Betty took good care of our Jughead, which is probably a good thing. He's going to need support through this final stretch. It's all going to unravel over the next couple chapters.

And now, let's see what's happening with Polly.

Song: Liar - Neverending White Lights

Disclaimer: I don't own Riverdale, alas, or I'd make this hiatus shorter.

Twenty: Liar

"There's nowhere left to hide
There's nowhere left to run
And it's all gone
It's all gone
And I'm a liar just like you and that's OK
And I'm guilty just like everyone today…"
Liar – Neverending White Lights

Innocence. Riverdale once touted it as a defining trait of its residents. A community of hardworking, upstanding people, innocent and carefree. Never mind the blatant blind eye such delusions turned towards the Southside. Riverdale prided itself on being a place of purity and light, of truth and trust.

But we're all liars in this town. We're all hiding one truth or another. And as sure as a decomposing corpse will float, buoyed by the toxicity within, our secrets are pushing to the surface.

I'm Serpent royalty, the son of a gang leader. Betty's darkness is a whisper in high school halls. Archie's affair with Miss Grundy is common knowledge. And Veronica? The Lodges are fooling no one with their fresh start, save that the setting for their treacherous dealings has changed.

We lie to protect ourselves. We lie to be loved. We lie out of love for another.

What kind of liar is my father? I'm not sure I want to find out.

"Polly said she'd meet us at Pop's at nine. She told the Blossoms she's feeling too sick to attend church this morning."

Jughead huffed. "The Blossoms attend church? And they don't catch fire when they step inside?"

"Miracles do exist," Betty spat disdainfully. "All I know is that Polly needs to come home now. Especially after what Cheryl said at the dance."

"Yeah, we never did talk about that little tête-à-tête. What bombshell did the Queen Bee drop on you?"

Betty's grip on his hand tightened. "I asked her where Polly was, since she'd told me that she planned to bring her as her date for the evening. She said Polly wasn't feeling up to it, but the way she said it worried me, Juggie. And then she told me that being the mother of Jason's children would only shield her for so long from her parents' self-serving ways."

"Well, that's not ominous." Jughead's thumb traced reassuring circles on the back of her hand. "Have they had any luck in finding the twins?"

Betty shrugged. "Cheryl didn't say. I'm hoping Polly can tell us."

An overcast sky greeted them as they trudged across the bridge dividing north and south in search of answers (and, for Jughead, pancakes). He nudged the zipper of his Sherpa coat higher, guarding against the morning chill.

The foggy streets were a warning: turn back, go inside. Something wicked this way comes. He felt it in his bones.

Pop's was quiet, the church crowd absent and the weather keeping most families inside. The tinkle of the bell above the door pulled the friendly owner's gaze from the plate he was garnishing and earned a warm smile.

"Morning Jughead, Betty. Coffee to start?"

"Always," Jughead replied, rubbing his weary eyes.

Jennifer, the usual weekend waitress, fetched the coffee pot as the couple settled into what was becoming their booth. Once, it had been Jughead's booth for overnight writing and, years ago, for avoiding his inebriated father. Now, it was a place with happier memories: straws tossed playfully; fries shared; a stolen kiss or two.

As Betty peeled off her coat, Jughead's breath hitched. Dressed in yesterday's jeans and a black tee and green plaid flannel combo she'd pilfered from his closet, she was somehow more alluring. Noticing his stare, Betty flushed and fidgeted with her still damp ponytail.

"What?" she murmured.

"Just don't ever become a lumberjack, alright? No one would ever get any work done, aside from you."

Jennifer arrived with their coffee, pretending not to notice Jughead's approving gaze and Betty's crimson cheeks. Offering menus, she quickly departed, sensing the couple needed a moment.

"So you're saying I should ditch all of my pink sweaters and go full grunge?" she teased.

"I'm just saying, you're a pair of eight-hole Doc Martens away from me taking you back to the trailer and not emerging for a good twenty-four hours." Shaking his head, he drew a deep breath to steady himself. "You're always stunning, Betts, but in these clothes, you look… at ease. I like it."

"I think there's a sociological theory willing to explain why wearing your clothes makes me even more attractive to you," Betty mused, ripping open a packet of sugar. "But I am more relaxed this morning. Probably because I slept better than I have in a really long time. Unlike you," she added worriedly. "Your eyes are so dark."

"I'm okay," he lied, sipping his coffee. "Just couldn't shut my mind down right away."

Betty mercifully didn't pry, turning her attention to the menu before her. Jughead stared at the options, although he already knew what he wanted: the same special he'd ordered on his first morning back in Riverdale. It reminded him of his father, whom he never realized how much he could miss until FP was dragged away from their home.

What a difference ten weeks had made.

Jennifer took their orders: a special for Jughead, and a Belgian waffle with fresh fruit and whipped cream for Betty. As she departed, Jughead's phone buzzed in his pocket. Glancing at the screen, he groaned. Archie.

"You have to talk to them sometime, Jug."

"I have bigger problems right now than my best friend betraying me," he snapped.

Betty nodded, reaching across the table. "I agree. And I'm mad at them, too. I'm mad at myself for not putting the pieces together and warning you."

"It's okay. We talked it out." His hand met hers, covering it with a light squeeze. "I don't know why I didn't see Mama Cooper's little interrogation coming myself."

"I'm not going to excuse them, but if you can understand that I didn't want to hurt you, that I care about you… maybe you can hear them out?"

Betty the peacemaker. She'd always hated it when Archie and Jughead fought. Hell, she'd never tolerated them raising their voices when she was little.

"I'm not talking to them without at least two coffees and breakfast," he grumbled.

"Of course." Her lips curved into a soft smile as she studied his features. "And you should make Archie sweat a bit. Don't let him off too easily."

"Punish Archie, huh? But not Veronica?"

Her gaze averted to the empty creamer cups on the plate beside her. "Veronica has told me enough about her father and what he's done to understand how needing answers could drive her to do desperate, inconsiderate things. If I thought my father were as bad as hers, I'd probably stop at nothing to get the truth."

Betty's phone chimed beside her and she glanced at the screen. "Veronica."

"A two-pronged attack," Jughead surmised.

"Breakfast first," she insisted. "And then we'll decide what to do about those two."

There were universal truths Jughead could rely on in this world. First and foremost, that Pop Tate was the best cook in the town of Riverdale. The second truth: that a Cooper was always early to any appointment. He'd scarcely finished his eggs and first pancake before a dishevelled Polly Cooper entered the diner.

"Betty!" she called out in relief.

"Polly?" Recognizing her sister's distress, Betty slid out of the booth and hurried to meet her with a warm embrace.

Dressed in a loose black sweater and rumpled jeans, Polly Cooper was far from the polished, perfect image that Alice demanded from her daughters. Her eyes were rimmed in violet, her skin ashen. Betty nudged her into the booth, settling in beside her.

"You hungry, Pol?"

Polly shook her head sadly. "No. No, I couldn't eat."

"Milkshake?"

Polly vehemently shook her head. "No, definitely not. Not after…"

"After what?" Betty prodded gently.

"Coffee?" Jughead suggested quietly, to which Polly nodded.

Refills and a fresh cup for Polly secured, Betty shoved her breakfast aside, her sole focus on her troubled sibling. With every chime of Pop's doorbell, Polly startled, glancing at the new arrival. It worried him deeply.

"I'm coming home," Polly began at last. "Better the devil you know…"

"Okay. Do we need to go get your things?"

Polly shook her head. "Cheryl will bring them later. We made an arrangement."

Betty's arm was wrapped protectively around her sister's shoulders. "What happened, Polly? Did they hurt you?"

"Did Archie tell you my plan?"

"Yeah, he told us."

A nervous Polly slowly recounted her weeks at Thornhill, beginning with the meetings with a private investigator. At first, Polly had been hopeful that their mutual interest in recovering Jason's children would at least reward her with her babies. In the meantime, she had planned to dig up enough dirt to ensure that she, not Penelope and Clifford, would gain full custody of the children. Mindful of Penelope's nosiness, she'd maintained her notes in a document stored in her iCloud account, leaving nothing in writing.

At first, there was nothing significant, beyond what Jason had told her and Cheryl's guarded remarks about a loveless childhood. "I actually worked to befriend Cheryl," Polly explained. "At first, it was to get evidence that the Blossoms were abusive parents, but I actually found myself really fond of her. Away from school and the in-crowd, she's a sensitive, thoughtful woman. I worry about her a lot, especially now I'm leaving her there alone. But I have to get out of there, Betty."

"What changed?" Betty asked quietly.

Finishing her coffee, Polly continued. As Cheryl had told Betty, Polly was to accompany her to the Homecoming Dance. It was meant to comfort them both in the absence of Jason.

"His two favourite girls united, Cheryl called it. I suggested that given the retro theme, we look through Penelope's jewellery for something cool to wear. I needed an excuse to enter their room, maybe see if the investigator was making more progress than they were telling me about. What we found was a lot worse."

"My mom and dad would freak if they knew we were in here," Cheryl purred. "So let's take our sweet time."

Polly's eyes scanned the dressers and makeup vanity, looking for documents, notepads, business cards—anything of use, really. Of course, the Blossoms were far too tidy for that. Noticing a series of creepy white heads adorned in bright red wigs, Polly shuddered.

"How many wigs does your dad have?"

"One for every mood!" Cheryl's fingers danced along the lid of her mother's assortment of ring boxes, plucking the centre one for examination. "Supposedly Clifford's hair turned white overnight after he saw the ghost of Grandpappy Blossom. Now me, I love a silver fox, but us Blossoms live and die by our red curls."

Polly wandered the length of Penelope's clothing rack, contemplating the boxes on the shelf above. Could she cook up a bullshit reason to dig in? If anything telling about their possible involvement in Jason's death were in this room, it would surely be hidden up there amidst unwanted Louboutins?

"He tried dyeing it once, but…"

Cheryl's voice trailed off and Polly froze. Had she noticed that her houseguest was about to open Mommy's bedside drawer? Turning around, she found Cheryl studying the contents of a blood-red ring box.

"Cheryl? What is it?"

Turning around slowly, Cheryl held out an all-too familiar item. "It's my Nana's ring," Cheryl whispered.

Polly knew that. She'd worn it, the night that Jason had gotten down on one knee and promised to love her and their unborn children forever. He'd kept it for her, was supposed to give it back to her on July 4th. But then…

"Nana gave that to Jason. He proposed to me with that ring. So how does your mother have it?"

Polly reached out for it, but Cheryl was faster, edging backwards with a furious expressing. "Hands off, Gollum!"

"The only way your mom could have that ring is if she or your father got it from Jason." Hot tears welled up in Polly's eyes as she backed Cheryl up. "And he wouldn't have given it up, not over his dead body!"

Polly's hand flew out, reaching for the ring—her ring!—but Cheryl grabbed her by the wrist, bending it down at an awkward angle.

"Polly, you may be the mother of Jay-Jay's babies. And my parents rightfully believe if you aid them in their mission to retrieve their heirs, that it will benefit their case. But do not, for one second, believe that guarantees your safety in this house."

Betty's eyes widened as Polly dabbed at her eyes. "Oh my god! Do you understand how significant this is?"

"Where's the ring now?" Jughead asked.

Polly shook her head. "Cheryl returned it to the box, I think. I was so scared I fled the room, locked myself away until dinner. My memory gets hazy after that… Betty, I think they drugged me."

The strawberry milkshake was a frequent offering from Penelope since moving into Thornhill. Once or twice a week, the mistress of the house would arrive at her bedroom door, that familiar container from Pop's in tow. After the distressing find in that ring box, Polly was definitely interested in comfort food. What followed next had left Polly certain that her life depended on abandoning her mission.

At first, she'd blamed the emotional events for her drowsiness. It was only when her arms turned to Jell-o that she began to question the drink she'd eagerly devoured. Slumped on her bed, sounds muffled as if underwater, she'd overheard snippets of an argument between Cheryl and her parents. Jason throwing the ring at Clifford. Penelope lamenting that nothing remains lost. Something about the proof being gone. And then, there was darkness.

"I woke up in the middle of the night, still in my dress," Polly murmured. "I texted you and confronted Cheryl. She agreed that I should leave, that she… That she owed it to Jason to keep me safe."

"And the ring? Does Cheryl have it?"

"She says it's gone, but I don't believe her." Polly leaned her head upon Betty's shoulder, clinging to her arm. "Mom and Dad might be perfection-driven monsters, but they would never stoop this low."

"You're coming home, Polly. Mom will be so happy to see you."

The sisters embraced tightly as Jughead's phone pulsed once, then twice. Examining the messages, his eyes widened.

Archie: Jughead, my dad just told me about FP. Are you okay? I know I let you down, but I'm here for you.

Veronica: Jughead, I know you hate me, but I heard about FP and it's all lies. He didn't do it! Call me.

Archie: Your dad's being framed! Where are you? I'm at the trailer.

"Um, Betty?"

She glanced over Polly's shoulder. "What is it?"

He held up his phone, letting her read it. Kissing her sister's forehead, she gently pulled away in search of her own phone. Scanning her messages, she nodded.

"I've got the same thing here from Veronica. What do they mean?"

"Is everything okay?" Polly asked.

Betty hesitated. "They arrested Jughead's dad for murdering Jason last night. But he didn't do it," she added quickly. "Veronica says she knows it's a set-up."

"I agree. The Blossoms… they did something. They know something." Polly wrapped her arms around herself as she began to tremble. "They know why he's dead."

The bell of Pop's tolled once more—this time, for Jughead.

"I knew he'd be here!" Veronica called out, clearly relieved.

Jughead's body tensed as Archie and Veronica approached their booth. Their body language screamed anxiety and, in Archie's case, genuine guilt. And as much as he wanted this information on his father being set-up, the knife they'd planted between his proverbial shoulder blades at the dance remained firmly lodged.

"Jughead, we screwed up," Archie began. "And I will be apologizing for a long time."

"We both will," Veronica echoed.

"Breaking into your dad's trailer was wrong, but at least some good is coming of it," Archie continued.

"Good? Pretty sure my dad was arrested for murder last night," Jughead snapped.

Veronica nudged Archie aside, holding up her hand to silence him. "Look, Kevin called me this morning and told me Sheriff Keller found a lockbox in your closet with a gun."

"Yeah, I know. I was there. I watched them cuff my dad and drag him away, proud of themselves for it."

Veronica's hands slammed down on the table, startling Betty. "There was no lockbox when we searched the trailer."

"We looked through that closet. We took everything out of there," Archie elaborated. "Someone must have put it there after we left, Jughead."

"Your dad's being framed," Veronica concluded sadly.

Jughead's mind was reeling. His father's face as the box was opened by Keller. His own struggle to recall seeing the box, despite frequently digging through that closet for the mop, a coat, or mementoes of his mother and sister. Polly's disturbing experiences with the Blossoms. FP, accepting cash from Hermione Lodge.

His father was a patsy.

"Are you sure about this?" Betty asked. "There's absolutely no way you missed it?"

"We're not talking about the Vogue closet, B. I would bet my trust fund on it. Whatever Sheriff Keller is saying he found? It wasn't there."

"I'm just making sure, because people will challenge it. Did you tell Keller this yet?" Betty demanded.

"My dad doesn't want me to," Archie replied bitterly. "He called my mom and she said that since we entered the trailer illegally, nothing we say is admissible in court, anyway."

"And I can't even bring this up to my parents because what if they're the ones that did the framing?" Veronica whispered.

"Okay, I don't have any memory of that lockbox being there, either," Jughead told them. "What if we tell Keller that I gave Archie permission to search the trailer because I was worried he was doing something illegal?"

"That doesn't make FP sound much better, Jug," Betty noted sadly.

"We have to try. I have to try." Throwing down a handful of bills on the table, Jughead grabbed his coat. "I'm going to see my dad, and Keller."

"I'm coming with you," Betty insisted.

"No, take Polly home. I want you two safe under the watch of Alice. Something I never thought I'd say," he noted wryly.

"I'll go with you," Archie offered. "How I know the box didn't exist, it doesn't matter. I know it's bullshit and I'll tell Keller that."

Reluctantly, Jughead assented. Keller believed the Jones family were liars, pyromaniacs and now killers. He'd need the unblemished reputation of the Andrews name on his side.

"I'm coming with you," Veronica told Betty. "I can't see my father right now. Not if he's behind this. He's done some terrible things, but if he…"

"I know, V. Jughead, call me," Betty pleaded.

"I will." He leaned over the table, kissing her gently. "Text me when you're home safe."

"Promise."

"I've got my dad's truck," Archie announced.

"Good. Let's go."

The drive to the station was silent, the low hum of the radio the only sound. Jughead ruminated on Polly's story, mulling the reappearance of Nana Blossom's ring and her subsequent drugging by Penelope. Clearly, the Blossoms were afraid of what Polly knew. But was it because they'd had a direct involvement in their son's murder? Or had Hiram taken the Blossom heir out as Veronica feared, and sent the ring as proof of the deed? More importantly, where was the ring now?

As Archie parked the truck around back, he thumped the steering wheel lightly with his palms. "I don't want us to be fighting, Jug."

"Then maybe you should try not stabbing me in the back."

The redhead sighed, turning in his seat. "Okay, I'm the first to admit that I say and do things that upset people, even if I don't mean to. Like when I rejected Betty because I knew I wasn't good enough for her and broke her heart. Or when I stopped calling you in Toledo because…"

"Because why?" Jughead prodded angrily. "Why did you stop calling? I thought we were brothers, Archie. Lifelong friends, cradle to grave. Isn't that what you told me when we were twelve?"

"I did say that. And I meant it, Jug."

Jughead rolled his eyes. "Out of sight, out of mind, then?"

"I was angry at you!" Archie's explosive reaction startled Jughead. "Angry that you left me alone here. Angry you left Betty, who was barely talking to me anymore. Angry because I was so confused about everything with Grundy and I had no one I could talk to about it." Archie's head bowed low, his body shaking. "And yeah, maybe you didn't deserve that anger, but it doesn't change how much I needed my brother."

"And like I didn't need you?" Jughead snapped. "Do you even know why my mother left? Did you ever stop to think that being a social misfit in Middle America would translate into a lonely life? Have you ever asked me why I came back?"

Archie's head snapped up, the hoarseness of Jughead's voice betraying his unspoken wounds. "Jug… You're right. But you've never really told me anything, even when I ask, so I waited for you to say something. Maybe I should have asked anyway."

Tugging on his beanie, Jughead gazed out the passenger window. "And maybe I should open up more. Or try to, I guess." His hands fidgeted in his lap as he stared at the steely grey building before them. "I'm scared, Arch. Of what my dad did that would make someone frame him. Of what will happen if he goes to jail. He has priors… I can't go back to Toledo."

"That's not going to happen. We're going to get this murder charge dropped." Pocketing the keys, Archie swung open his door. "We're going to tell Keller you asked me to search the trailer for hidden booze after your dad's relapse. That's how I know the lockbox was a plant."

Jughead's head spun in Archie's direction. "That… isn't a bad idea."

"Once in a while, I have a good one." Archie smiled sheepishly. "Let's go."

The deputy at the desk was reluctant to call for Keller, eyeing the teens with skepticism. It took Jughead demanding to see his father and pointing out that he'd yet to be granted a lawyer, as was his right, for the deputy to abandon his game of Candy Crush and head down the corridor to the Sheriff's office.

A weary and grim Sheriff Keller soon emerged and Archie rushed down the corridor, ignoring the deputy's demands to wait.

"Sheriff Keller, we need to talk to you about FP Jones."

"What about him?"

"He's being framed!" Archie insisted.

Keller huffed, rubbing his head. "Then why did he just confess?"

Jughead felt his knees buckle beneath him. Confess? But he didn't… He couldn't have done this. The gun wasn't there. And Betty was right: his father had the sense to ditch a weapon, even if he had done it.

"There must be some mistake," Archie persisted. "You must have railroaded him. False confessions happen all the time!"

"Now, wait—"

"Making a Murderer!" Archie blurted out. "I'm telling you Sheriff Keller, that gun isn't FP's! I was in that closet the other day."

"He didn't do it," Jughead mumbled, leaning against the wall.

"I don't know what to tell you, Jughead. But your father confessed to the murder. To disposing of the body. To setting that car on fire. Hell, he admitted to breaking into my house last year and stealing my files."

The look of pity on Keller's face made him sick. Jughead's fists clenched at his sides as he continued to lean on the wall for support.

"Jughead, your father's always been rough around the edges. He got desperate and did something incredibly stupid that ended in murder. And that's all I can say about it for now."

"I want to see him." Keller hesitated and Jughead edged forwards, holding his chin higher. "I want to see my father."

"He's being booked."

"I'll wait."

Keller frowned, shaking his head. "Look, I understand how upsetting this must be to hear. No son should have to hear this about their father. But we are still questioning him, Jughead, and it's going to take some time. Come back after lunch, okay?"

"Fine. I'll be back at twelve-thirty. And if I can't see my father, I'm calling the media."

"I'm sorry, Jughead."

He spun around, glaring at the Sheriff. "Don't lie to me! This is your dream come true. Not only do you get to finally jail a Jones, you get to tidy up this embarrassment of a murder investigation. I saw you gloating last night. You can save your sorries for the campaign trail."

Wordlessly, Keller retreated to his office, leaving Jughead and Archie in the unsettlingly quiet corridor. Archie's hand came to rest on his shoulder, squeezing it gently.

"Let's go check on Betty," his friend suggested.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay."

Jughead staggered out into cold grey of morning, staring blankly at the parking lot. His father had confessed. Innocent men didn't confess, did they? Not unless there were extenuating circumstances. What had happened in the last ten hours to spur his father into this horrible decision?

"Jug?"

"Something's not right," he mumbled. "My father is many things, Arch. But this doesn't add up. He swore he didn't kill Jason Blossom and I believe him."

"Then who's he protecting?"

"I don't know. But we need to find out fast, or my father's going to prison for life."

Poor Polly - she's been through so much already, only to be drugged and betrayed. And FP... I love him, but what on earth is he thinking? (I know what he's thinking and I'm still shaking my head.)

I'd love to hear your thoughts about Polly and whether she will ever see her twins again, or Archie's lingering anger at Jughead, or how sweet Bughead are together. It's a busy time of year with Pride and all, but I'll hopefully see you in a week.

Next up: a family secret is revealed and someone atones for their father's mistakes...