“I think you’re hungry,” JD said.
Ty threw her head back and laughed, but it was different from before. Now the sound was surprisingly hoarse—like the laughter of a much older woman. Like she had dust in the back of her throat. The happy, hazy feeling surrounding JD dissipated momentarily.
“So, how long have you and your family been in town?” he asked. “Ascension’s a little screwed up right now. . . . ”
“Oh, you mean because of all the murders?” She dabbed at her mouth with a paper napkin, leaving a smear of red lipstick behind.
“Well, they weren’t murders, technically. There were two suicides and two accidents and . . . ” He trailed off. ?“This is a kind of morbid conversation topic, huh?”
“When bad things happen, you can’t just pretend they didn’t,” she said.
He nodded, reaching for the stack of napkins. “That’s true,” he said. “Although lots of people seem to be good at doing that.”
“Oops, don’t take this one,” she said, whisking her lipstick-marked napkin away from him. “You don’t want to end up like Chase Singer did. . . . ”
JD’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
She smiled, looking temporarily embarrassed. “Sorry, that really was morbid. I was just thinking of that lipstick mark they found on Chase’s cheek.”
“Oh . . . I didn’t . . . ” JD trailed off, wondering if he’d heard that specific detail before. It seemed like something he would remember, but he didn’t. “You—you knew Chase?”
“Just by sight,” she said casually.
And just then, it hit him where he recognized Ty’s flower from: Drea’s service. Bright crimson, like the one that had ended up in Drea’s casket.
He was hit with a wave of nausea. “Where did you get that?” he asked, pointing to her hair. It occurred to him that perhaps she had sent all those orchids. He remembered how strange they had looked against the other bouquets: just like droplets of blood.
Ty removed the flower from where it was tucked into her hair and twirled it in her fingers.
“Isn’t it pretty?” she said.
“Were you at Drea Feiffer’s memorial service?”
“For a little bit. I kind of hung back. Were you close with Drea?”
“We were friends,” JD said, feeling his throat constrict. “It’s been a hard week. It just doesn’t seem right. Doesn’t seem fair.” He looked down at his lap. Jesus. This is why he didn’t go out—he’d just met this girl and so far they’d talked about nothing but death. “How did you know Drea?”
“Old family friends,” Ty said vaguely. She held her hand out as if to give him the flower, but when he reached for it she withdrew her hand quickly. Ty spoke again, but softly this time, as though through a sheet of silk. “You mention fairness . . . and I was always a big believer in justice. An eye for an eye, and all that. But these days, I’m seeing things differently. Some things just aren’t fair—you can’t make them fair. You know? Some things just happen. . . . And all we can do is let them.”
As she finished speaking, she placed the flower back in her hair.
JD nodded slowly. Her speech had left him feeling a little overwhelmed, like he’d been hit by a wave, or put under a spell. A good one. And she was right. Some things just weren’t fair, and he had to accept that and move on—whether it was Drea’s death or the fact that something was going on between Em and Crow.
“Don’t you two look serious,” Ali said teasingly as she and Melissa came back toward the table.
“You know me,” Ty said with a surprising edge. “Always—” She was interrupted by a low wolf whistle from across the restaurant.
JD swiveled around. Some frat boy in a baseball cap with a puffy beer face and squinty eyes was leering in their direction. Melissa was fidgeting uncomfortably. JD felt the impulsive desire to leap up and cover her.
“Hey, man, keep your eyes on your food, okay?” He made his tone good-natured yet firm, praying the guy would turn back to his pizza.
Ty put her hand on his arm. Her fingers were cold and smooth, like river rocks. “Just ignore him,” she whispered with a flirty smile. “Though I appreciate the chivalry.”
“Guys like that always get what’s coming to them,” Ali said, sliding into the booth. Melissa slid next to JD, and he put his arm around her.
“They sure do,” Ty said, but she suddenly seemed distracted. JD watched her eyes squint just a little, like she was trying hard to remember something.
And that’s when the hacking started, first loud and punctuated, then lower, gurgling. JD turned around. The frat boy, the one who had whistled, was leaning out of the booth, struggling to breathe. He had his hands around his throat. JD couldn’t even see his face, just the visor of his cap. Everyone in the restaurant was watching.
“He’s choking,” someone shouted.
“Does anyone know CPR?” That was the waitress’s voice, high, hysterical.