just thinking too much about the missing girl, she told herself. She squeezed her eyes closed and forced herself to think of her classes on Monday.
At eight the next morning, just as Phoebe was making coffee, Glenda phoned.
“You up, Fee?” Glenda asked. There were voices and clanging kitchen sounds in the background.
“Yeah. I was just going to try you again.”
“Sorry I didn’t call last night. I was on the phone half the night—dealing with this whole situation. You heard about the missing girl?”
“Yes, that’s why I called you. When I saw the flyers last night, I realized I’d had a conversation with her about two weeks ago.”
“You’re kidding. What did she say?”
“Nothing super revealing, but it might be relevant. She seemed to be looking for answers.”
There was a rattling sound on the other end of the phone, as if someone had hurried by Glenda with a tray full of glasses.
“Look, I’m hosting a breakfast for a local group and they’re just about to walk in the door. Can you come over in an hour? There’s something I want to talk to you about anyway.”
“Okay, will do.”
For the next hour Phoebe thumbed through a stack of mail she’d been ignoring that week. At exactly nine, she walked the several blocks to the college president’s residence, directly across the street from the campus. Though a bit run-down in places, it was still a grand, impressive house, apparently built for some captain of industry before the college was even founded. There wasn’t a ton of rooms inside, but they were all spacious, decorated with a mix of antiques owned by the college and random pieces left behind by former presidents who had come and gone, a few with their tails between their legs.
For Glenda it was like living a fantasy. She had grown up in the projects in Brooklyn, and though she and her husband Mark had lived in a series of nice apartments and homes as she moved up through academia, this one topped them all. As Glenda had once told Phoebe, “It’s even better than my black Barbie Dream House.”
The housekeeper answered the door. Over her shoulder, Phoebe could see that there were a few stragglers from the breakfast still in the living room.
“Dr. Johns is expecting you,” the woman said. “She asked that you wait in the conservatory for a few moments.” She led Phoebe down there.
It was Phoebe’s favorite room in the house. The windows were floor to ceiling, and the space was filled with lush ferns and miniature orange trees. She settled in one of the slightly worn black wicker armchairs. A coffee service had been set up on a table nearby, and Phoebe poured a cup for herself. Outside leaves from the maple and oak trees in the yard slipped from the branches and drifted silently to the ground.
Ten minutes later Glenda rushed in, dressed in a peach-colored wool pants suit that flattered her soft brown skin. Phoebe flashed a smile at her. They had met in boarding school, two scholarship students—both daughters of single mothers—thrust together as roommates. They had forged a friendship from day one. Though Phoebe had watched the gradual evolution of Glenda’s kick-ass work skills and career, she still found herself in awe of the woman her friend had become.
“Sorry, Fee,” Glenda said, flopping her five-eleven frame into another armchair. “It was like herding cats to get them out. You want anything to eat?”
“I’m fine with coffee, thanks. Any news about Lily?”
“Unfortunately, no—though we’ve pieced together some details about her whereabouts Thursday night. How much do you know about her disappearance?”
“Nothing, really.”
Glenda let out a long sigh. “She was last seen on campus at about eight Thursday night,” she said. “She told her roommate she was going to the library, and people recall seeing her there. But at some point she headed off campus. The cops discovered that she ended up at one of those bars I despise at the bottom of Bridge Street—Cat Tails. The bartender says she had two beers and paid the tab at around ten. Two people reported seeing her leave the bar and turn up Bridge Street—but she never made it back to the dorm.”
“Why did the roommate wait so damn long to report it?”
“Lily has a friend named Blair Usher with an off-campus apartment over on Ash Street. When Lily left for the library, she told her roommate she might be staying there that night—she sometimes did that, apparently. The roommate was out of the dorm most of Friday, and when she returned to the room, there was no sign Lily had ever come back home. That’s when the roommate started to get concerned. At dinner that night in the cafeteria, she went looking for Blair and found out that Lily hadn’t stayed with her Thursday night after all.”
“A girl last seen leaving a bar alone,” Phoebe said soberly. “That’s a story that doesn’t usually end well.”
“I know. And her cell phone has not been used since that night, so it’s not looking great.” Glenda let out a breath. “So, tell me about your conversation with her.”
Phoebe related what Lily had said about making a mess of things and wanting to start over—or escape. When Phoebe finished, Glenda leaned back in her chair, folding her arms against her chest. Her eyes danced around as she mulled over what she’d heard.
“You think I’m a creep, don’t you?” Phoebe asked after a moment.
“What do you mean?”
“For not trying to figure out what was eating away at her.”
“Not at all,” Glenda said. “And you know I’m always straight with you. The girl caught you off guard five minutes before class, and you did what you could at the time.”
“I know. But I feel guilty now. And I just want to know she’s okay.”
“This information is helpful. I’ll pass it along to the cops this morning.”
Phoebe remembered another detail. “Val Porter told me Lily’s boyfriend disappeared this spring. Do you think her disappearance could be connected to his?”
“His name was Trevor Harris, and yes, I wondered the same thing,” Glenda said. “People weren’t as worried, by the way, when he seemed to vanish. It was this past March. He’d apparently talked about just bagging it and heading out west. He wasn’t much of a student, and he didn’t get along super well with his family.”
“Maybe Lily heard from him and went to meet up with him someplace.”
“Possibly. Though she
“Or a different kind of escape,” Phoebe said. “Like taking her life.”
“Also possible.” Glenda looked stricken.
“What exactly are the cops doing?”
“They’re interviewing everyone who knew her, as well as people who were downtown that night. And if she doesn’t turn up in a few days, they may use cadaver dogs to see if they can pick up any scent along the river.”
“Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t lost more students in the Winamac. It’s right by those bars.”
“There was one drowning about a year and a half ago—the spring before last. The guy had been doing a pub crawl that night, and they think he got disoriented, walked in the wrong direction, and accidentally fell in. Kind of hard to swim when you’re drunk as a skunk and dressed in work boots and corduroy pants. But we’re constantly warning kids about drinking and the river from the moment they arrive.”
Glenda bit her lip and gazed out the window.
“There’s something else on your mind, G,” Phoebe said. “I can tell just by looking at you.”
“Yeah,” Glenda said quietly. “There
Phoebe could feel a breath catch in her chest.
“How big—and what’s their agenda?” she asked after a couple of seconds.
“We have no idea on either count. In fact, we’ve got little proof they actually exist. In May a student of ours showed up at a local hospital having a panic attack. She was completely hysterical. After they calmed her down, she told one of the doctors that she had once been a member of a society of girls on campus, and that they were out to get her now.”
