The Sixes

investigation.” He didn’t add that Craig was obviously not responding to his overtures. She bet Craig would rather be caught drinking a cocktail with a pink umbrella in it than encourage any help from his former boss.

“What’s your take on the situation?” Phoebe asked.

Hutchinson puffed up his chest, clearly pleased to be asked. “Hard to say when I don’t know any details. Could be suicide, but when a young lady ends up dead, there’s often a guy in play. Could be a bad catch she picked up in a bar—or a boyfriend she dumped. One of the most dangerous things for a girl this age is breaking up with a guy who doesn’t want to be broken up with.”

Interesting, Phoebe thought. “Someone in the administration has a theory there’s a serial killer on the loose,” she said, deciding it was okay to mention it to him.

Hutchinson harrumphed. “By definition, then, I’d say there’d have to be more than one dead body.”

“There was another drowning, though, right? The spring before last?”

Hutchinson looked off and didn’t say anything

“Scott Macus,” he said after a few seconds. “A crying shame about that. But the cops ruled that an accident. Besides, there’s a year and a half between the two deaths. Serial killers like a cooling-off period, but it’s rarely that long.”

He tilted his head and scratched his neck with a knotted finger.

“Unless,” he added, “you count the kid who ended up in the river but survived.”

Phoebe felt cold in her thin jacket. “When was that?” she asked.

“Last November, just before I retired. A kid came into the security office one night, sopping wet and shivering his butt off. A senior, I recall. Said he’d come to in the river and didn’t know how he’d gotten there. Last thing he remembered was being at that damn bar, Cat Tails. He managed to kick off his shoes and swim to shore. I wasn’t on duty that night, but I followed up with him the next day. He didn’t have a scratch on him, so there was no indication of foul play. My determination was that he’d been inebriated and had fallen in accidentally.”

My God, Phoebe thought. Cat Tails was the bar that both Lily and Scott Macus had last been seen in. Could there be a serial killer?

“Does Craig know about this?”

“It’s in the database, but since he didn’t handle the call, he might not know to look there.”

“Should you tell him?”

He smiled. “Craig doesn’t seem to care about what I have to say. Besides, in my opinion, if you put a college next to a river, kids are always gonna fall in. This serial killer angle seems pretty out of the box to me.”

“I have another question for you,” Phoebe said, knowing he wouldn’t mind. “Glenda asked me to look into whether there may be a secret society of girls on campus, called the Sixes. Ever hear anything like that?”

Hutch cocked his head, clearly surprised.

She continued. “They apparently sometimes leave their mark—for instance, the number six painted on a wall, or six objects clustered together.”

Hutch shook his head. “Nope, never got wind of anything like that. But I’ll keep my ears open.”

Phoebe dug out a business card from her purse and offered it to Hutch.

Hutch smiled as he accepted it and gave her a small salute with his large hand. Phoebe sensed he’d enjoyed the exchange.

As she watched him walk off, she heard someone approach her too closely from behind. She spun around. Standing smack in front of her was the man she considered the incarnation of the devil on earth.

9

“WELL, HELLO, PHOEBE,” Pete Tobias said smarmily. She half expected him to drop to the ground and begin to slither around her ankles on his belly. “Fancy meeting you here.”

The last line was a total lie. It was suddenly clear to Phoebe that he’d been the guy who had asked Craig Ball about her. Tobias worked for the New York Post and was one of the reporters who’d treated her most viciously in print following the plagiarism charges. His distaste for her had seeped through every word, and she’d wondered if she’d once done something indirectly to enrage him, leading to a grudge against her. He’d obviously figured out where she’d fled in exile and driven out here so he could file an update for readers who craved the rush of schadenfreude her saga could provide.

“Oh, really?” Phoebe said, trying not to reveal how much his sudden presence disturbed her. “That’s funny, because weren’t you asking for me on campus yesterday?”

Though there was still a smug tug to his mouth, his too-small eyes flickered. She’d caught him in a lie, and it had thrown him off his game a little. “What I meant was that I’m surprised to see you in front of campus security,” he said. “Everything okay, I hope?”

“What exactly do you want from me?” she asked. She could hear an edge in her voice and she warned herself to take it down a notch.

Tobias’s lips curled into a full smile. With a start she wondered if there was a dreadful new development in her situation—someone else claiming she’d stolen his words and threatening to sue her ass off.

“I hate to disappoint you, Phoebe, but I’m actually here covering the death of Lily Mack.”

“Why would a death in Pennsylvania interest the New York Post?”

“There’s a very good reason. Lily’s a New York City girl—from Cobble Hill, Brooklyn. Then someone told me that you were working here. What a coincidence! I’d love to buy you a cup of coffee and hear what you’ve been up to.”

Sure, Phoebe thought, but you’ll have to drag me back to hell with you to do it. “I’m sorry, but this is a very busy time for me,” she said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

She strode briskly away, headed to Glenda’s house to pick up her car. Because she knew Tobias was probably following her with his eyes, or might even be tailing her from a distance, she kept her posture confident. But once she was in the car, she let her shoulders sag in dismay. She couldn’t believe that prick had surfaced in her life again.

Phoebe drove directly home without bothering to stop by the locksmith’s. She felt discombobulated by her encounter with Tobias, and right now she craved the sanctuary of her house. As soon as she entered, she made a sweep through the rooms, checking for any sign of disturbance. But everything appeared to be fine.

She was desperate for a shower, but that was trumped by her need to know what Tobias was really up to. She clicked on the New York Post Web site and searched under his name. Bless his evil heart, Phoebe thought. He’d been telling the truth. There were several reports with his byline on the disappearance of Lily and the discovery of her body, including a few details from anonymous sources about the drowning and some breathless quotes from kids on campus.

And then, to her chagrin, she discovered a reference to herself at the end of Tobias’s most recent story. “Lyle happens to be the college where disgraced celebrity biographer Phoebe Hall now teaches,” he’d written. Next, she thought, the jerk would be insinuating that she was linked to Lily’s death somehow. She imagined the headline: “Plagiarist Eyed in Death of Pretty Coed.”

Enough about him, Phoebe told herself. She needed a game plan for tackling the Sixes. If only I knew more about them, she thought. Was membership simply about feeling important and superior—and the thrill that came from excluding other girls? Or was there something far more sinister at work?

Somehow she had to find a way to make direct contact with Blair Usher. The girl wasn’t returning her calls, and it was pointless to keep trudging over to the house on Ash Street, where Gwen and Blair could just ignore her knocks on the door. She decided to ask Glenda for both a photo of Blair and the girl’s class schedule. Then Phoebe would basically stalk the girl until she caught up with her.

Also, as she’d told Glenda, she needed to talk to Alexis Grey. Phoebe had no classes on Thursday and she