night made its way into her mind—Blair battering Hutch with a piece of firewood. Tonight should have brought a sense of closure, or at the very least the beginning of closure, but she felt troubled and discontent. And the nap had been too long. As she drifted off nearly an hour later, she realized she’d never heard from Jen Imbibio. She would grab her after class tomorrow. Blair and Gwen might be arrested, but the school still needed to shut down the Sixes.
In the morning she and Duncan took turns showering and drank their coffee quickly at the kitchen counter.
“Look, I know I offered my place while the killer was still at large,” Duncan said, “but why don’t you stay a few more nights? You’re still in recovery mode.”
“What if I take a rain check till later in the week,” Phoebe said. “I need to organize things at home.”
She left a few minutes ahead of him. It was colder out today than yesterday, and as she struggled to put on her gloves, one dropped to the ground. Stooping to pick it up, she felt a thought wiggling into her brain. At the hospital, Michelson had asked what she’d been wearing on Sunday night, and when she’d shown him her coat, he’d said, “Is that all?” The question had perplexed her. For the first time she wondered if the police had found an item of women’s clothing at the murder scene, something they needed to eliminate as Phoebe’s before linking it to the killer. So maybe that was one of the clues that had led them to Blair and Gwen.
Before heading to campus, Phoebe stopped briefly at her place. She unpacked her duffel bag, threw a load of clothes in the wash, and dropped some of the files she’d taken to Duncan’s back on her desk. Before leaving, she scooped up a few pinecones from the edge of her backyard and arranged them in a bowl on the coffee table. She wanted to feel safe again in her little house, but she wondered if she was being naive. According to Alexis, there were at least forty members of the Sixes. If someone else was really pulling the strings, they might still be a powerful force, even with a piece cut off.
She drove to campus. The scene, when she arrived, was just as Duncan had predicted—as if a bomb had gone off. People were gathered everywhere in clusters—talking, gesticulating, shaking their heads in dismay. A strong wind added to the disarray and tore across the quad, grabbing papers and candy wrappers and tossing them aside in a snit.
It didn’t take long to see that Blair and Gwen’s arrest had had a big impact inside the classroom as well. Nearly every student in her first class appeared hyped up, as if they’d dropped a couple of Adderall at breakfast. Though Phoebe had applied makeup over her bruises and scratches, they were still partially visible, but the students seemed too wired to notice. She decided to confront the situation head on.
“You must all be feeling pretty churned up,” she said once all the students were settled in their seats.
No one spoke for a moment, just looked at her in that slack-jawed style they so often resorted to in class, but finally a girl named Jackie lifted her shoulders in bewilderment and called out, “It just feels like, you know, everything’s out of control. All the kids are going ape shit. There’s press everyplace. And our parents want us to transfer.”
“Yeah,” a boy named Andy said. “I mean, I’ve heard of Skull and Bones. But who’s ever heard of a secret society on campus that actually
“Okay, I’ve got an idea,” Phoebe said, coming out from around the table she generally sat at. “We’re journalists, right? Let’s
The students nodded their heads enthusiastically, and for the next hour they talked about the various angles of the crisis on campus and how they might cover it. Then they divvied up the assignments. It was part newsroom, part therapy session. The kids seemed enthralled. How ironic, she thought, that not one of the students suspected how deeply she was entrenched in the story.
As soon as class was over, she flew up to her office, closed the door, and called Wesley. He would be at work right now, but hopefully he would answer his cell phone. She reached only voice mail and left a message. Less than five minutes later, he called her back.
“I’m glad you phoned,” he said. “I’ve been going to call you ever since Monday, but I was feeling so weird about everything.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“That guy Hutchinson who died. I feel really strange about it.”
“Why?” she urged.
“He was the head security guy who interviewed me after I woke up in the river. You know, the one who just seemed to dismiss my whole story.”
“I know, I know,” she said impatiently. “But why do you feel so weird?”
“Well, he called me last Sunday, after I saw you. He said he’d been reviewing some notes about the case. I was about to blow him off, but he admitted that he might have misjudged the situation last year.
“I went over the details from that night with him,” he continued. “But this time . . . well . . .”
“What is it, Wesley?” Phoebe said. Christ, just spit it out, she wanted to scream.
“I told him about that girl Blair being there. That I hadn’t mentioned it the first time because I didn’t think it was important. And then he goes and gets killed, and those girls get arrested. I feel really guilty.”
So Phoebe had been right. Hutch
“You still there?” Wesley asked.
“Yes, I’m here. And no, you shouldn’t feel guilty. How would you have known what they were capable of?”
“I know what you’re going to say next. You’re going to tell me to call the cops again. I already did. I called them right away once I heard about Hutchinson’s death.”
“Good,” Phoebe said. “Did Hutch ask you any specific questions about that night at Cat Tails?”
“Hutch? Oh, did you know him yourself?”
“Yes, a little bit.”
“I don’t recall him asking any specific questions. He just wanted me to go over that night again. You know, describe everything I could remember.”
“Did he give you any hint about what was on his mind—I mean, about any theories he might have had?”
“No, he didn’t let on about anything to me. He just said once more that he was sorry he hadn’t taken my situation more seriously last year—and that was it. Excuse me a sec, will you?” He turned from the phone. “If you’re looking for the fifty-pound bags, they’re against the wall.”
“One more thing, Wesley,” Phoebe said when she had his attention again. “Hutch reviewed the notes he and I both took about you being in the river, and he said he found something important in them—though he never had the opportunity to share it with me. By any chance, did he mention those notes to you?”
“Um, no. He just seemed interested in that girl, Blair.”
“Okay,” Phoebe said, frustrated. “If something occurs to you, just leave me a message.”
After signing off, she tossed the phone down and rested her chin in her hand, thinking. Something still gnawed at her, something she couldn’t see.
Her phone rang, and she swung her eyes toward it on the desk. The screen displayed a number she didn’t recognize.
“Hello, Phoebe,” a man’s voice said as soon as she picked up.
Her body tightened in surprise as she realized the caller’s identity.
Alec.
