The Ugly Girls' Club: A Murder Mystery Thriller

by C. A. Wittman

  “Going to Disneyland with a friend on Saturday. You can say what you want about the theme park, but Disneyland is still my jam. I’d totally work there if I could. Alright, my peeps, see you later, and don’t forget to remember how blessed you are.” She puckered her lips and made a mwah sound.

  Wren signed off the same in every video. “Don’t forget to remember how blessed you are.”

  Did she really think of herself as ugly? Emma wondered. Hunter was right about how happy Wren seemed. One of the reasons her channel was so popular, Emma thought, was that watching Wren talk and get excited over foundation or a shade of lip color made the viewer feel like they were basking in pure liquid sunshine.

  Chapter 9

  LA was in the grip of a heatwave. In the beach towns, the mornings started out gently enough, indicating breezy mid-seventies sunshine. By noon, temperatures soared to the high nineties, and a humid haze descended over the town.

  Gumption sat on her front porch, sipping iced tea, Candace beside her. She watched the trio of friends arrive at Cassandra Baker’s on scooters, looking half wilted from the heat. Nisha waved and Gumption returned the gesture, telling Candace to walk across the street and invite the girls over for a swim.

  Candace, just coming down from a high, rose slowly from her chair, eyes half-lidded. Gumption, afraid that by the time Candace made it down the steps, the girls would have disappeared into the Bakers’ residence, stood and put her fingers in her mouth, giving a loud, shrill whistle. The girls turned to stare at her. She waved them over, but only Nisha came, face split from ear to ear with a wide grin.

  “Hi, Ms. G,” she said.

  “Why don’t you girls come over for a swim? I have a lovely pool out back.”

  “That sounds dope,” Nisha said. “I’ll tell them.”

  “Good.” Gumption held up her glass of tea as a sort of salute. Candace sat down, only realizing the exchange Gumption wanted to make was over and done once Nisha was already walking back across the street. Gumption watched the girls gather in a huddle, the short, chubby one turning to look over her shoulder and frowning at Gumption and Candace. The girls then went inside.

  Half an hour later, Gumption watched with delight as the four of them headed over, towels draped over their arms.

  Last year, Gumption had the backyard transformed into a natural oasis of indigenous plants. There was a gazebo modeled after a tropical hut and her crowning jewel, the swimming pool, only it didn’t look like a pool. It had been made to resemble a pond. A small sandy beach led up to the water and there was a faux rock formation that featured a spa, made to look like a natural hot spring.

  The girls stared, awed as Gumption ordered Candace to bring out chairs for everyone.

  When Candace set up the first beach chair, the mood shifted.

  “Something wrong?” Gumption asked, taking notice of the glum looks on their faces.

  “Nah, Ms. G,” Nisha said. “Did you hear about that girl found dead at the beach last Saturday?”

  “I did. A suicide.”

  “Yeah,” Nisha said. “We saw her just before the police arrived.”

  “Oh.” Gumption’s brows drew together. “How dreadful.”

  Nisha nodded. “She died in a beach chair.”

  Everyone looked at the empty chair

  Candace arrived with a second chair.

  Nisha placed her towel over the first one and it seemed to break the spell. The girls began setting down their things, eager to explore the haven Gumption had created.

  Candace grinned at the shortest girl, Emma, and Emma’s eyes skipped away like a frightened mouse before she turned her body altogether to remove her clothes and reveal an ill-fitting bikini, the top baggy on her chest and the bottoms straining against her butt, the fabric digging in a painful-looking way at the flesh of her hips. She’d obviously borrowed it last minute from Cassandra Baker.

  Cat pulled her summer dress over her head. She wore a one-piece, also borrowed. Nisha, the tallest and curviest of the four, had stuck with the shorts and T-shirt she was wearing. Cassandra peeled off her jumper. She wore a bikini, black and plain. It suited her.

  The girls moved as if one unit toward the beach, walking to where the sand met the water. Then Cassandra stuck her toe in and proclaimed the temperature perfect. The next minute, all of them climbed into the pond-like swimming pool and began to frolic, diving under the water, free-styling, chasing each other, performing handstands, laughing, and chattering. Then Emma climbed out to try the spa above and Nisha announced it was too hot to be soaking in hot water. Cat said she wanted to try it even so. Cassandra flipped onto her back, floating, her arms moving in a languid fashion, and Nisha followed suit, the two exchanging this is the life grins.

  Candace watched the girls, squinting in the light of the sun, mesmerized.

  “Beautiful, aren’t they?” Gumption said.

  Candace turned, her eyes far away. “I used to be a girl once,” she said.

  “I know, darling,” Gumption replied. “There're refreshments in the bar.” Gumption pointed to the hut. “Do we have any ice cream, Candace?”

  Candace scratched at her arm. “I don’t know. I’ll go check. I can go to the store if we don’t.”

  “Oh, don’t bother, dear. Another time.”

  Candace went into the house and came back empty-handed. She then cupped her mouth and called out to the girls, “There’s water in the hut.”

  To Gumption’s surprise, Candace began to peel off her clothes. In all the months Candace had been staying with her, she’d never so much as put her toe in the water. And her attire of long sleeve shirts and jeans did not change with the hot weather. She kept herself covered. But now she removed her clothes, eyes roving the pool, and Gumption saw a wolfish hunger in her expression, as if Candace wished to inhale the scene playing out before them. Innocent young girls swimming. It would make a wonderful painting, Gumption thought.

  Chapter 10

  The water was lukewarm in the spa. Cat found several silver buttons in the faux boulders and pressed one. The jets roared to life, creating a bubbling froth, the water gradually getting hotter.

  “Oh god,” Cat said, swiping her wet hair back and looking over toward the beach in disgust. Emma followed her gaze.

  On the beach, Candace had removed her clothes. Emma found it hard to look away. She looked like a walking corpse.

  Earlier, when she’d come close, Emma had noticed a faintly moldy, acrid scent radiating from her. And when she’d smiled, Emma saw she had small fangs and that her dark eyes had a fiery, crazed quality to them. Now, watching Candace take her shirt off, a wave of revulsion went through Emma. Candace’s skin was luminous white with grey undertones. There wasn’t a single ounce of fat on her skeletal form, her breasts just bumps on her chest with long protruding nipples. Most disturbing were the track marks on her arms. Red sores. Scabbed sores. Dark bruises. Emma watched with mounting alarm as she pulled off her jeans. She wore a lacy thong, glutes bony and concave at the sides, hip bones knobby, looking as if they might break through the skin at any moment.

  “Gross,” Cat whispered.

  Candace smiled at Gumption before wading into the pool. Nisha and Cassandra rolled off their backs and doggy paddled, staring at Candace as she made her way toward them. She said something to Nisha and then completely submerged herself. When she came back up, her hair was as slick and shiny as seal fur, and she glided about gracefully on her side, Nisha and Cassandra keeping a close eye on her. After a minute they both got out and made their way over to Emma and Cat.

  “What did she say to you?” Emma asked Nisha as she slipped into the tub.

  Nisha shrugged, uncertain. “I’m not sure. Something about how you can’t be twenty on sugar mountain.”

  “That’s a Neil Young song,” Cassandra said. Cassandra played the guitar and sang for a hobby. She had a nice voice.

  “Girl, I have no idea who that is,” Nisha said, eyes skirting toward Candace.

  �
��You need to expand your musical horizons,” Cassandra said. “Most rap songs are covers to old rock tunes.

  “And most rock music is a spin-off of black music.”

  “This isn’t a race thing,” Cassandra shot back.

  “Isn’t it always?” Nisha said.

  “No,” Cassandra snapped. “I’m just saying there’s a lot out there besides hood music.”

  “Oooh, girl.” Nisha narrowed her eyes and jerked her neck from side to side. “You gonna go there with me? Okay, come on.”

  “Neil Young was like a folksy rock musician who was popular in the sixties and seventies,” Cat said, trying to break up the ensuing fight about to happen.

  Nisha and Cassandra had a bit of an edge with each other. Emma was sure that the two would have nothing to do with each other if she and Cat weren’t part of the equation.

  “So I’m supposed to know about some ancient rock and roller from, like, a hundred years ago?” Nisha said.

  “Look, it doesn’t matter,” Emma said.

  “Of course it matters,” Cassandra said. “She wants to be a musician, but she only listens to one kind of music. And you can’t tell Nisha anything without it becoming a black issue. Emma’s part black and you don’t see her having a meltdown every ten minutes over some perceived racist comment. I wasn’t being racist just because I said rap often covers rock.”

  “First of all,” Nisha said. “Emma is part black, but the girl knows nothing about being black. You see how fair she is, with green eyes, a rich white daddy from England, and a mama who has no clue about her people? Emma’s mama can give you a scientific run-down on pigmentation, but everyday black experience?

  Girl, please. And second, Ms. White Privilege, for me, everything is about being black. Every damn little thing. And don’t be giving me no lectures on black people copying white people’s music. It’s just like a white girl to say some lame-ass bullshit. All pop music came from us, and if it took a detour through decades of white rockers, then we’re just reclaiming our shit. So if I don’t know what some mother fucking drug addict Dracula-looking white bitch is whispering in my ear about being twenty on a fucking sugar mountain, so the fuck what!”

  “Girls, everything okay up there?” Gumption called out to them.

  “Yes, Ms. G,” Nisha called back. “We lovin’ it up here.”

  “You’re such a hypocrite,” Cassandra hissed. “One minute you’re crowing over being black and the next you’re sucking up to an old rich white woman.”

  “That just goes to show how much you know,” Nisha said, jabbing a dripping wet finger in the air at Cassandra. “Gumption ain’t white, girl. Yeah, bitch. You didn’t know that, did you?”

  The girls glanced over at Gumption.

  “She’s Creole. And she’s done some badass shit in her day.”

  “Why does she speak like, you know, like she’s British or something?” Emma asked, although when Emma thought about it, Gumption’s accent wasn’t exactly British. There were a lot of accents in England, but Gumption’s manner of speaking didn’t seem to fit any of them. It was odd. Unplaceable.

  “When she was a girl, she moved to England and was raised by rich white people, but where she came from never left her.”

  “Where is she from?” Cat asked, wrinkling her brow.

  “Girl, she’s Creole. Where do Creoles mainly come from in America?”

  Cat pulled a face and shrugged. Cassandra looked away. Nisha’s eyes bore into Emma as if she were silently communicating, don’t let me down.

  “Louisiana,” Emma said and blushed.

  Nisha held up her hand for a high five and Emma slapped her hand against her friend’s.

  “Louisiana, baby. Gumption is my peeps. Yo, you know what?” Nisha lowered her voice and Emma wasn’t sure she wanted to know, a flash of bumps racing up her arms.

  “Gumption killed five white men.”

  “That’s not something to brag about,” Cassandra said, worry flickering in her eyes.

  “They were klansmen. Shot ‘em all dead when she was just eleven years old.” Nisha’s eyes danced.

  Cat shivered in the now piping-hot water. The jets pummeled their backs and the hot sun scorched their unprotected skin from a cloudless blue sky. Candace swam languidly in the pool below them. She switched to the crawl, and Emma thought she had a kind of grace when she moved in the water.

  Cassandra pulled herself out of the spa, not waiting to hear the rest of the story, and climbed down from their perch to the lower level, making her way to the hut.

  “Girl’s too privileged,” Nisha muttered, not finishing her story.

  Cassandra reemerged with a bottle of Pellegrino, and the other girls soon followed suit, getting bottled waters and settling into the beach chairs. They did not get back in the pool until Candace got out and went into the house.

  They swam another hour at Gumption’s and Emma was glad when Cat said,

  “We should get back. Hunter’s gonna be here in a few minutes.”

  Hunter had begun hanging out with them after they arrived at school a few times with a healthy lunch for Emma.

  After wrapping their wet bodies in dry towels and picking up their things, they thanked Gumption. She told them to come by any time.

  Emma surreptitiously studied Gumption in her big sun hat and pool dress, feet in sandals. She had not gone in the water but had sat further back on her patio, watching the girls. There was nothing about Gumption that might make a person think she was anything but white. She didn’t even have curly hair. Her grey hair was bone straight and hung loose around her shoulders. She had a straight nose, a slash of a mouth, and hazel eyes that seemed to change color depending on the lighting. Right now, her eyes looked brown as she met Emma’s gaze. Emma felt like the older woman was looking right through her, could see right into her brain and read her every thought. Emma looked away and followed her friends back into Gumption’s house.

  The other girls didn’t see it because they were all distracted by Gumption calling their attention away to her black cat slinking from the kitchen. Nisha, Cassandra, and Cat walked to the right to pet the cat, which purred and rubbed its side against their legs.

  “I call him Bell,” Gumption said, “because when he mews, it sounds like bells.”

  Emma stared at the partially-sketched drawing on the easel. It was of a girl. She wore a bikini, a sunhat, and sunglasses, and she sat on a half-sketched beach chair.

  Just then, Gumption glanced at Emma and the smile left her face, her gaze moving toward the sketch. Emma’s heartbeat moved to her eardrums, and she scurried over to join her friends. She did not relax until they’d crossed the street to Cassandra’s.

  Chapter 11

  “Cassandra, Lupe just cleaned the house,” Louise Baker said as the girls came through the front door with their still-damp feet, Nisha and Emma’s soles sandy from the contrived beach at Gumption’s.

  Sam leaned against the bar dividing the kitchen from the dining room. She smirked at the four of them before dropping her gaze to examine her freshly gelled nails.

  “Out,” Louise said.

  “Where are we supposed to go?” Cassandra said, throwing up her arms.

  “Go and get yourselves cleaned up before you come in here.”

  “Mom, it’s just a little bit of water.”

  “It’s okay,” Emma said in a low voice to Cassandra, taking in Louise Baker’s irate expression. She looked as if she might lose it any minute. Richard Baker, Cassandra’s stepdad, came out of the kitchen, giving her a look. His hair was perfectly moussed in place. He wore dark blue performance jogger pants and a snug white T-shirt that emphasized his striated abs, bulging biceps, and narrow waist.

  “Do I hear arguing?” He asked.

  Cassandra glared back at him.

  “I believe your mom asked you and your friends to clean yourselves up before coming in here. Lupe worked hard to make everything nice. It is the considerate thing to do.” He raised his chin, peering dow
n at them, and Emma could see a faint look of contempt in his slightly curled lip, his eyes sweeping over their motley crew.

  “No problem,” Nisha said in a flat voice.

  “Ugh!” Cassandra groaned. “You are both making a big deal out of nothing.”

  She stormed back out the front door. Richard went back into the kitchen and as Emma followed Cassandra out the door with Cat and Nisha, she heard Sam call out softly, “Bye, uglies”.

  They went to the backyard and hosed off their feet, drying themselves, then clambered through the backdoor, which led to an under-used den. Down the hall, they faced off Sam and, behind her, a tall and lean younger man with dark, slicked back hair. He wore an oversized black T-shirt that read DANCE, a silver chain around his neck, and black combat joggers with black and yellow high-tops. His eyes swept over them as he and Sam went into her room.

  In Cassandra’s room, Cat asked,

  “Was that Donovan?”

  Cassandra nodded.

  “I didn’t know they were tight,” Cat said.

  “At least they’re the same age,” Nisha said.

  “They started hanging out after, you know, Wren,” Cassandra said. She’d thrown on linen lounge pants and a white cotton spaghetti strap top, then grabbed three pillows from the ten scattered around her bed and made a nest for herself. The other girls followed suit, climbing onto the bed, their bodies dipping and rising from the water beneath them.

  “So are they, like, an item now?” Emma asked, wrinkling her nose.

  “How should I know?” Cassandra said. “You know how much Sam confides in me. Like never.”

  “If they are, it’s lame. Wren just literally died last week,” Cat said.

  “Can we talk about something else?” Cassandra said.