The Black Coats Read online

  The police struggled to piece together what had happened. The investigation later revealed that Natalie had met some friends at a campsite in Sam Houston National Forest on August 6. They’d set up tents and spent the day drinking at the lake. By that evening they had ended up at a dive bar named Bitter Sand just outside the forest. Natalie had met a young man named Cabby Baptist at the bar. According to statements from numerous witnesses, the two of them sat talking and drinking for a long time.

  “He looked,” reported her friend, who during their flirtation had been off in a corner with a conquest of her own, “like a surfer.” Natalie and Cabby had decided to leave together, and her friends had watched her go. Natalie had gotten into her own car and then followed his small white pickup truck out of the parking lot at around 11:00 p.m.

  Then she had disappeared. When Natalie didn’t come back to the campsite the next day, her friends started calling around. Finally, late in the evening on August 7, they called Natalie’s parents, who reported her missing. The police didn’t get involved until the next day, but by then it was too late. That same day, an hour’s drive away from the bar, near San Antonio Prairie, an elderly rancher noticed his Australian shepherd digging at something near the bank of the creek. He thought it was maybe a snake. It was Natalie. The rancher had quickly called the authorities. Her car was found inside Sam Houston National Forest. It was processed by forensics and came up clean.

  According to Cabby Baptist, he had taken Natalie to his parents’ cabin, where they ate, chatted, and made out for a few hours before he had walked her back to the car. He swore it was both innocent and consensual. Unfortunately, the evidence was on his side, as a hidden wildlife camera set up by the forest service captured Natalie’s car leaving his house around the time given in his statement. His DNA was found on her body, but there was no forensic evidence of his having been in or around her vehicle. The footprints next to the creek bank did not match his shoe size.

  Cabby Baptist boasted a clean record. During his interview, it was noted that his hands showed no sign of a struggle. There was also the question of motive: Why would Cabby let her leave his house only to chase her down and murder her later? It made no sense. Everything had happened so late at night that there were no other witnesses to confirm or deny his claim. Cabby had not been ruled out as a suspect, but the evidence was not strong enough to bring charges. After an exhaustive search, the murder was still listed as unsolved. The once-hungry press quickly lost interest, as was sadly the case when a black girl was murdered.

  Thea had seen Cabby once, at the police station, his dark eyes staring soullessly down the hallway, slumped over and looking distressed. But when he had walked past Thea with his lawyers, he had given her a knowing smile. It had to have been him. No one else had been with her. It was him; Thea could feel in her heart that he had gotten away with murder.

  The week after she heard the news had passed in a dreadful, dark blur, where Thea wondered if she had been the one who died. Everything was a terrible dream that just kept on going: the funeral at a local Methodist church, the closed casket at the front of the aisle, the stench of yellow Asiatic lilies permeating the air, Thea’s father struggling with the casket on his shoulder, his sobs loud enough for everyone to hear. The dim church, everyone hugging Thea and telling her how sorry they were, the very fabric of her black dress making her feel like she wanted to peel off her skin. Thea had made it through the funeral before running away from the procession out of the sanctuary, her tears blinding her as she ran all the way home. Her mom had found her lying facedown on Natalie’s front porch and cradled her in her arms, both of them sobbing together, unabashed and ugly. Cathartic. Thea had focused only on making it through the week, not knowing that the wasteland of grief awaited her on the other side.

  Thea had heard nothing about Cabby Baptist in the months that followed, but every time she saw a white truck, her heart seemed to stop. She hadn’t told her parents because she knew they couldn’t handle the stress of it. They were already hanging by a thread emotionally, and the last thing she wanted was for them to worry more about her. She was cocooned in a shell of her own fear, Xanax her only friend.

  Now, back in her bed, she turned over and protectively clutched her arms across her chest, repeating the words to herself: “It was not his truck. It was not his truck.”

  Instead of thinking about it, she chose to focus on the strength she had felt today, the burning power that permeated the air at Mademoiselle Corday. She felt her breathing return to normal and her hazel eyes popped open. She wouldn’t be afraid anymore. No, it was Cabby Baptist who should be afraid. The day she earned her inheritance, she would gather Team Banner—messy as they were right now—and take back what Cabby Baptist had taken from her. She would destroy him.

  Nine

  The next day, after her last class concluded, Thea made her way through the Roosevelt High cafeteria. Her hands clutched nervously as she approached Mirabelle Watts and her groupies, girls who loved to throw barbs at anyone who dared walk past their table. No one really walked there. Except Thea. Right now. She approached the table. Mirabelle was talking to Jacinda Norton, her hands fluttering wildly around her.

  Thea pulled her backpack up onto her shoulder. “Mirabelle, I need to talk to you.”

  Mirabelle narrowed her ice-blue eyes. “I’m busy. Come back never.” She waved her hand dismissively.

  She is so ridiculous. Annoyance at Mirabelle’s airs lit a fire in her stomach and Thea decided to project her voice. “Okay, but it’s about the Historical Society for the Restoration of Victorian Houses.”

  Jacinda looked from Mirabelle to Thea and back again. “What the hell is she talking about?”

  “Nothing. She’s crazy! I’ll be right back.” Mirabelle leaped from her table, hissing “Shut up!” in Thea’s ear.

  Do. Not. Punch, Thea thought.

  Mirabelle marched Thea out of the cafeteria and into an empty stairwell. After checking the area for any stray students, she wheeled on her teammate, grabbing her arm. “What are you doing? You can’t talk about that out there!”

  Thea raised her hand and carefully brushed Mirabelle’s silver-gelled nails off her arm. “I know. But how else could I get you to leave your stimulating conversation?”

  “As if I care what you think of me.”

  “Of course not. But who cares what anyone thinks here?” Thea gestured around her, where posters of motivational quotes covered with occasional graffiti decorated the walls of the hallway. “Aren’t you tired of here? Of that? Of gossip and being mean?” Thea dropped her voice to a whisper. “The Black Coats offer you so much more than this! Why wouldn’t you want to be a part of that?”

  Mirabelle shrugged before sitting down on one of the steps with a pout. “I don’t know. The team doesn’t seem like it needs me.” She paused. “Or even likes me, for that matter.”

  We don’t, thought Thea meanly, but instead she sat down beside her. “Nixon picked you for a reason. Don’t you want to do something exciting? Do something that matters? Mirabelle . . .” Thea looked into her eyes. “What happened to you that made you angry like this?”

  Mirabelle blinked, the sunlight casting a rusty glare on her lovely face. Beneath the perfect veneer, Thea saw a glimmer of pain and felt a surprising rush of compassion. She was right—there was a reason Mirabelle was in the Black Coats.

  Mirabelle wouldn’t meet her gaze. “Did you know that my parents aren’t actually my parents?” Her truth echoed painfully in the stairwell. Thea didn’t know what to say as Mirabelle curled in, her arms clenched around her stomach.

  “I was six when they died in a car accident on Highway Thirty-Five. They were coming back from furniture shopping. They were really into antiques, and there’s a dealer way out of town. They bought a hutch. It was in the back of their truck.” She paused. Thea’s heart seemed to slow in her chest, her agony recognizing another’s. Grief calling to deep grief. “Marc Mitzi was his name, and he was very drunk. Two pr
ior DUIs and let out on technicalities. He was so drunk that the accident report says he didn’t even know what happened. Thought he hit a deer.” Tears rolled down her face, carving rivers of black mascara through her contoured cheeks. “It wasn’t a deer. It was a hutch, shoved through the front seat.”

  Thea shuddered and reached out for Mirabelle’s shoulder. “Don’t touch me!” she snapped. “I don’t need your pity.” Thea pulled her hand back, Mirabelle’s anger burning like a flame. “I’ve been raised by my aunt and uncle. They’re nice people, and they’ve given me every single thing I’ve ever wanted. But they aren’t my parents. They don’t love like parents.”

  Thea felt shame. She had always assumed that Mirabelle’s mother and father, real estate agents whose glistening smiles graced bus stops and billboards, were her real parents. It was staggering just how little she really knew about her fellow students.

  Mirabelle sniffed. “The worst thing is that I was just old enough to remember what my parents were like. I may not remember their faces that clearly, but I remember the love, the feeling of being safe. I remember being part of a real family.”

  Thea felt the words rise up in her throat. “Then come be a part of the—” She paused. “The Historical Society for the Restoration of Victorian Houses.”

  Mirabelle looked up at her and they both burst out laughing. She wiped her tears away with a flick of her hands. “It really is the most ridiculous name.”

  Thea smiled. “I don’t know. I kind of like it.”

  “You would.”

  Thea leaned in toward Mirabelle. “Come back. Just for today. Give it one more shot. I know you don’t feel like you fit in with us the way you fit in there.” Her eyes darted toward the cafeteria. “But maybe it’s time to let those hungry girls take your place. Breathe. Be uncool for a while.” She grabbed Mirabelle’s hand. “Fight back.”

  Mirabelle stared at her for a long moment. “Fine. I’ll come.” She stood up, her golden curls cascading over her shoulder. Then she wiped her eyes carefully. “Don’t tell the other girls about this conversation. Or Nixon.”

  “I won’t.”

  Mirabelle blinked as if waking up. “One condition. If by some miracle we become friends—will you let me help you?”

  Thea frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Mirabelle gestured to Thea’s outfit: jeans, gray flats, and a yellow-and-white long-sleeved T-shirt. “I mean this. What is this even? You’re really quite pretty, and if you just tried a little bit more, you could be on a totally different level.”

  Mirabelle Watts, everyone, thought Thea. She shrugged. “Fine.”

  “It would probably make sense for us to drive together, after school, to the society.”

  Thea paused for a second before reaching out to awkwardly hug Mirabelle.

  Mirabelle straightened up, her arms rigid. “We don’t have to do that.”

  “Okay. It just seemed like maybe you needed one.”

  Mirabelle squared her shoulders. “What I need to do is punch some dudes who punch women.” She sighed. “I’ll ditch this period and meet you by my car in five minutes. Don’t touch it.” As she walked back into the cafeteria, Thea saw a familiar face heading her way.

  Drew’s eyes lit up when he saw Thea. “Oh, hey, Thea! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Thea exhaled as Drew approached, wide-eyed. “Why were you talking to Mirabelle Watts? She’s kind of the worst.”

  “She’s okay, actually.” Thea shyly tucked back a piece of her hair as she remembered the hurt on Mirabelle’s face, her words echoing in her head. They don’t love like parents.

  Drew didn’t notice her pause and continued. “So, what should we do this weekend?”

  Thea blinked. “Oh, right, our date!” Drew’s face fell so dramatically that she couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m sorry. I’m excited for it.”

  His mouth fell open. “Yeah, it seems that way. Don’t lie. You forgot about it! I can tell. I’m trained to detect lies that tumble out of the mouths of beautiful girls.”

  “Is that right?”

  He puffed out his chest. “I’m pretty impressive in general. Definitely the type of guy you should remember you have a date with.”

  Thea nodded kindly. “You’re absolutely right. Tomorrow?”

  The corners of his wide mouth turned upward, dazzling Thea with his playful, confident grin.

  Thea Soloman, she instructed, do not fall all over yourself.

  She practically floated down the stairs to the parking lot, where Mirabelle was waiting for her in front of the school, her silver Audi convertible purring as it idled. “Come on, come on!” Mirabelle called.

  Thea didn’t have time to think about it, so she leaped over the side of the car, her backpack landing with a thud at her feet. Her butt had barely touched the ridiculously soft leather when Mirabelle shot forward, the car thundering beneath them. Mirabelle deftly wound them to the highway, and as soon as its wheels hit the pavement, the car practically flew. Thea’s curls tumbled wildly in front of her eyes as she struggled to find a hair tie in her bag. “How fast are you going?” she struggled to yell over the roar of the wind.

  Mirabelle smiled. “You don’t want to know!” she yelled back, gripping the wheel. They passed every single car in front of them, the Audi roaring as it flitted around them, light as air. “I still don’t know if I’m going to stay,” Mirabelle shouted. “This whole thing is kind of . . .”

  “Don’t say lame,” snapped Thea. “Because it’s a lot of things, but it’s definitely not lame.”

  Mirabelle paused for a moment, her blond hair blustering around her head in a halo. “Yeah. It’s not lame.”

  They settled into silence then, the car shooting past the muddy brown fields and bright yellow flowers that blurred in the sun. Before Thea could even relax into the moment, they were pulling up at Mademoiselle Corday. “No wonder you got here so long before me last time,” she muttered. Her legs felt like Jell-O as they uncurled themselves from the car.

  Mirabelle looked totally unfazed as she reglossed her lips a peachy pink in the mirror. “Well, at least you can run fast. Or so I’ve heard.” She smacked her lips. “Besides, it’s not like you could even go that fast with that piece-of-shit car.” With that, she bounced past Thea and through the door of Mademoiselle Corday.

  “Just when I start to like you,” Thea called after her, “you say something like that.” Mirabelle’s hand beckoned her from inside the door. Thea dutifully followed, the hint of a smile on her face.

  Nixon appeared before they could even make it inside the foyer. “Nice of you to join us, ladies. Mirabelle, are you planning on staying for our entire session today?”

  Mirabelle bit her lip, a witty retort no doubt dying on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Don’t bother heading to the classroom; we are starting today with individual training and will finish up there afterward. Thea, please head to room thirteen. It’s on the lowest level, in the south wing, tucked back toward the end of the hallway. Mirabelle, follow me.”

  Nixon stalked away from her without a word. Her heart giving a nervous beat, Thea shouldered her bag and headed into the house, wondering what could possibly be in store for her this time.

  Ten

  Following the room numbers, Thea made her way through the house, marveling at each little touch: a framed painting of an old plantation, a big copper sink functioning as a planter, an antique ladder dangling with small glass bulbs. Deciding to err on the side of caution, Thea ducked into a restroom, smiling at the tin ceiling. Even the bathrooms were lush. She was washing her hands at the sink when the door banged open. Thea jumped as a cluster of girls wearing black leggings and black T-shirts spilled into the restroom. Their voices echoed in the space.

  “I still haven’t gotten the blood out of my pants from Craig Allen’s Balancing last week.”

  “Try white vinegar, that’s what I use.”

  The girls sto
pped short when Thea stepped out from behind the sink. Her hands dripping water, she tried to slip past the girls in the narrow restroom.

  “Excuse me,” she said politely. A solid body stepped in front of her.

  “Thea, right?” The voice was older, the woman obviously a president. She was in her midthirties, with huge blue-green eyes and short, chin-length curly hair, striped the color of chestnuts. While shorter than Nixon, it was obvious that she was strong: her muscles pushed against her black shirt, and when she roughly grasped Thea’s shoulders to let her team pass by, Thea could feel the strength of her grip.

  She swallowed nervously. “Yes, I’m Thea.”

  “How are things going over at Team Banner?”

  “Okay.” Thea wanted to wriggle away but instead stood taller. “Actually, better than okay. I was just on my way to individual training.”

  One of the other girls stepped forward, tossing back her curly black hair. She smiled cruelly, black eyes flashing. “Banner is a team of freaks and spares. What a joke.”

  The president raised her hand, silencing the girl, who reminded Thea of a barking Doberman. “Valentina. Hush.” She circled Thea. “How’s your president doing? This is her first team, after all. Nixon, Robin’s favorite little pet.”

  Nixon appeared in the doorway to the bathroom. “I heard my name. Team Emperor, always nice to see you.” Her tone expressed a different view. She nodded to their president, who let go of Thea’s shoulders with a parting squeeze. “Kennedy.”

  “Nixon.”

  In her mind, Thea imagined the tension between them shattering the ceramic subway tiles, but nothing changed. Kennedy leveled her gaze at Thea.

  Thea ducked her head. “I’ll, uh, be on my way, I guess.” Valentina practically hissed at her as she passed.