“She’s not missing out because of my brother,” Paris said. “And he’s not making an example of anyone. Especially if you’re not walking around tonight alone. Come with us.” She kissed my cheek. “We’ve got your back.”
Like you did last time, I thought, even on the heels of another. When your brother trussed me up and brought me so close to orgasm, a gust of wind up my skirt would’ve finished me off.
“I’m not sure I’m going,” I said. “There’s something I have to take care of. Might run late.”
“What?”
“It’s personal. Can’t get into it right now.”
“You’re so mysterious,” she teased. “Text me after you wrap up your supersecret thing. I’m DD, so I’ll pick you up if we haven’t left yet.”
“Did you figure out the clue?”
“It was pretty easy,” Amy said. “Nigri colles viduae means Black Widow Hill. Party by the canyon. My kind of venue.”
Black Widow Hill was not known for the spider it was named after, nor was it a hill. It was an easy, sloping incline that lifted you up, then pitched you into the canyon floor below—down a fatal drop to the crystal clear river bottom. Crystal Canyon, the namesake of the town we once were. The hill used to have another name too.
“It’s not Black Widow Hill.”
“Yes, it is. That’s what it means.”
“It’s not,” I repeated. “I figured it out the night of the party. Popped it into Google Translate and got Black Widow Hill in less than a millisecond. I knew right off that it had to be anywhere but there.”
“You lost me,” Paris said.
“They said we were all invited if we could find it. A hint it wasn’t going to be as easy as a simple translation. I looked up all the possible meanings of the Latin, then I looked up all the possible meanings of the English. Another word for hill is drumlin, and a famous Black widow in our history is—”
Amy clapped, bouncing up and down in her seat. “Mayam Westchester! It’s Westchester Drumlins. Fucking hell, Rainey, you’re a genius.”
“Nah, it’s a lucky guess.” Brought on by the hours and weeks I’ve devoted to learning how to crack codes and clues. “With my luck, it’s another clue wrapped in a clue.”
“No, this has got to be it,” Paris said. “Westchester Drumlins is perfect. I can’t believe I didn’t see that. An old abandoned home on the edge of town. Spooky enough to give the wannabes a thrill. Secluded enough for the hardcores to fuck, drink, dance, and snort without the cops busting in.”
“Would they?” I asked.
Paris fished a bowl of strawberries from her bag and offered us some. I helped myself, settling in with the sweet treat. It wasn’t the solitude I was looking for, but most often, distraction was ten times better.
“One of the reasons Gran would bolt us inside is because the sheriff locks the station door and pretends no one’s home on Ruckus night.”
She laughed. “Yeah, just like Gran said you’d get pregnant from kissing. It’s not the Wild West, Rainey. The people in charge accepted a long time ago that Ruckus Royale was going to happen. Some of them even made sure it was held year after year. But, someone is always going to complain.
“Noise complaints and most calls for vandalism are ignored,” Paris explained. “Obviously, if someone is getting murdered, or a fight breaks out, the police will come. If it does get that bad, the cops shut the whole thing down. We’re expected to keep ourselves in check. For the most part, we do. What happens during Ruckus, never leaves the party.”
“We?” I raised a brow at her. “I didn’t peg you as interested in all this stuff. Sex, booze, and drugs.”
“No booze and drugs for me, I’m driving.” She flashed me a lopsided smile. “But you can definitely peg me as interested in sex.”
Paris patted my knee getting up. “Text me once you’ve dumped that supersecret thing. I cannot let you go another year missing out on Ruckus Royale.” She was up, so Amy and Zara were up too. Made sense. They were still more her friends than mine.
“If I can, I’ll hit you up,” I said, waving them off.
My phone buzzed. I checked it and promptly forgot about them.
Dickmaster General flashed on the screen. Hard for even me to tell if I was complimenting or insulting him.
I hit accept.
“Morning, Cairo.”
“Why did you answer?”
“Why did you call?”
“To remind you of what’ll happen the longer you keep me waiting,” he replied. “But you know that, and you answered anyway. Why? Did you want to hear my voice?” No small amount of satisfaction laced said voice.
“Maybe I have some questions for you.” I leaned back on my bench, shutting my eyes to the sunlight. “I won’t get them answered by listening to your psychotic voice mails. You should stop leaving those, by the way. They’re all damning evidence for the restraining order.”