The Mary Shelley Club by Goldy Moldavsky (ebook reader for manga TXT) 📕

get it. It wasn’t like they were best friends. In fact, Bram never had anything good to say about Freddie. He’d pretty much told me to stay away from him.

“Why are you defending him?”

“I’m not defending him,” Freddie said. “Actually, I’m relieved you no longer think I was the one messing with Lux. But we can’t just go accusing Bram of murder.”

I leaned on the shelves and this time a roll of toilet paper did tumble down. I kicked it across the tiny room.

“Bram has blood on his hands.” I meant it figuratively, but then I remembered that it worked literally, too. “When we all met up behind the general store, after the cabin—Bram had blood on him.”

Freddie straightened, pushing himself off the shelves slowly. “I didn’t see any blood.”

“It was on his fingers and mask.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I don’t know, there was a lot going on—I wasn’t thinking straight.” My urgency made me push off the shelves too, cutting the space between Freddie and me in half. “But there—that’s evidence. That’s forensic evidence.”

“It might not have been Saundra’s blood,” Freddie said. “And he would’ve had his maid wash all his clothes by now.”

“But not the mask,” I said quickly. “He didn’t throw it away in the woods. I think he kept it.”

“Yeah, but he would’ve cleaned it himself.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But there could be traces of something.”

Freddie had an answer for everything I was throwing at him, but not for this. My words filled the small closet, charging the air around us with an electric energy.

“We’ll have to find it,” Freddie said.

My heartbeat quickened at the sound of “we.” It reminded me of that night in his room when we talked about how different we were from the rest of the club. I felt like we were a team back then. I felt that way again now.

“How?” I asked.

“It’ll be hard. But I think I know where to start.”

 43

WE HAD TO wait a week, but the perfect opportunity finally arose.

Tonight, our uniform was a white shirt and black slacks. Freddie squirmed in his, hooking his finger into the collar as if he could stretch it wider by sheer force of will. It didn’t take a genius to understand why he was uncomfortable. Freddie had started going to Bram’s house as the housekeeper’s son, eventually graduated to being a guest, and then, ultimately, to being Bram’s friend. Tonight, things had come full circle and he was relegated to being the help once again.

It was Bram’s birthday, and even though he was turning seventeen and getting too old for this, his parents still threw him a party every year. Freddie’s mom always catered it, and when Freddie and I offered up our free services as cater waiters, she was all too happy to accept.

Hence the two of us standing in Bram’s kitchen.

Since the Mary Shelley Club wasn’t exactly having any more meetings, Freddie thought the best way for us to get back into the Wilding house to hunt for evidence was to do it during Bram’s birthday party, where there would be enough people present that nobody would notice if we slipped away.

Which was as far as our plan went. It wasn’t the most thought out, but it was the best we could do on short notice. I had to find dirt on Bram, and being in his house was my best shot. I was grateful that Freddie was there. I could tell he hated the idea of serving Bram’s friends—our classmates—but he didn’t bail.

“Hey.” I faced him and pinched the tips of his collar. Even after everything that had happened, I still gravitated toward him. My fingers found excuses to touch him, as they did now, smoothing down the fabric on his shoulders. “Thanks for doing this with me.”

The squirming stopped beneath my touch and I could feel Freddie’s chest rise and fall with a deep breath. The intensity that had nipped his features slackened enough for him to smile. “This? This is nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. It means a lot to me,” I said, giving his shoulders one more squeeze. Bram’s kitchen was all white, gleaming marble, and at the moment it was overflowing with food and activity as we rushed to prepare the hors d’oeuvres for the guests. Every inch of the sparkling surface was covered with trays, themselves covered with a variety of tasteful finger foods. Bram’s mother stepped into the kitchen for a final look, and Mrs. Martinez rushed over.

I’d never seen Bram’s mother before tonight. I’d known she was a model when she was younger, but she could’ve still been one if she wanted to. Her skin was flawless, her hair shinier than most people’s half her age. Her clothing reflected the décor of the house in that it was elegant and chic, but even without all of that, I would’ve been able to tell that she was rich. There was something about her posture, the way she tilted her head and bent her wrist. She carried herself like a person who moved freely in a world that was wide open to her. A customer of life. Bram carried himself the same way.

“Do either of you know how to pour?” Freddie’s brother, Dan, appeared before us. Freddie and I were just moonlighting as cater waiters, but this was Dan’s regular job on the weekends. Tonight he was in charge of showing us the ropes, which, judging by his scowl, really seemed to piss him off.

He had the same light brown coloring as Freddie, and his features were similar too, but it was like someone had assembled him all wrong. The eyes that were soft behind Freddie’s glasses and framed with long lashes were too close together on Dan’s long face. The bottom lip—pillowy on Freddie—was set in a constant frown. But the biggest difference between the brothers was their hair. Freddie had fantastic hair, thick for the grabbing. Dan’s hair was black and slicked back, like he’d gotten his fashion