The Sixes

been the only one.

Phoebe could sense the woman scanning the page on her computer. Hurry up! she wanted to scream.

“Just him, actually,” the assistant said. “Can I help with anything else?”

“No, uh, no,” Phoebe sputtered. “Thank you.”

She dropped the phone in her purse. Her legs felt wobbly suddenly, and she leaned against the building for support. Two people leaving the library turned and checked her out, their eyes curious.

Had Duncan really had an affair with Lily? she wondered desperately. It just didn’t fit. He seemed smart, mature, together, not the kind of guy who’d become entangled with a student and possibly jeopardize his standing at the college. And yet the truth was, she knew absolutely nothing about his personal life since his wife’s death. Phoebe hadn’t yet felt comfortable probing about that. She’d just assumed he’d dated very little since then, perhaps having a sexual fling or two. But then maybe that’s exactly what Lily had been for him.

Of course, if she were to believe Jen, Lily had made the first move. As part of the fifth circle, her initial plan had been to seduce and exploit. Had Duncan discovered her original intent?

Whatever the case, Phoebe realized, an affair would certainly explain Duncan’s behavior this morning—why he’d snapped at her when she’d raised the subject of Lily’s love life.

But there was an even more awful question to consider: Had Duncan murdered Lily? She considered what she knew of him, as if she were spreading pages of notes on a table in front of her. He had stuck by his wife during her illness; he had good friends in his department; his students adored him. But even a good man could be pushed. There was that moody side of him, too, which might point to something dark— malevolent, even.

And one detail she couldn’t ignore: he had seemed extremely interested in the murders, always pressing her for details. Was he just pumping me, she wondered, to make certain he knew as much as he could about the police investigation? Is that why he’d been so eager to check out Hutch’s notes—to make sure there was nothing implicating him? He’d also pushed her to stop the research. Was that really because he feared her getting too close to the truth?

The whole notion was crushing. She’d had sex with Duncan; she cared about him. Was he really a murderer?

No, it couldn’t be true, she told herself frantically. She caught a student looking at her and she realized she had been shaking her head back and forth.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. What she needed to do, she could see, was to go someplace quiet, where she could think in peace. Her office. Clasping her coat closed with her good hand, she headed for Arthur Hall. As she rounded the corner of the library, she nearly collided with Pete Tobias. God, she thought, this is the freaking last thing I need right now—another face-to-face with Lucifer himself.

“Well, Phoebe Hall,” he said. “I thought you might be avoiding me.”

Be careful, she warned herself. Talking to him was like trying to skirt around a rattlesnake on a mountain trail. And she couldn’t let him see how frazzled she felt at the moment.

“Shouldn’t you be busy writing the retraction about me?” she asked.

He looked annoyed. “It’s being posted today, actually,” he said. “Of course, I think the real story turned out to be far more interesting than what we’d been led to believe was true. That students here decided to frame you. Why do you think anyone would want to do that?”

“Maybe they were mad because I don’t grade on a curve,” Phoebe snapped. “But I’ll leave that for you to figure out, since you’re such a good reporter.”

He harrumphed. “I’ll do that, then. By the way, I’m surprised you’re not competing with me on the bigger story here.”

“I’m not following.”

“The ever-burgeoning body count in little old Lyle. It may not involve any of your celebrity crushes, but it’s the kind of juicy story Phoebe Hall generally likes to get her hands on.”

“Oh, I could never compete with you, Pete,” she said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to be someplace.”

Once inside her office, door closed, Phoebe collapsed at her desk and squeezed her eyes shut. She considered why Lily would have selected Duncan to seduce and exploit. She was a psych minor. She hadn’t taken classes with him yet but perhaps she planned to next term.

But then she fell for him. And perhaps something went wrong. Was Duncan the mess Lily had referred to during her dash with Phoebe through the rain?

None of this meant, though, that he’d killed Lily. But what if he had? Phoebe thought. It meant he probably also killed Hutch. Was it Duncan who had chased her through the woods that night? she wondered miserably.

There was one thing she could see: how easy it would have been for Duncan to frame Blair. Thanks to Phoebe, he knew all about the Sixes and the house on Ash Street.

As she leaned back in her chair, trying to slow her breathing, a chilling thought shoved its way into Phoebe’s brain: Lily and Trevor had drowned—and so had Duncan’s wife.

There had to be a way to learn more. She needed to talk to Amanda again, she decided. Lily’s roommate hadn’t known much about the new guy in Lily’s life, but asked some pointed questions, she might be able to cough up a detail. Phoebe called the girl’s number and left a message on her voice mail.

She also left a message for Wesley. She wanted to obtain a better description of the man at the jukebox, the one who had seemed to intrigue Hutch so much.

Phoebe then tried to turn her attention to paperwork, but she felt nauseous, too crazed to concentrate. Everything seemed to be crushing in on her. She gathered her belongings together and locked up her office. As she turned around, she saw Jan Wait approaching her in the hall.

“Phoebe, hi, I hope you got my message. How are you?”

“Much better than on Monday,” Phoebe said. “And I appreciate your call, Jan.”

She wished there was some way to pump Jan for information about Duncan. She must know a fair amount about him because of his friendship with Miles. But she couldn’t do it without shooting off a big red flare. She pictured Jan’s reaction to a comment like, “I’ve been shacking up with Duncan—would you happen to know if he’s a psychopathic murderer?”

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Jan asked. “You don’t seem like a casserole kind of girl, but I’d be glad to drop one off if you could use it.”

“That’s sweet of you, but I’m managing pretty well now. It just takes some getting used to.”

“I know. Miles broke his foot last year, and it turned into such a drag.”

“How’s his angina, by the way? Is he feeling better?”

“Angina? Why do you say that?”

“Oh, didn’t he—”

“Miles doesn’t have angina,” Jan said.

It was the shove again, like someone ramming Phoebe between the shoulder blades. She fumbled for a reply.

“Um—oh, sorry. I’d heard a psych professor had an angina attack. For some reason I thought it was Miles. Well, look, I’d better run.” There was a roaring sound in her ears, and she couldn’t even think.

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, yes, fine. I’ll see you later.”

She barely remembered the trip home. Her mind had scrambled over what she’d heard from Jan, trying to figure out what it meant. Duncan had clearly lied about Miles because he must have gone someplace else in those fifteen minutes. But where? Had he turned off the lights? To scare her off her research into the case?

Ten minutes after she reached home, Phoebe heard a dog yap outside and realized that Dan had arrived with Ginger. She swung open the door. Dan was tall—at least six-three—and he carried the tiny dog awkwardly against his body with one hand, as if he’d been forced to hold a woman’s purse. The sight of the little dog overwhelmed Phoebe with both grief and relief.

Though Dan was sporting a beard, Phoebe thought she could see a little of Hutch in him. “Sorry to have to