Jughead finally looked up, his pale blue eyes sharp. “Maybe that’s all you are to her now. A memory of a simpler time before her father’s empire crumbled, before she had to rebuild it with her mother’s cold, manicured hands.”
Archie exhaled, running a hand through his wet, copper-red hair. “Veronica called. She’s coming back from New York tonight. The Hiram Lodge memorial gala is Friday. She wants me to be her date.” Riverdale
“And nothing. That’s the problem. ‘And nothing’ is the scariest sentence in the English language.” Archie leaned forward. “She didn’t say ‘I miss you.’ She didn’t say ‘I’m sorry.’ She just said, ‘Wear the navy suit, Archie. The one that fits.’ Like I’m an accessory.” Jughead finally looked up, his pale blue eyes sharp
The rain intensified, hammering the windows like it was trying to get in. Pop Tate appeared, silent as a ghost, and refilled Jughead’s coffee. He knew better than to ask questions. He’d seen too many Riverdale seasons turn from milkshakes to murder. “Veronica called
Archie put his hand over Veronica’s. Jughead closed his notebook. Betty refolded the letter.
“Found it taped to my laptop this morning,” Betty said, her voice steady, though her hands trembled. “The same stationery my mom used for her ‘neighborhood watch’ letters back in the day. The same handwriting as the letters the Black Hood sent.”
Betty nodded. “And tonight, during the gala, he’s going to announce a ‘historical restoration project.’ My sources say the old barn is the centerpiece. If he digs there, he’ll find what’s still buried. What we buried.”