Who Knew the Ridpath Girl: A Mystery

"You don't sound like you like him much."

"Are you kidding? Have you been following him online? His food channel was hilarious, and I even think his new podcast is cute, the stay-at home dad thing. But this limited series where he's trash- talking Meander— " She frowns at Quinn. "You've heard it, right? About Douggy?"

Quinn nods. Episode two is harsh. Gracen ruthlessly describes the treatment his sister suffered at the hands of townspeople who responded to a little girl's scars with cruel words and stares. He doesn't name Meander, calling it "a small town in Oregon," and he hasn't named anyone but himself and Douggy. All the same, a quick look at Wikipedia identifies Meander as Gracen's birthplace, and some of the citizens in Gracen's episodes would be easy to identify with a little detective work. Quinn isn't surprised some Meanderites feel defensive.

Quinn remembers everything differently. The town hadn't seemed so bad, and Douggy wasn't scarred on the inside, where it counted. But it's not just the podcast that concerns them. The last time Quinn spoke with Douggy, days before she died, was a late-night phone call. Douggy begged Quinn to sneak over so she could tell them something important, but Quinn wimped out. If Douggy died by accident, like everyone always said, that's bad enough. But if Douggy killed herself, it's Quinn's fault, for failing to come when they were needed.

Vee presses her lips together, then shrugs. "It probably wouldn't bother me so much, except the Parents and Teachers Association invited him to speak to the middle schoolers this year. A friend at work is one of the moms. They're celebrating his success to inspire the kids because he grew up here, and meanwhile he's claiming we bullied Douggy into killing herself. It's ridiculous. This town was good to her, no matter what Gracen seems to think."

"You really think so?"

"Yes!" Viveca smacks the counter. "Because guess what. I'm the evil babysitter Gracen talks about. Only I wasn't." Her dark skin turns rosy. "Yes, maybe I said something thoughtless, trying to impress some stupid boy. But Douggy knew I loved her. And she was self-conscious about her scars, but once she relaxed, she was a ray of sunshine! Maybe some people stared, but, hey, I got looks too, as one of the only Black kids in town. There was no bullying, no pattern of abuse."

Douggy was eight when Quinn met her, and ten year-old Gracen was in charge when their parents were out. Gracen and Douggy's dad was usually home anyway, unemployed or working short hours at one garage or another. Viveca must have babysat for them before the Fontaines moved to the neighborhood.

Quinn says, "I agree. I didn't think she was— "

"You know what I think? Gracen's trying to wring a few extra dollars out of the tragedy now that their parents are both gone. Such a pathetic thing to do! He'd sell his soul for another hundred K, let alone the memory of his sister."

She pulls her quilted jacket off the back of the chair and heaves her stuffed bag to her shoulder. "Anyway. If I can't get the school to cancel his visit, I'll tell him to his face when he comes to town." She turns to go.

"Wait!"

Viveca turns, jingling her keys impatiently. "What?"

"Your friend in the PTA. Do you think they'd have his contact info?"

"I'll ask." She throws Quinn a quick smile. "He'd probably be happy to hear from you, since you were Douggy's friend. Maybe you can get him to stop bad-mouthing us." She twinkles her fingers in Quinn's general direction. "See you later! Lock up if I'm not home. I've got plans tonight." She winks.

When the door closes, Quinn stares at the crumbs on their plate, heart pounding. Gracen had been ignoring Quinn's emails for months now— or maybe it was his assistant, or his agent, whoever acts as a filter— and Quinn had almost given up. Suddenly, the possibility of talking to him seems very real. But today is Sheila day, for Kade's sake. They need to stay focused.

Rising, they clear Vee's mess, then duck into the bathroom to check their look in the mirror, trying to see through Sheila's eyes. The difference between the woman their mother thought their child would grow into and the Quinn who actually exists might startle her— Gran had certainly had a problem— and for a split second, they fantasize about jumping in the shower, then borrowing clothes and makeup from Viveca. A disguise. Quinn shakes it off. They're not looking for acceptance. Today, the focus is on Kade and what Kade needs.

Mom's going to step up, for once in her life.

They zip their worn black hoodie over their sweater, add the bulky black jacket, then step outside. The sky is low over the thick trees that surround the town, but the rain, which has been nearly constant for weeks, is holding off. Meander feels like it used to, a two-stoplight town nestled in the folds of a deep, dark forest. Downtown is only two blocks long, and, across the street from a single -truck fire station, the library and town hall share space in an old Victorian. Quinn had researched their mother's current address there, under her husband's name, in the county clerk's office.

Quinn walks briskly. Where Main Street crosses the swollen river, they lean against the balustrade and look into the rushing waters, icy fingers curled into their cuffs. They have a right to ask for Sheila's help. Quinn is a confident adult, an artist- they rub the tattoo on their left hand— not a kid begging for crumbs of attention. They're demanding a pittance of what is owed to Kade— some small token of care.