The Ugly Girls' Club: A Murder Mystery Thriller

by C. A. Wittman

  Andy blinked and shot Brenda a look. It was obvious he had no idea who Poppy was.

  “You’ve never met her, Dad,” Cat said,

  “That’s terrible.” He dropped the teeth back in the glass where Grandma Tess had left them.

  “Tell me about it,” Brenda commiserated. “Anyway, the school told students, if they wanted, they could go home.”

  “Oh.” Andy took two steps toward the three of them. “I’m sorry. Was she a friend of yours?” he asked Cat.

  “No. And I don’t want to talk about it,” Cat said bitchally. She turned away and flounced down the hall to her room. Emma caught Brenda giving Andy a look as she mouthed the word, “upset”.

  Cat’s father glanced helplessly at Emma, who said, “I’m gonna go.” She pointed toward Cat’s bedroom. “Thanks for picking me up, Brenda.”

  “Sure thing, kid,” Brenda said sadly.

  Cat lay sprawled on her bed. Her room smelled rank, like cat piss, and there were balls of furry fluff on her quilt and embedded in the carpet.

  “Dude, it stinks in here,” Emma said, wrinkling her nose and setting her book bag on the floor. Wordlessly, Cat stood and went to her private bathroom, where Emma could hear her changing the kitty litter.

  “I didn’t mean you had to do that now,” she said.

  “It needed to get done.” Cat reappeared, carrying a white plastic bag of the old litter and left to toss it in the garbage bin. When she returned, she stared at Emma.

  “What?” Emma said.

  Cat collapsed onto her bed. “It’s just depressing. You know.”

  Emma nodded. “I have to tell you something,” she said, climbing onto the bed to lie on her side, propped up by an elbow.

  “What?”

  “Do you remember Blue posting about a party in Malibu on Instagram?”

  Cat nodded, a faraway look in her eyes.

  “The party’s going to be at my dad’s house.”

  Cat stared at her blankly, and then her expression cleared as Emma’s words sunk in.

  “What party?” Cat asked.

  “Blue’s party.”

  “Wait.” Cat sat up straighter. “You’re saying Blue is throwing a rager at Douche’s house?” She never said Emma’s dad’s name. He was either Douche or Douche Bag.

  Emma bit her lip and nodded.

  “Whaaat?” Cat smacked her hands to her forehead. “How did that happen?”

  “Remember when I went to my dad’s after Wren’s whole, you know, and he wanted to comfort me?”

  “Yeah.” Cat nodded. She had the look of someone who sees a terrible accident about to happen and can’t do anything to stop it.

  “Well, he brought along this woman.”

  “One of his sluts?” Cat said, unwilling to sugarcoat any of it. “Typical,” she muttered.

  “Yeah. The usual young blond. Anyway, her name is Mia and she’s Blue’s older sister.”

  “Wait. What? Did you just say, Douche’s slut bitch is Blue’s sister?”

  Emma scrunched up her mouth and held Cat’s gaze. In a lower voice, she added. “And Mia’s a sugar baby. Around two in the morning, Blue posted a pic of her and her sister out with my dad.”

  Cat’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open.

  “OMG! Big oof,” she said.

  “I know.”

  Cat’s eyes got even bigger. “Jesus, do you think Blue’s shtupping your dad, too?”

  The thought hadn’t crossed Emma’s mind, but now that Cat had wondered it out loud, a feeling that Emma couldn’t describe shot like a hot, sharp dart through her belly. All those fantasies about Blue, and to think her dad…

  “I know, gross, right?” Contempt had rearranged Cat’s features into a look of supreme disgust, one side of her mouth curled up and revealing a bit of tooth.

  “Then at school, I heard Charlie, Jaylene, Anna, and Lena talking about the party.”

  “No way,” Cat breathed out, a look of horror replacing the contempt.

  “Yes way. And Jaylene said she was definitely going.”

  “Jaylene fucking Cosset, the gossip?!” Cat swallowed, her throat muscles rippling. “Em, you’ve got to get your dad to shut that shit down.”

  “I know, but I don’t know if he’ll listen to me.”

  “Remind him that if anything happens, he’s, like, liable. He’s going to have all these underage people swarming his nest. Just threaten him with the fact that it’s illegal and he could do, possibly, serious jail time if someone gets hurt or goes off driving drunk.”

  “Could he?” Emma asked, alarmed.

  “Yeah, of course,” Cat said. She shook her head. “What a massive douche.”

  Their phones pinged, and Emma pulled hers from her pocket. It was a video Nisha had just posted to TikTok. Emma opened it. Nisha and her friends who she’d left with the day before were dancing in a living room that Emma didn’t recognize to “Sally Walker”. They were doing the jay walk and then transitioned to the old school moonwalk, their movements crisp and synchronized. She must have made the video yesterday, Emma thought, and was just now posting it, which meant she didn’t know about Poppy. Cat pulled out her phone and watched Nisha’s video dispassionately.

  Emma tried calling Nisha again. This time, she answered.

  “Yo, Em,” Nisha greeted her groggily. “Why y’all blowin’ up my phone?”

  “Poppy Fields is dead.”

  Silence followed Emma’s words.

  “What happened?”

  Emma told her.

  “You sure it’s suicide?” Nisha asked.

  “I mean, it’s the same as Wren, but I don’t think the police know yet.”

  Emma heard Nisha yawn. “That’s fucked up. I’ll see if I can get a ride out there later. Everyone’s still asleep.”

  “Don’t your friends have school?”

  “They off. It’s something or another to do with their school.” Nisha yawned again. “I don’t know. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “Okay,” Emma said.

  There was a knock at Cat’s door, and Cat rolled her eyes.

  “What?” she called out in a surly tone.

  Brenda opened the door a crack. “Can I talk to you?”

  “Sure. I’m right here. Talk.”

  Brenda’s eyes flitted to Emma. “I mean alone.”

  “Ugh,” Cat groaned, but she got up and left. Brenda closed the door, but Emma could still hear them.

  “I called Jen,” Brenda said. Jen was in Brenda’s book club, and she was friends with a woman named Debbie, who was friends with Christine Fields, Poppy’s mom. Emma edged off the bed and walked quietly toward the door.

  “Jen says Debbie told her Poppy’s death was a suicide, and that she left a note.”

  There was a long pause and Emma felt her heart pound hard against her chest, blood swishing in her ears.

  “Well, what did the note say?” Cat asked snappishly, but Emma could hear the concern under the snark and angst.

  “She didn’t know.” Brenda’s words were hushed and breathy. “I’m worried about you and your friends.”

  “Why? Because we’re ugly and might not be able to deal with life?” Cat replied nastily.

  “What?” Brenda shot back, shock in her voice. “What gave you that idea?”

  “Um, let’s see. You did,” Cat said.

  Emma opened the door. Things were getting out of hand. Cat glared at her mom, arms crossed. Brenda looked perplexed. The thing was, Brenda had no idea that they’d overheard her on the phone all those years ago.

  “Cat, let’s go back in your room,” Emma said. She wished Nisha were there to back her up, lighten the mood. Nisha was good at diffusing drama.

  Brenda’s eyes snaked in Emma’s direction, a frown playing at her lips. “What is this about, Cat?” she asked.

  Emma reached out a hand to touch Cat’s shoulder. “Don’t,” she whispered.

  Brenda threw up her arms. “Will one of you tell me what’s going on?”
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  “Nothing, Mom. Just that you think I’m ugly.‘Cat’s smart, but she’s got a face like a horse,’” Cat hissed, paraphrasing her mom’s words.

  Brenda grew still, eyes widening. Something strange was happening to the rest of her face, like it was shrinking.

  “Remember saying that?” Cat said.

  Emma crept up quietly to Cat. Big, fat tears were slipping out of her eyes, clinging to her lashes, and sliding down her cheeks. A few tears splashed to the hardwood floor, leaving large wet splatters. “And my friends,” Cat continued in a strangled voice. “Ugly as sin.” The last words came out in huffy wisps. Brenda looked like she was about to pass out.

  “Honey, I…” She reached out a hand, but Cat jerked back.

  “You know, I used to admire you!” This time, Cat’s words came out guttural. “I liked looking like you. I thought… I thought,” she took big gulps of air as she spoke “that I was the lucky one to look like Mom. I never thought there was something wrong with me.”

  Brenda stood completely still, eyes glossy with a film of tears, her mouth seemingly melting downward. Emma half expected her to shrink and lose shape until she was just a big puddle of skin, hair, and clothing, like the Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz.

  Cat kept talking. “But no, I come to find out that Carrie is the lucky one. CARRIE IS THE BEAUTY!”

  “I was wrong,” Brenda said in a low voice.

  “Were you though?” Cat flashed her mom a tight, sarcastic smile. “It’s clear now. The entire world lets me know I’m not worth shit because I have a face like a horse.”

  Brenda flinched. “Cat,” she tried again, but Cat cut her off.

  “Don’t worry about me, though. Unlike Wren and Poppy, I have respect for life. For my life.”

  She spun on her heel and went into her room, slamming the door.

  Brenda’s hands flew to her face, and when she dragged them away, her cheeks were a blistering red. Then she doubled over, her palms resting on her knees. “Jesus,” she said. “Holy Mother of God.”

  Music suddenly blared from Andy’s office. Cat had said once that when her dad wrote, he lived in another reality and the real world became a fuzzy dreamlike backdrop. He never paid attention to the details of conversations or arguments, only the volume. If conversations became too loud, he put on music to drown out the distraction. The jaunty voice of Joe Strummer from The Clash singing “London Calling” trailed out toward them.

  Emma slipped back into Cat’s room, leaving Brenda hunched over in the hallway as if she’d received a punch to the gut.

  Cat was back on her bed, phone in hand, fingers flying as she texted.

  “Who are you texting?” Emma asked.

  “Nisha,” Cat said without looking up.

  Emma crossed the room and went to sit on Cat’s bed, too, pulling out her phone. A text pinged from Nisha.

  OMW, it said.

  Hunter arrived at the same time as Nisha. Both looked tired. Worn out. Nisha’s braids were in a high bun, and her eyes looked puckered from little sleep. Hunter, who was usually so fastidious and well put together, appeared rumpled. Even their skin looked creased, and there was a bleak look in their eyes that Emma had never seen before.

  What they had been through took precedence over Cat’s meltdown with her mom and Emma’s humiliating situation with her dad.

  Hunter sank into Cat’s desk chair and placed their elbows on their knees, rubbing their face before looking up at Emma, Cat, and Nisha.

  “I don’t know what happened,” they said. “I went over to Poppy’s. She was really upset, sure, but there was nothing about her that was screaming out suicide.” Hunter sat up, face tightening, eyes radiating pain. “In her suicide letter, Poppy confessed to having posted that video of Wren screaming at her sister.” They clasped their fingers together, twisting them round. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Damn,” Nisha said. “That’s fucking low.”

  “That’s the thing though,” Hunter shot back. “It’s not like Poppy to have done something like that. Just like it wasn’t like Wren to feel ugly.”

  Emma snuck a look at Cat, whose cheeks flamed red.

  “Do you think they never wrote those suicide notes?” Nisha asked.

  Hunter’s eyes turned hard. “I don’t think it’s suicide. Something’s not right.”

  “Did you tell the police that?” Nisha asked.

  Hunter shook their head, no.

  “Good,” Nisha said. “Never tell the cops more than they need to know. Let them figure it out themselves.”

  “My moms said the same thing,” Hunter said. “They told me to stick to the facts of what happened, not to offer opinions.”

  Nisha nodded. “The po-po have a way of twisting things. One minute it’s, ‘hey, we just want to ask you a couple of questions,’ and the next thing you know, your ass is sus.”

  “But shouldn’t Hunter tell the police that what Wren and Poppy wrote in their suicide letters doesn’t seem like them? Because the other option is… murder,” Emma said.

  Nisha shook her head. “You can’t trust cops. Never, ever talk to the police unless you have to.”

  “Yeah, but if they were murdered, then who knows? Posie could be next,” Emma said. The idea that there could be a serial killer made her skin prickle.

  “Let Posie’s folks worry about Posie,” Nisha advised. “If you haven’t noticed, HH isn’t exactly a Boy Scout, although they act like one.”

  A hint of a smile passed over Hunter’s lips, and then they hung their head again. “I can’t believe she’s gone. I was just talking to her last night, trying to cheer her up. Before I left, we had ice cream and she said she was feeling a little better.” They looked back up, eyes watery.

  Nisha’s nostrils flared, and Emma could see she was trying to hold her emotions in check. Emma slid a hand over Nisha’s and one over Cat’s. Cat took in a deep breath before she rested her head against Emma’s shoulder.

  “Why you sitting way over there, Little They?” Nisha said, a tremor in her voice.

  Hunter got up and climbed onto the bed with the rest of them. Wordlessly, they drew each other into a group hug.

  Later, Cat brought up her blow out with her mom and Nisha said,

  “Why you holding onto that, Cat? Girl, isn’t it obvious your mom cares?”

  Cat glared back at Nisha.

  “And you can stop with the stink eye,” Nisha snapped. “I was there too when she was talking shit on the phone about us to her friend, but Mrs. B also had nice things to say about you. Didn’t she say you was smart with a heart of gold?”

  “I’m sorry,” Cat seethed. “I think the commentary about my horsey face drowned the compliments out.”

  “Maybe you’re just going to have to come to terms with the fact that you’re no beauty and move on. It doesn’t mean your mom doesn’t love you.”

  Cat blanched and then her face closed up hard, eyes turning into slits.

  Emma felt her stomach clench.

  “Hold up,” Hunter said, looking astounded. “On what grounds is she not pretty?”

  Nisha blew out a sigh of exasperation. “Look at us, HH. None of us are winning any beauty awards in this room. The sooner we get real about that, the better.”

  Hunter reached out a hand and took Nisha’s. “Seriously, this is how you feel about yourself?”

  Nisha’s eyes skipped away.

  “We all have beauty,” Hunter said. “Holding yourself up to a rare standard of super beauty is unrealistic. Most people on this earth aren’t winning any beauty awards, but that doesn’t mean they’re not beautiful.”

  “Oh, come on, H, you know what I mean. A girl likes to be hollered at from time to time. Have a brother size her up,” Nisha added wistfully.

  Hunter wrinkled their brow. “I remember Wren saying she hated that: being looked over like a piece of meat, unwanted attention, and all that.”

  “Yeah, but at least Wren got to experience feeling pretty,�
� Emma said, frustrated that Hunter didn’t get it.

  “Now she’s dead because supposedly she wasn’t hot enough. Where does it end?” Hunter replied, skin darkening with a flare of temper. “Wren was beautiful and so are all of you.” Silence followed their words. Hunter looked at each one of them. “Take pride in yourself. People are ultimately attracted to confidence and kindness. If someone is so shallow that it’s only about looks for them, is that a person you want in your life?”

  Cat stared at Hunter with wide eyes. “I don’t want to be in the club anymore,” she said in a low voice.

  Emma could feel something had shifted in her, too. “Me either,” she agreed.

  “The ugly club?” Hunter asked. Cat and Emma didn’t respond. “I wouldn’t want to be in it either. It’s demoralizing and antithetical to life.”

  “What does that mean?” Emma asked.

  “It means contrary. It means you’re closing yourself off to the world by hiding behind a handicap of your own making.”

  “Damn,” Nisha said, looking impressed. Then she blinked and rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I just made that shit up to cheer her sorry little ass,” she said of Cat.

  “Well, maybe I’ve outgrown the ugly club,” Cat said.

  “If you’ve outgrown it, then you should give your mom a break,” Nisha replied testily.

  Cat blushed and picked at her quilt.

  Hunter stretched and slid off the bed. “I should go home,” they said. “My moms are going to want to talk with me. I’m sure they're worried.”

  Nisha’s face softened. “Aight, Little They. Be careful out there.”

  A shadow of fear passed over Hunter’s face, the feeling contagious. Emma shivered, and Cat’s expression mirrored Hunter’s. If Wren and Poppy’s deaths weren’t suicides, then someone was stalking either young thirteen-year-old girls or the kids in that particular friend group. Emma wrapped her arms around herself, watching Hunter gather their backpack, the menace of something unknown seeping into Cat’s room, a predatory malaise.

  “Have you talked to Posie?” Emma asked to break the spell. Her voice sounded thin and small to her ears.

  Hunter glanced over their shoulder at her.

  “Briefly. Her mom answered her phone and said she was asleep. I thought of stopping by.” Hunter didn’t finish the rest of that thought. The last time they stopped by, a girl turned up dead the next morning.