The Sixes

A GIRL WHO lived across the hall from her was the one who gave her the first clue to what was wrong. They were in the laundry room one night, folding clothes side by side as the wind howled outside, and the girl complained about a friend who’d been passed over for a role in the musical.

“It’s Fortuna,” the girl said. “They made sure the part went to who they wanted for it.”

“What’s Fortuna?” she had asked. The girl’s comment had begun to trigger an unease in her, but she wasn’t sure why.

“You don’t know?” the girl had said, wide-eyed. “They—they control everything here.”

Fortuna, she said, was made up of the rich, pretty girls. They guaranteed, the girl said, that their own members—or girls they approved of—won elections, starred in the plays, ran everything that mattered. The administration turned a blind eye because the parents of Fortuna members were the biggest donors to the school.

They were named, the girl said finally, for the goddess of fortune. Their symbol was fortune’s wheel. She suddenly remembered that one of the girls in her former study group always wore a charm bracelet with a single silver wheel.

“I don’t care,” she had said to the girl. “I’ll make my own fortune.”

“Don’t ever let them hear you say that,” the girl had told her. “Because they’ll make you pay for it.”

11

LEAVING A FEW lights burning in the living room, Phoebe mounted the stairs to the second floor.

It had taken Craig Ball and the younger cop Buddy, who looked to Phoebe like he still had his baby teeth, over an hour to clean up the horror-movie scene in her kitchen. While they worked, Glenda had tried to convince Phoebe to stay at her house, and though Phoebe had been briefly tempted, she’d said no. She couldn’t just start bunking down at Glenda’s every night.

She told herself it wouldn’t be so bad. Craig had promised that Officer Hyde would drive by her house at least every half hour. And of course the chain locks would be on the doors. But as soon as everyone had departed, she’d felt her dread begin to swell like a dry sponge dropped into water.

After changing into flannel pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, Phoebe slid into her icy-cold bed. Thanks to sheer weariness, sleep overtook her within moments. Then, suddenly, she was shaken back into consciousness. She was hearing knocking sounds again, coming from downstairs. She quickly sat up in bed. Were there more rats, she wondered desperately, trapped somewhere else? But as the sound continued, she realized that someone was knocking on the front door.

After grabbing her cell phone from the bedside table, she shot out of bed and hurried down the stairs. Maybe it was Buddy, checking on her in person.

From the stairwell, she had a direct view of the window in the front door. As she approached she saw, to her utter surprise, that Duncan Shaw was standing on the other side.

She crossed the room quickly and opened the door.

“Miles called and told me the news,” Duncan said as he stepped inside. “Are you okay?”

Phoebe sighed. “To be honest, I feel pretty rattled. God, that’s a bad pun, isn’t it?” She led him into the living room. “Were the rats yours?”

“Fortunately, no,” Duncan said. “In fact, there are no rats missing at all from the science center. They were probably bought at a pet store or a student may have owned them.” He took a seat on the couch. “So tell me what happened. I’ve only heard pieces of the story.”

Phoebe gave him the highlights. As Duncan listened, he shook his head in disgust.

“But the cops cleaned everything up?” he asked.

“Craig said they did the best they could for now, and I haven’t dared look. I just won’t ever eat sorbet again.”

“How did someone manage to get access?”

“I think by making a copy of my key the day they left the apples. Would you like a shot of brandy, by the way? I’m suddenly feeling in need of one.”

“That would be great,” Duncan said. “So you’re pretty sure it was this group again—the Sixes?”

He shrugged off his jacket and let it fall on the couch. He was wearing the same clothes he’d had on earlier —jeans, button-down dress shirt—but they were slightly rumpled, as if he’d stripped them off, dropped them on the floor, and then retrieved them ten minutes ago. Phoebe wondered if Val was back at his place, keeping the bed warm.

“Yep, pretty sure,” Phoebe said. She crossed the room to a small butler’s table where she’d set up a few bottles of after-dinner liqueurs. “There were six rats, just as there were six apples. And remember that slightly hostile conversation I had with Blair Usher today? This feels like retaliation.”

As Phoebe opened the brandy bottle, she remembered that she was in her damn pajamas. The bottoms were decent enough, but the top was just a tissuey T-shirt that you could practically see her breasts through.

“Miles said we’re supposed to keep all of this quiet from the cops for now?” Duncan said.

“Yes. Craig Ball wants to dig up more evidence, and figure out for sure which girls were involved. I guess he’s afraid that if the cops are called in now, it’ll be a mess on campus. I’m going to have the locks changed tomorrow, so they won’t be able to get in again, and once Ball knows who broke in, he’ll hand them over to the police.”

“Reasonable from a PR standpoint for the college, but not exactly comforting for you.”

“I just keep reminding myself that they’re a bunch of twenty-year-old girls, not master criminals.” She wished she felt as confident as her words boasted.

With brandy glasses in hand, Phoebe crossed back across the room to Duncan. When she handed him his glass and sat down next to him, their fingers brushed and she felt the same charge she’d experienced earlier at the party. I want him, she thought. Where did this come from?

“Still, this is pretty serious stuff,” Duncan said. He smiled for the first time that night. “I can’t imagine what it was like for you when you found them—knowing how unfond you are of the little creatures.”

“Well, I really appreciate you coming over and checking on me,” Phoebe said. She looked at him coyly, unable to resist making the next comment. “I just hope it didn’t throw a wrench in your plans tonight.”

It took him a moment to realize what she’d meant, and he threw his head back and laughed.

“Oh—Val,” he said. “It’s funny—suddenly she’s completely interested in me. Maybe as a feminist she was operating under the premise that it’s wrong for a woman to make a play for a widower until his wife has been dead and buried for well over a year. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to discourage her.”

“So you aren’t seeing her, then?” Phoebe asked. She’d meant it to come out lightly, but her tone had sounded urgent, betraying her eagerness to know.

“God, no,” Duncan said. He studied Phoebe for a moment. “I can tell by your face that you don’t totally believe me.”

Phoebe shrugged. “As a writer, I’ve always given far more credence to what people do than what they say.”

“Right—and of course I left the party with Val. Will you believe me when I say she begged for a ride, claiming her generator was on the blink?”

“Ahhh,” Phoebe said. “Did she mean her car’s generator or her own?”

Duncan laughed again.