Page 57 of The Party Plot

Melody frowned. “What drugs? He got arrested for enticing a minor.”

“Oh.” Now Casey felt disgusted, and a little silly for his attempt at vigilante justice. He’d done it on a whim, seeing Bonard’s car parked downtown, unattended, no one else around. He hadn’t really planned to tell Laurel or Melody, not wanting to get their hopes up and not sure if he was overstepping. But men like Howie Bonard never had to face any consequences in their lives, and sometimes it chafed. Sometimes somebody needed to step in and be a vengeful bitch. Just a little bit. “Well, there are drugs in his car. Yours, actually,” he said, looking at Melody. “I kind of forgot to flush them, and they needed to go somewhere.” He shrugged. “And like I said, that model of car is really easy to break into.”

“Jesus, Casey.” Laurel was staring at him, a little dazed.

He bit his lip. “I hope you don’t disapprove. It’s the last illegal thing I’ll do, I prom—” He couldn’t finish the sentence, because Melody was hugging him, in a cloud of perfume and hair and clattering jewelry, the snake on her headpiece leaving a divot in his cheek.

“Oh my God,” she said, squeezing Casey so hard that his ribs creaked. “That is the weirdest and possibly sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. Laurel, if you don’t marry him, I might.”

“Well, I mean, it didn’t amount to anything,” he muttered, suddenly embarrassed. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal.” Laurel pressed a kiss to Casey’s temple. “And dangerous and stupid, so don’t do it again.” He had joined in the hug, and some last brittle thing gave way in Casey, his limbs growing loose and relaxed and his heart slowing. In the pale, anemic light of his front porch, squished between Antony and Cleopatra, he felt, strangely, like he finally belonged somewhere.

When the hug had started to get cloying and sweaty, Casey squirmed his way out of it, saying, “Well, where did y’all want to go?” He plucked at the front of his T-shirt, looking down at his own outfit. “Should I put on a nicer shirt? I feel awkward. You have such amazing costumes, and I’ve got nothing.”

“Oh, that’s not true,” Laurel said, smiling. “Your costume is in the car.”

*

That was how Casey ended up in a divey karaoke bar, wearing what he assumed was a historically-accurate toga and listening to Chip yell legal jargon over the music while Laurel and Melody sang their way through what seemed like Fleetwood Mac’s entire catalog.

Chip, who hadn’t been required to dress as a character in some sword-and-sandals epic and was instead wearing a low-effort attempt at a Freddy Kruger costume, was explaining to Casey that Lydia Callaway, who was just recently over eighteen, had come forward with texts Howie Bonard had sent her several years ago, when she was a freshman in high school. “The statute of limitations expired for Melody a long time ago, even if she’d had proof,” he said. “But not for Lydia. And she’s from one of the most prominent families in town, so it’s hard for a judge to just brush it off.”

“So what’s going to happen to him?” Casey asked.

“Not sure yet.” Chip sipped his beer. “He’s out on bail now, but he’ll stand trial. And maybe more girls or women will come forward, after Lydia. I’m sure there are more.” He was watching his friends on stage, and Casey followed his gaze. Laurel and Melody glittered under the lights, shards of green and red and blue dancing across them. They were stunning, drawing every eye in the room not just because they both could carry a tune (Melody had a decent enough voice to at least keep up with Laurel), but because they just were. Two captivating people, dressed like movie stars, being themselves without a care in the world. Casey would almost be jealous of their connection, except that it felt so good to see Laurel shining and happy.

“It was her and Kierra who persuaded Lydia to speak up,” Chip said, nodding toward Melody. “I’m sure of it.”

Casey took in the look of admiration on Chip’s face, the way his fingers tightened around his glass. It was hard not to admire those two, but he thought there might be more to it.

“So what’s your story?”

“Me?” Chip shrugged. “Divorce lawyer. Gets divorced himself, has a quarter-life crisis, buries himself in work. Embarrassing, and very common. Not much else to it.”

“No, I mean you and Melody. Is there something there?” he asked.

Chip sighed, shaking his head. “No. I think—I think I hoped there would be, for a while. But Melody needs to do her own thing, and so do I.” He glanced at Casey with sudden, sharp focus, and Casey had an impression of what he must be like in a courtroom. “I hear you and Laurel are official, though?”

Before he could open his mouth to say anything, the DJ’s microphone crackled to life, and his voice boomed through the bar. “Aaaand that was Laurel and Melody singingLandslide. Now I think Laurel’s got a special solo performance planned, is that right, man?”

Laurel, already sweaty and flushed under the hot lights, appeared to turn an even deeper red. “Uh, I do?”

“This one’s for you, Casey!” Melody shrieked into her microphone, before skipping off the stage and leaving Laurel there, looking like a deer in the headlights.

The chords of some jazz song started to play, and Laurel let out an audible groan, saying “Seriously, Melody? No pressure.” There were light titters from the crowd. Laurel started to sway uncomfortably to the music, not really in time with the rhythm, chewing his lip as he watched the lyrics begin to scroll down the screen overhead. Casey was a little worried for him at first; he could read the discomfort in the lines of Laurel’s body, the stiff way he held the microphone up to his lips. It was as if by losing his singing partner, he’d gotten all the confidence sucked out of him. Or maybe it was the song itself. His voice was shaky as he started to sing, thick with emotion.

“Maybe this time, I’ll be lucky. Maybe this time, he’ll stay…”

It was vaguely familiar, but Casey wasn’t sure where he recognized it from. It was sad for a love song, wistful and full of longing, and he wanted to tell Laurel that he didn’t need to worry. Hewouldstay. He was tired of moving around, tired of running. His gaze was fixed on Laurel, trying to reassure him, to will courage back into him, and Laurel caught his eye, blushed, and flubbed a line. Then he recovered, laughing, and when he started to sing again, he sounded a little stronger, and then stronger still, and then he was off, hitting each note effortlessly like Casey knew he could, lungs opening up as his voice swelled and soared like a bird through the room.

He didn’t drop the mic when the song was over, though he could have, just replaced it politely in its holder and shuffled off the stage a little shyly, a grin on his face, hair in his eyes and cheeks on fire. Chip, Melody, and Casey were standing up, clapping, and some other people in the bar were clapping, too, but with less enthusiasm. Jazzy, melancholy ballads didn’t please the crowd as much as old standbys likeFreebirdandMargaritaville,after all,even when beautifully executed. As Laurel approached the table, Casey, a little caught up in the moment, flung his arms around him and kissed him. Somebody across the room wolf-whistled, and the DJ exclaimed, “Woah, I don’t rememberthathappening inGladiator!”

“Holy shit.” Laurel was giggling, and his mouth tasted like Jell-O shots. “Am I shaking? I feel like I’m shaking. I love that song, but I can’t sing it. Melody…”

“You did amazing,” Casey said against his ear. “And I’m not going anywhere. I’m all in, too, Laurel. I—“

“And now let’s welcome Chip, and—I guess Laurel again, withFriends in Low Places! Wow, table five is putting on a regular concert tonight, ladies and gentlemen!”

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