Get Dirty (Don’t Get Mad Book 2)

KITTY PAUSED JUST OUTSIDE MARGOT’S ROOM, OVERCOME with emotion. Margot was sitting upright in her hospital bed. Her skin was ashen, her features frail and doll-like. Her father stood on one side of her bed, his hand gripping Margot’s shoulder so fiercely Kitty could see his knuckles whitening, and her mother’s face was buried in Margot’s lap, weeping.

Logan edged his way past Kitty into the doorway and Margot’s face lit up. “Logan!”

Mrs. Mejia’s eyes flashed. “This area is for family only. How did you get in here?”

Logan swallowed. “The nurses let us in.”

More like couldn’t stop the tidal wave of her friends as they barreled into Margot’s hospital room, but Kitty didn’t correct him.

“Who are you?” Mrs. Mejia asked, her voice steely.

“I’m Logan, Margot’s boyfriend.” It was a simple statement, utterly lacking in sarcasm, but it seemed to ignite Mrs. Mejia’s rage.

“What!” she cried, jumping to her feet.

“Mom,” Margot said, reaching out. “It’s okay.”

Her mom didn’t even look at her. “Get out of here, all of you. And forget you ever met my daughter.”

“Margot wants us here,” Logan said with utmost confidence.

“Margot is a minor,” Mr. Mejia said, more calmly than his wife. “And as her legal guardians, the decision as to whom our daughter can and cannot see is ours to make.”

“And we don’t want you here,” Mrs. Mejia added. “I’m calling security.”

“Stop!” Margot roared. Her body lurched with the force of her voice, as if she wasn’t used to the physical exertion of shouting.

“Mija,” her mom said, her tone softer. “You’re not well enough to see all these people.”

Margot closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and stared at her mom with hard, stern eyes. “Mom, I’m fine. More than fine. And besides, I want to see them. These are my friends.” She glanced nervously at the door where Ed, John, and Kitty crammed into the opening behind Logan. “I need them here.”

“I forbid it!” Mrs. Mejia was either so used to her rules going uncontested, or so paranoid about her daughter’s safety, that she was willing to alienate her affection completely.

“I’m not a child anymore, okay?” Margot thrust her arms forward, exposing several long, dark lines from wrist to elbow. “Do you know why I did this? Have you ever bothered to ask me why?”

Kitty flinched at the sight of Margot’s scars and the memory of what had driven her to it.

“Do you?” Margot prompted. “Do you think it’s because you were too lenient? Because I had too much freedom? Too many friends?”

“These friends of yours,” her mom said, reaching out for her daughter’s hand. “They’ll take advantage of you. They’ll hurt you.”

Margot’s gaze shifted to Kitty’s face. “No,” she said quietly. “No, they won’t.”

“But—”

“I want to talk to my friends,” Margot said firmly. “Alone.”

Mrs. Mejia opened her mouth to protest, but her husband draped an arm around her shoulders. “I think we could use some coffee.” He guided his wife toward the door. “Let’s see if the cafeteria is still open.”

As soon as Margot’s parents had disappeared down the hall, Kitty rushed to her bedside, threw her arms around Margot’s neck, and squeezed her. “I’m so glad . . .” she started, her voice catching in her throat.

“I’m okay,” Margot whispered in her ear.

Kitty released Margot’s neck, taking a moment to wipe a stray tear from her cheek as her hair fell before her face. “Good.”

“But how . . .” Margot started. “I mean, why are you all here?”

“We just happened to be on a little field trip to the ER,” Ed said. “You know, typical Friday-night fun.”

Margot stiffened. “Is everything okay? Where’s Olivia? And Bree?”

“Slowly,” Logan said, stroking her hair. “We’ll explain.” Margot smiled at him gratefully, then he leaned down and kissed her on the lips, gentle and slow, as if he was afraid she might break.

Kitty’s body tensed as if she was in pain: it reminded her of the way Donté used to kiss her.

“I’ve been so worried about you,” Logan said as he pulled away.

Their reunion was sweet, but Kitty couldn’t wait any longer to ask the burning question. “Did you see anything?” she blurted out. “Before you were attacked? Do you know who did this?” Finally, there was a chance for a clue, something to put a face on the killer.

“I . . .” Margot’s brow clouded. She stared at the foot of her bed, eyes searching, as if the answer to Kitty’s question was somehow lurking in the bedsheets. This could be it, the moment they discovered who was behind all the murders at Bishop DuMaine. If Margot had seen anything before she was attacked, anything at all, it could be the break they’d been waiting for.

Logan seemed to sense the import of the moment as well. He leaned forward, one hand clasped in Margot’s, the other on her shoulder. Even John and Ed the Head had moved farther into the room, ringing Margot’s hospital bed in silent anticipation.

“I don’t remember,” she said at last.

“Nothing?” Logan asked.

Her eyes sought him out. “I remember the finale. You were dancing. You smiled at me.”

“Anything else?” he prompted. “Anything after that?”

She shook her head. “I can’t.” Her eyes shifted to Kitty, then Ed, and landed on John. Kitty could see the question passing over her face. What is he doing here? “You’re John Baggott,” she said. “Right?”

Kitty laughed. Despite a week in a coma, Margot’s security instincts were just as strong as ever. “It’s okay,” she said. “He knows.”

Margot’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“They all do,” Kitty added.

“A lot has happened since you took your little nap,” Ed said. His words were flippant, but his voice was deadly serious. “We’ve all been sworn in.”

“All of you?” Her eyes lingered on John, and Kitty remembered with a pang of guilt that at one point, John had been a suspect.

John, bless him, sensed Margot’s uneasiness and backed toward the door. “You guys have a lot to discuss.”

“You don’t have to leave,” Kitty said. She felt bad, after all John had done to help them, that he was being banished from the inner circle.

He held up his hand. “It’s okay. I’ll go check on Olivia.” Then he slipped into the hallway, closing Margot’s hospital-room door behind him.

Margot’s eyes grew wide. “Olivia?”

“She’s fine.” Kitty drew a chair close to Margot’s bed. “But John’s right. We have a lot to talk about.”

Olivia sat at the edge of her chair, one arm draped around the unconscious body of her mom while she rested her head on June’s shoulder. She could almost imagine she was a child again, curled up in her mother’s lap for comfort after a bad dream or a rough day at school. It had always been just the two of them, ever since Olivia could remember. They never talked about her dad, only enough for Olivia to understand that he was not and never would be a part of her life, and that she was probably better off because of it.

As difficult as her mom could be at times, she’d always been there for Olivia. She’d sacrificed her own career so that her daughter could have every opportunity in life. And though keeping her mom on her antidepressants had always been a struggle, Olivia knew her mom loved her very much. And the feeling was mutual.

Besides, they really didn’t have anyone else. Just each other. So the depth of pain her mom must have been feeling earlier that evening . . . Olivia could only speculate. She’d seen her mom in some dark places, going days without showering, twenty-hour sleep marathons, and then the drinking. But they had always passed, always gone away and been replaced by happier, more hopeful periods. Why had this time been different?

“How’s she doing?” John smiled at her from the doorway.

“She hasn’t woken up yet,” Olivia said, surprised by the cragginess of her voice, “but they told me she should be okay.”

“Awesome,” John said. “That’s the second piece of good news we’ve gotten tonight.”

“Second?”

John smiled. “Margot’s awake.”

Olivia shot to her feet. “How is she? Is she okay? Oh my God, does she know who—”

“She doesn’t remember anything,” John said, shaking his head.

“Shit.”

“Sorry.”

Olivia looked down at her mom, tubes sticking out of her arm and her nose, her chest rising and falling at an unnatural pace. Her hands balled up into fists and she fought the urge to punch something.

“He did this to her,” Olivia said.

“Olivia,” John said softly. “Isn’t your mom . . .”

“Crazy?” Olivia said, raising her eyebrows. “Is that what you meant?”

“No.”

“The word is ‘bipolar.’ And yes, she is. But I meant he drove her to this. The pill bottles—those weren’t her usual prescriptions. She said the pharmacy called her to say she had a pickup. It had to be the killer.”

“Damn.”

“She’d put everything on the line for that play and that email would have been enough to send her over the edge. Charles Beard,” Olivia said, remembering the name on the email. “Christopher Beeman. Not a coincidence.”

A doctor breezed into the room, his white coat fluttering behind him like a cape. “Miss Hayes?”

“Yes,” Olivia answered. Oh no, what now?

He held something in his hand that he began to pass to her, then paused, eyeing John. “I’m sorry, but visitors aren’t allowed.”

“This is my brother,” Olivia lied, without missing a beat. “John.”

“Oh.” The doctor looked back and forth between Olivia and John, trying to find some resemblance between the strawberry blond, blue-eyed girl and John’s dark hair and hazel eyes. Eventually, he gave up. “We found this in your mother’s pocket,” he said, handing the piece of paper to Olivia. “It’s addressed to you.”

Olivia took the note with a trembling hand. “Thank you.”

The doctor gave a nod and withdrew from the room.

The note was written on a plain piece of computer paper, folded in quarters with the words “For Olivia Hayes Only” written on the front in her mom’s messy, frantic scrawl.

“Do you want me to go?” John asked.

“No.” Olivia turned the note over in her hands without opening it. She didn’t want to be alone when she read it. What was she going to find inside? A suicide note? An explanation as to why her mom felt her life was so not worth living that she’d abandon her daughter to the foster care system? Because that’s what it meant. Olivia had no one—no siblings, no grandparents, and no idea who her father even was, let alone where. Did she want to know her mom’s last thoughts?

Not really. But she needed to read it anyway.

Livvie,

You were right. I’m a fool. An old, washed-up fool who believed somehow this time would be different. But it’s not. I’m a fuck-up. A loser and a bad mother. And you’ll be better off without me.

But I’m not leaving you alone. You’ve got your father now and he’ll take care of you. He might not believe you, but I had a DNA test done to prove it. It’s in my dresser drawer.

He’ll take care of you, Livvie. I know he will. You have his eyes. I thought of him every time I looked at you.

I love you so much. You know that, right? But I’m so bad for you, Livvie. You’ll be happier when I’m gone.

If they try to take you away, show them this. I, June Hayes, relinquish custody of my daughter Olivia Hayes to her biological father, Fitzgerald O’Henry Conroy.