The Ugly Girls' Club: A Murder Mystery Thriller

by C. A. Wittman

  “What about Blue,” Emma had shot back. “She’s only fourteen or fifteen. That’s gross.”

  “First, you don’t even know if she’s putting out to your old man. Second, it’s none of your damn business.”

  “Of course it’s my business. He’s my dad.”

  “And where has that gotten you in all these years?” Nisha challenged.

  “If he is, he’s a pedophile,” Cat had cut in. “And Emma should turn him in.”

  Nisha had rolled her eyes. “You’re so quick these days to throw everything under the bus, C. Do you know what it entails, turning your parent over to the po-po, going to court, talking to child welfare social workers, the mandatory counselling sessions? Em and her mom’s whole life turned upside down just because some underage skank bitch decides she wants to bone an old dude for a little spending money.”

  “I thought you were a feminist,” Cat had said, eyeing Nisha with suspicious disdain.

  “Girl, I am,” Nisha had replied with a flick of her wrist. “I’m pragmatic, diplomatic, realistic, and naturalistic. And I say, let pops do pops and we go to the party. Come on, y’all, it’s gonna be slammin’ and you know it. I’d like to go to a party that doesn’t involve some nonsense, like some fool shooting up the crowd just because.”

  The plan was to make the dishes today and have it transported to Malibu tomorrow in Ezra’s van. Gumption was paying for everything, a graduation gift to the group of them.

  Emma grabbed another head of broccoli, chopping off the little green heads from the stalk. The last few weeks, she had felt like she was in a kind of hibernation. Wren’s and Poppy’s deaths had subdued all of them, and on the heels of the suicides were finals. Her brain actually ached. There had been too much to process, academically and emotionally. She’d spent most of her free hours sleeping away the stress and hunger from her calorie-restricted diet. A week ago, Jill had eliminated another five hundred calories from her meals, dropping her daily count to the final twenty-five hundred. And lately, several nights a week, she’d awoken to cramping in her legs, a squeezing sensation like a clamp tightening off circulation to her calves, the muscles visibly popping. Jill had come to her aid, massaging away the cramps.

  “They’re growing pains,” she’d explained, flexing Emma’s foot up to ease the spasms in her lower leg. “Idiopathic nocturnal pain is common in childhood. I recall having similar episodes.”

  When Emma wasn’t studying or sleeping, she masturbated incessantly to porn, specifically the Candy Porn site. It helped her to stop brooding over the dead girls. But then, guilt and self-disgust would take over her mental landscape. It went on in a continuous cycle of pleasure and emotional flagellation until she’d fall into an exhausted sleep. The other night, she cried into her pillow, knowing for sure that there was something deeply wrong in herself. How could she be whacking off to porn with everything else going on? Was she turning into her dad?

  “Everything okay?” Hunter asked.

  Emma nodded, blushing, as if they could read her distressed thoughts.

  “Just thinking about Wren and Poppy,” she lied. “Do you think about them a lot?”

  “Every single day,” Hunter said, the smile evaporating off their lips.

  The investigation into their deaths had dyed down, and it was looking more and more like suicide, Poppy copying Wren.

  “Okay, let’s switch up the music,” Ezra called out, rotating his hips while he brought a bowl of steaming pork and veggies to the table to place in the egg roll wraps set out on a plate.

  “What do you like to listen to?” Gumption asked.

  “I’ve got some tunes I’m itching to hear on my phone, if you don’t mind,” Ezra said.

  “Not at all,” Gumption replied. “I want you young people to enjoy yourselves.” She got up to take the record off, and when she returned, she had her long cigarette holder between her fingers and was puffing on the lit cigarette placed in it.

  “You’ve got that whole Auntie Mame thing going on,” Ezra observed.

  Gumption gave him a razor thin smile. “I’m going to sit at the window seat so the smoke won’t bother you,” she said in reply, gliding to the far end of the kitchen and opening a window over a wide cushioned seat where she made herself comfortable. The haze from her cigarette lingered in the air, its strong tobacco smell competing with the cooking aromas. Ezra pulled out his phone and, seconds later, “Waterfalls” by TLC was playing loud and tinny from his speaker.

  Ezra set the phone on the table. “Who wants to be on egg roll duty?”

  “I do,” Hunter volunteered.

  “Me, too,” Cassandra said.

  Ezra snapped his fingers to the music, moving his head up and down. “Okay, so here I’ve got the wrap ready to go.” He dipped his fingers in a bowl of water nearby. “Wet the edges first, and then we’re just going to take a modest spoonful of this glorious mixture and place it in the middle.” He looked up, his golden-hazel eyes resting on Cassandra and then Hunter. “You don’t want to overstuff it because then that’s a whole other mess later, dig?”

  The two nodded.

  “So I fold over the sides, then start at one end and roll.” The tip of his tongue poked out between his front teeth and Hunter’s eyes rested on Ezra’s mouth rather than his hands. Once Ezra finished the roll, he held it up with a beaming smile. “Perrrfection,” he sang out and set it on a plate, dancing some more to the music, then singing along to the lyrics.

  Hunter started in with their body rolls again, coming in close to Ezra, who grinned and matched their moves. Emma was surprised that Ezra actually could dance.

  “Oooh, HH,” Nisha hooted. “Get down, Little They.” She joined them, and when the rap part of the song came on, the three rapped in time to the lyrics, Hunter’s eyes roaming Ezra’s body, their moves growing sensuous. Nisha had a wicked smile on her face as she watched Hunter. Emma shot a look at Cat, who was holding the bowl of marinating beef, barely stirring it around as she watched the increasingly sexualized dance scene unfolding in front of them. Cassandra had an egg roll wrapper in front of her, cheeks flaming red, and Gumption drew puffs from her cigarette in its elegant holder, letting the smoke drift out the side of her mouth in a thin stream toward the open window, her hawk-eyed gaze unreadable.

  The song ended and Ezra pretend-fanned himself, rapidly blinking his eyes at Hunter.

  “Hot,” he said and winked, then sat at the table to show them how to do one more egg roll. Hunter looked over the moon.

  Having filled up on pork and veggie egg rolls, they made enormous quantities of chow mein with chicken, shrimp fried rice, beef and broccoli, pork dumplings, and sweet and sour pork. Candace returned with Cassandra’s cake and a box of Veuve Clicquot. By the end of the day, they were sticky, sweaty, and tipsy from the champagne, bellies full from sampling the dishes as they prepared them.

  At some point, they migrated outside onto Gumption’s front porch. The evening was balmy, and the fresh air felt good on Emma’s skin.

  It had been a long day. In the morning, they’d gone to school for graduation rehearsal, the third and final practice of the procession walk and ceremony. By noon, the school day was over and they’d convened at Cassandra’s, getting ready for their big day of Chinese cooking lessons at Gumption’s.

  Cassandra hadn’t told her mom or stepdad that they were going to Gumption’s because Louise had forbidden Cassandra from visiting the elderly neighbor. And even though no one was home when the five of them traipsed through Cassandra’s after school, she’d still been fidgety and nervous that Louise would find out. But now, with three glasses of champagne in her, Cassandra stood boldly on Gumption’s porch, not caring if anyone in her family saw, and plucked at her guitar strings, humming quietly to herself until she found the tune she was looking for and began to sing. Her rich, silky voice lifted the skin on Emma’s arms into raised bumps. Hunter pulled out their phone and filmed her.

  The song that poured from Cassandra’s lips told a s
tory of sadness and searching, lost childhood and angsty youth. It spoke of love and death for the sake of beauty and Emma knew that the song was about Wren and Poppy. Emma felt her eyes warm and when she looked at Hunter, she saw tears running down their cheeks. In fact, Cassandra mesmerized everyone.

  It was seven, and the heat of the day had dialed back to eighty degrees. A soft golden light splashed over the street and set a fiery glow to Cassandra’s hair, softening her features, the porch just beginning to shadow. At that moment, Emma saw Cassandra’s beauty. It radiated through her voice, and she seemed to shimmer. Emma swallowed over the lump that had formed in her throat, enchanted and amazed at who Cassandra became with the guitar in her hands, the feelings she was able to convey—feelings that Emma could not adequately put to words. Cassandra had written a dark love song of the joys and perils of being thirteen.

  Across the way at the Baker’s, the parking space sat empty. Cassandra’s parents weren’t home yet, but there was movement through the window and Emma knew it must be Sam. When Cassandra finished singing, Gumption put a palm to her chest, and an awed silence followed, broken by a thin, out-of-tune voice singing happy birthday. It was Candace. She held a white cake with whipped cream frosting adorned with strawberries and blueberries, the top ablaze with what looked like three boxes of candles. The rest of them joined Candace in the birthday song as she walked toward Cassandra, the flames of the candles reflected in her dark eyes, her stare focused and penetrating. Cassandra laughed. The natural lighting had shifted, and her hair was plain brown again, face flushed from alcohol. Her eyes mirrored Candace’s as she held the woman’s gaze. Cassandra was drunk, Emma realized, and Candace, high.

  “You are so happy, darling,” Gumption said when the birthday song ended. Emma didn’t know if Gumption was speaking to Candace or Cassandra.

  Cassandra blew out half the candles and with a second breath blew out the rest. Candace took the cake back in the house to cut it, and Ezra followed her to help.

  Guitar still in her hands, Cassandra struck the beginning chords for “Birthday” and belted out a throaty version of the Beatles’ song amidst laughter, the rest of them joining in. Pretty soon, they were dancing while Cassandra continued to supply the music. Candace reappeared with slices of cake, Ezra behind her with more glasses of champagne.

  The front door to the Bakers’ opened and Sam came out, followed by two trans women. The three looked like they belonged on the set of Sex and the City, dressed to the nines with ankle breaking stilettos. They stood for a moment, watching the impromptu dance party happening on Gumption’s porch before Sam crossed the street, followed by her friends. They paused at the front lawn, the women swaying to the music.

  “Come on up,” Gumption said to them.

  “Oooh, love to,” the woman with dark hair piled high on her head said. She wore large silver earrings in the shapes of leaves.

  Sam, her eyes on Cassandra, and with an odd look on her face, climbed the porch steps with her friends. “You’re Gumption Road,” said the woman with glossy blond-hair who reminded Emma of Kim Cattrall. She placed a hand to her chest, eyes rolling back into her head until all you saw were whites. “I am such a fan. I love, love, love your work.”

  “Thank you,” Gumption said graciously.

  The Kim Cattrall look-alike beamed and turned to Cassandra. “And you, oh my god, what a voice.”

  “She’s Samantha’s sister,” the woman with the leaf earrings said.

  “What!” Kim Cattrall put the back of her hand to her forehead and leaned back as if she might faint. “You are so talented. And you,” she turned on Sam. “Why have I never met this sister of yours?”

  Sam said nothing, eyes flat as she looked around at the rest of them.

  “I mean, the way you sang ‘Birthday,’” Kim went on to Cassandra. “So gutsy and throaty, so umph.” The left side of Kim’s lip curled up, and she winked. “Love it!”

  “It’s her birthday,” Sam said, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

  “Happy birthday,” Sam’s friends sang out.

  “Cake?” Candace offered them.

  “Mmm, cake. What kind?” Leaf earrings asked.

  “Triple berry,” Gumption said, her stare levelled on the women.

  “We don’t have time,” Sam said, her tone surly. “We have to get to that photo shoot.

  “Well, maybe a slice for the road,” Leaf Earrings said.

  Sam pulled out her phone. “The Lyft will be here in, like, thirty seconds.”

  A car slowly approached from down the road. A white Mercedes. It was Richard and Louise Baker. Louise craned her neck to look at them from the passenger side of the car. Pulling into the driveway, Richard had not yet cut the engine before Louise stepped out, a pink cake box in her hand. A strain of tension held her facial muscles rigid in quiet fury.

  “Samantha,” she called out. “What’s going on?”

  Sam shrugged just as the Lyft pulled up. “I’m on my way to a photo shoot.”

  “We better skedaddle,” Kim said in a low voice from behind her hand. The three of them made their way down the steps. Louise crossed over to Gumption’s side of the street, taking in Cassandra with her guitar, Nisha and Cat holding plates of cake, Emma and Hunter with their champagne, Ezra and Candace holding trays with more slices of cake and flutes of chilled champagne. Lastly, her eyes came to rest on Gumption sitting in a deep wicker sofa seat.

  “What’s going on?” She asked again.

  “Ask Cassandra,” Sam said, and brushed past her mother to wave at the Lyft driver. Seconds later, Sam and her friends were in the car, riding away into the night.

  “Cassandra?” Louise said.

  Cassandra looked frozen with fear.

  Louise’s eyes moved to Emma.

  “Are you drinking alcohol?” She asked.

  Emma grimaced.

  “Just a bit of a celebratory drink,” Gumption said calmly.

  “How dare you give alcohol to my daughter and her friends? They’re children,” Louise exploded.

  “Mom,” Cassandra whispered. “Stop it. We’re not doing anything.”

  Richard had crossed over now, hands in his pockets as he came to stand by his wife. Louise rounded on him.

  “She and that drug addict,” Louise pointed at Candace, “are giving these kids alcohol.”

  Ezra took the champagne out of Emma’s and Hunter’s hands, placed the flutes back on the tray, and hurried into the house.

  “Party’s over,” Richard said. “Cassandra and the rest of you kids, come on back to the house.”

  “Nothing happened,” Cassandra shot back. “We were just taking cooking lessons and celebrating my birthday.”

  Richard nodded. “We’ll talk about it at home, Cassandra.”

  Nisha and Cat suddenly came alive, setting down their plates of cake.

  “Thanks, Ms. G.,” Nisha said.

  “It was lovely to have all of you.” Gumption’s expression had turned cool. “Happy birthday, dear,” she added to Cassandra with a polite, thin smile.

  “Th-thanks,” Cassandra stuttered. Emma, Cat, and Hunter muttered thank yous before following Cassandra’s parents back to her house. Louise’s back was stiff with indignation and anger, while Richard still carried a casual posture with his hands in his pockets.

  Once inside the Bakers’, Louise went to set the cake on the kitchen counter and came storming back to confront them.

  “I want all of you to go home,” she hissed.

  “Mom,” Cassandra looked pained. “You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

  “Nothing? Nothing! I come home to celebrate your fourteenth birthday and find you across the street with that woman who has no morals and her junky live-in, handing out glasses of champagne like it’s candy to thirteen and fourteen-year-olds.”

  Richard placed a hand on Louise’s arm to calm her, but she shrugged him away.

  “No. I’m going to say what I need to say.” She pointed at Cassandra. “I s
trictly forbade you from going over there, and that’s why. Because of things like this. I suppose next time she’ll think it’s okay to hand out marijuana or… or cocaine,” Louise sputtered.

  Cassandra’s face flushed a deep red, the blush having traveled to her chest, where the skin was mottled. Emma realized she was mortified.

  “I don’t like that woman,” Louise continued. “I don’t like what she stands for—”

  “Stop it!” Cassandra yelled, eyes glossy.

  Louise sucked in her breath. “Are you drunk?”

  “No!” Cassandra screamed. “You’re taking this way over the top. Sometimes I can’t stand you! Everything always must be so perfect in your perfect fucking world! We had a few glasses of champagne at an old woman’s house. BIG FUCKING DEAL!”

  Louise looked stricken. “How dare you talk to me like that?”

  “Let me handle this,” Richard said, but Hunter cut in, putting an arm around Cassandra.

  “Okay,” they said. “There’s a lot of high emotion taking place right now. I think maybe everyone needs to take space.” Hunter sounded like a third parent, a voice of reason.

  Louise opened her mouth, but whatever it was she wanted to say died before it made it to her lips because Hunter was already shuttling Cassandra toward her bedroom, their arm protectively around her shoulder. And just like that, they’d escaped Louise and Richard Baker.

  “Girl,” Nisha said when they were in Cassandra’s bedroom, the door closed. “My mom would have knocked me into the next decade if I ever talked to her like that.”