“Not even Stan?”
Stan skips ahead of them.
“Stop, I’m not joking.”
“Okay, okay.…”
“You can’t judge me, I mean it.”
“Okay!” Billy says defensively.
Bunny gives him a mistrustful look; her eyes dart left, then right before she steps close to his face. “I met the man who’s been accused of killing Audrey and her family.”
Billy furrows his brow; a long pause. “What?”
“I went to the DC Jail. I met him. Well, it was more like FaceTi—”
“Wait, what?”
“Shhh! I told you not to judge me.”
Billy looks around the exhibit to ensure no one is listening, Stan has gone up to the Point of Pines cabin. Billy pulls Bunny’s arm, corners her. “What are you talking about?”
Bunny jerks her arm away. “I—went—to—meet—the—man—accused—”
“I fucking heard you—but why? Why would you do that?” He runs his hand through his tousled hair.
“Because I wanted to. Because we don’t have enough information. Why the fuck would someone murder an entire family? Two reasons: he’s innocent, or they deserved it and we’re next.…”
“What the fuck, Bunny, what is wrong with you?”
“What is wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with all of you? No one is talking about this!”
“Maybe because it’s over and this shit is dark, and people don’t want to talk about it for a good reason. That psychopath has been put away. Drop it!”
“But what if he didn’t do it? Look at where we’re fucking standing! And you know what, I don’t think he did it,” Bunny says, provoking him, even if she’s still unsure.
Billy rolls his head back in disbelief. “Ohhh my God. Whoa.” He turns his back to Bunny, releasing her from the corner. He walks away.
“Stop, I’m serious!” Bunny says, chasing after him before a stranger shushes her.
Billy pivots back to her. “You’re ridiculous and fucking crazy.”
Bunny stands abandoned by her secret, betrayed by Billy’s response. Something has erupted in her and she’s not sure what it is; her legs and arms are buzzing. Looking around, she catches Marty and Mackenzie talking on a bench below a glowing portrait of Harriet Tubman. Marty’s been to the museum more times than he can count. His parents are board members. He’s trying to undo Mackenzie’s bra without getting caught.
“Marty!” Mackenzie whacks him on the arm. “Put it back!” Marty has succeeded in unhooking her bra without taking her shirt off.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Marty laughs, trying to rehook it through her shirt. He pushes his glasses up his nose.
Bunny approaches. She needs an ally. She knows Mackenzie feels insecure about her social status. “Mack, what are you doing tonight?”
Mackenzie spins around, delighted to get Bunny’s attention and swooned by her new nickname. “Hi, uh, not sure, just homework, I guess.… You?” she asks, trying to redeem herself.
“Wanna come see my grandmother’s house? It’s like a private museum—with a little more joie de vivre,” Bunny says.
“Sure! I’ll text my mom.”
“Great.” Bunny will tell her tonight.
Bunny leads Mackenzie into her late grandmother’s town house. Mackenzie catches a whiff of Phyllis’s Chanel Number Five residue and sneezes. She drops her violin case to the hardwood floor with a pathetic thud.
“I should’ve warned you about the dust and mothballs,” Bunny says, plopping down on Meredith’s recently indented cushion on the sofa. She lights a cigarette, cracks open the Coke she picked up at the new Wawa around the corner.
“It’s okay,” Mackenzie says, wiping snot with the end of her navy sweater. She looks around at all memorabilia left on the bookless bookshelves. “Is your mom here?”
“No,” Bunny replies, relaxed.
“Oh, ’cause my mom said I could be here as long as your mom would be here too.” Truly, it was under the condition that Mackenzie would report back everything she could gather from spending time with Mrs. Bartholomew.
Bunny blows smoke in Mackenzie’s direction. “Do you always listen to what your mother tells you to do?”
“No,” Mackenzie says. Trying to relieve the tension between them, she reaches down and grabs the cigarette out of Bunny’s hand, takes a drag. Bunny studies her lips, aroused by her new and sudden defiance. Mackenzie pretends to inhale, the smoke swirling around in her hot mouth. She holds out the cigarette to Bunny.
“Keep it,” Bunny says, knowing she faked it. “So what’s going on with you and Marty?”
Mackenzie inhales again. “Uh—” She tries not to cough, her chest rising, her nostrils flaring before she catches new air. “I dunno.…”
“I think he likes you,” Bunny taunts. “No. Actually, I think he loves you.”
“You do?”
“Oh yeah. I’ve known Marty since nursery school, he definitely wants you to be his girlfriend.”
“Really?”
“Uh, duh.”
Mackenzie puts out the cigarette on Meredith’s ashtray, next to remnants of a lipstick-stained stub, black and red and scrunched. “Okay, can you keep a secret?”
“Pinkie swear.” Bunny extends her pinkie. Mackenzie follows, locking eyes and fingers.
“We made out after study group on Tuesday. He drove me home.”
Bunny smiles, lights another cigarette, then lights the Dyptique scented candle on the table while she’s at it—for ambience. “Did you go down on him?”
“Not yet, but I gave him a hand job in the car.”
“Nice.” Bunny taps the ash off the end of her cigarette.
“Well, except I didn’t make him come. My dad kept blowing up my phone because I was out past curfew.”
“Oh no, you blue-baller!” Bunny laughs.
“I didn’t mean to!”
“Okay, okay, my turn.” Bunny twists her body to face Mackenzie. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Pinkie swear.” Mackenzie extends her pinkie.
“I went to the DC Jail and met the man who murdered Audrey Banks and her parents.”
Mackenzie’s jaw drops. “Whoa.”
“I know,” says Bunny. “Let me pour us some shots.” She gets up and walks over to the wet bar, still filled with Waterford crystal decanters. She pulls out two crystal glasses and pours a few inches of bourbon in each.
“What was it like?” asks Mackenzie, on the edge of her seat.
Bunny hands her the glass. “Bottoms
