of her toes so that she could see into the kitchen. Ricky’s back was to the stairs. She had braced her hands on either side of the kitchen sink. Her shoulders were shaking as she cried.
The blanket dropped from Andrea’s hands as she walked back to the table. She picked up Eric Blakely’s New Mexico death certificate. The document was old, but she could still feel the imprint where the typewriter had punched out the letters. She set it aside and rummaged around the left-hand drawer, finding receipts for a coffin, cremation, a black tux from Maggie’s Formal Wear. Andrea remembered the metal case. Ricky had kept it in her shrine for a reason. She reached her hand to the back.
The pocket index looked exactly the same. The silver pointer was still lined up to A-B.
Andrea used her thumbnail to press the button on the bottom. The top of the case sprang open. She saw one name—Brickel, Melody. The street address was the one that Andrea had visited the day before with Bible. She imagined the seven-digit phone number had not changed.
The handwriting was beautiful, almost like a kindergarten teacher’s. Andrea did not recognize the script from any of the witness statements—Jack Stilton’s almost illegible cursive, Ricky’s circles over the ‘i’s, Clay’s randomly capitalized letters, Nardo’s tight scribble, Eric Blakely’s heavy-handed block that almost sliced through the paper. Nor did she recognize it from Melody’s mixtape or what she had assumed were Emily Vaughn’s affirmations.
Andrea tried to figure out how the device worked. The pages were hinged at the top. Alphabetized tabs ran top to bottom. Extra pages were in each section. The pointer had a clip that held up the previous pages out of the way. She closed the lid. She moved the pointer down to C-D. The case sprang open again. Her focus was drawn to two underlined words at the top of the page—
Columbo Investigation.
Andrea’s heart went into her throat. The beautiful handwriting belonged to Emily Vaughn.
She backed up again. She checked on Ricky. The woman was still standing at the sink. She was still crying.
Andrea read the first word under the Columbo header—
Clay?
She had to swallow before she could continue to the next line—
Dean Wexler – October 20, 1981: Dean says that he’s “not the fucking father.” Admitted he picked me up at The Party. Said Nardo called him to take me home. Said I was fighting with Clay by the pool when he got there. He promised he would hurt me if I ever publicly accused him. He grabbed my wrist. It really hurt.
Update: I looked up the condition in the library and he could be telling the truth about not being the father but that doesn’t mean he didn’t do something, right?
Andrea read the next entry.
Ricky Blakely – October 20, 1981: She said I am a liar and that I have had sex with lots of people they don’t know during band camp, debate club, etc, not only at The Party. She accused me of being a Pollyanna and said my parents would plot to make Nardo marry me because that’s what rich people do. She also said I ruined everything for the clique. Oh, and that I want to force Clay to marry me, which doesn’t make sense because my parents already struck a deal with Nardo’s parents (apparently???). She never wants to talk to me again. She called me a stupid slut and told me to leave her house. I have always known that she can be spiteful but she was awful to me. Why did I ever think she was my friend?
Andrea flipped up the page. There was writing on the back. The cursive was smaller, the lines bunched together—
Blake (same day) – He said he was “zonked out” at The Party and that he pissed himself. He was locked in the bathroom the whole time. He says he isn’t the one who did it. He asked me to marry him, but only to help himself politically. I told him no and he said that I should “flush” the baby. He made a pass at me and actually put my hand on his thing and it was gross. Blake is as bad as Nardo. Why did I never let myself accept what a horrid human being he is before now?
Andrea saw her hands were shaking as she turned the page.
Nardo Fontaine – October 21, 1981: I hate him so much. He’s such a jerk. First his parents sent a stupid letter saying to stay away from him, then the same day he found me in the library and wouldn’t shut up. Nardo admitted that he called Mr. Wexler the night of The Party, but said he had to bribe him with acid to get him to take me “off his hands.” I was arguing with Clay, according to Nardo, but they’ve all clearly gotten their stories straight, and the story is that I am the bad person. Nardo told me that Jack was at The Party and sold us acid, the implication being that Jack is the one who hurt me. I don’t believe him. Jack could have sold the acid, but he would never do that to me. Nardo is such a liar. Sometimes he says cruel things only to hurt people. It worked!
Andrea found Clay next, by far the shortest of the entries—
Clay—October 21, 1981: His EXACT words: You played the game. You need to take the loss. Have some dignity.
The notes had taken on the form of a diary after the Clay entry. The ink color changed. The dates skipped forward. The writing was more cramped, filling the margins on each side. Andrea skimmed rapidly through the pages, her eyes randomly picking up Emily Vaughn’s thoughts from forty years ago—
Jack didn’t do it. He promised he would help me and I know he will … On my last day at school, Clay told me he is sorry that this is happening, but I think he was only being nice to keep me quiet. He doesn’t understand what this means for my future … Nardo grabbed my breast in front of the entire school and it really hurt but he laughed when I cried … I think Ricky is the person who taped maxi-pads to my locker and colored them red … I think Ricky cut a hole in my T-shirt … I know that Ricky tore up all of my notes from English class … Ricky is the only person who could’ve smeared shit on my flute case … Ricky said I deserve to die … Ricky was downtown when I went to pick up my stuff at Maggie’s for tonight. She chased me down the street. I have never seen her so furious. She said if she saw me anywhere near Nardo tonight, she was going to beat me to death with her bare hands. I don’t care. I’m going to the prom anyway. None of them will be there. They would never sully themselves with the plebs.
Andrea flipped up the page. She had reached the section for W-X. There were only blank lines after that. The date of the last entry was April 17, 1982, the day of the prom.
She picked up the receipt for the tux. $20 was not enough to buy a tuxedo, but it made sense for a rental. The logo at the top was for Maggie’s Formal Wear. The date was April 17, 1982. The description read b-tux, which Andrea had assumed meant black tuxedo.
She was wrong.
Back in 1982, Eric Blakely was a fully grown man who would wear a man’s tux. It was probably impossible to find rental tuxes for women. Much as today it was almost impossible to find work pants for female law enforcement. You had to make do with what was available in the kids’ section. Andrea of all people should have realized that the b stood for boys. By Emily Vaughn’s own hand, Ricky had been at Maggie’s Formal Wear that day. She had been picking up a boys’ tuxedo to wear to the prom so they would all match.