The Sixes (28 page)

To Phoebe’s surprise, the housekeeper didn’t respond to her knock on the door. She tried again, and as she waited, she detected music playing inside—a jazz song. Someone was home and obviously couldn’t hear her above the noise.

She pushed the front door open and called out hello. No one responded. The music seemed to be coming from the conservatory, and she followed it, like a thread. She reached the room and glanced around. There were speakers on a small table, the source of the jazz, but no one was in the room.

She glanced out the long windows, across the yard to the driveway. Glenda’s car wasn’t even there. Damn, Phoebe thought, Glenda must have shifted her plans. Phoebe backed out of the room and into the main hall, rushing to leave. As she took a step toward the front door, the landline in the house rang. She flinched. And then from just inside the living room, she heard a male voice answer hello. It was Mark. Phoebe froze in position.

“Yes, I understand,” Mark said. “But never call me on this phone again, do you understand? I told you to use my cell.”

Phoebe stayed still, holding her breath. It wouldn’t be pretty to have Mark discover her presence, but at the same time, she was desperate to hear what he would say next.

“Of course, I told you that,” he said after a few seconds. There was another long pause. She heard him clear his throat.

“I’ll have it for you,” he said crisply. “I said I would, and I will.”

Oh, God, Phoebe thought. He was about to get off and possibly leave the room. She tiptoed to the front door and snuck outside, scrambled down the steps of the porch, and bolted to her car. Once inside she finally breathed and fired up the engine. Before pulling out into the street, she looked back at the house. To her chagrin, she saw the curtains of the living room part just an inch. Someone, most likely Mark, was peering outside.

Had he recognized her? If he had, he might guess she’d eavesdropped and would have another reason to keep her on his shit list. But what worried her even more were the words she’d overheard. Why wasn’t the person supposed to call him on the landline? And what was it that Mark was supposed to produce?

She drove to campus and parked in the lot behind the student union. It was raining harder now, and her sweater sleeves and sling were soaked by the time she reached the front of the building. There were a few tables on the plaza draped with plastic coverings, but most, she realized, had obviously been dismantled because of the weather, and only a half dozen people now milled around. A dripping sign, written in script and propped against a chair, read, “Rain Date: Friday.” Phoebe tried Glenda again on her cell, but she reached only voice mail. She waited for fifteen minutes under an overhang, thinking Glenda might still show, not knowing the fair had been canceled. Finally, after the last table was hauled off, Phoebe tramped back to her car. The ache in her elbow had returned full force.

Once home she popped two ibuprofen and made green tea, hoping to calm her jangly nerves. With the mug in one hand she circled through her rooms, hashing over her conversation with Jen. She
had
to find out what committee Lily had been on and who she’d fallen in love with. That could very well be the killer. But there were confusing aspects. How would Hutch have learned about the connection? And how did Trevor Harris’s death fit into this scenario? Had Lily’s lover killed him out of jealousy? But that
couldn’t
be the case: it had sounded like Lily had fallen in love this fall after Trevor was clearly out of the picture. Phoebe grabbed her phone and dialed Jen’s number.

“Is there any chance that Lily started the relationship with the older man when she was still with Trevor?” Phoebe asked when the girl picked up.

“No, it started this fall,” Jen said. “And besides, she loved that guy Trevor. They were going to live together, and she was really upset when she thought he took off.”

“So she never suspected something bad had happened to him?”

“No, because he’d been talking a lot about how fed up he was with Lyle and with being hassled here.”

“Hassled?”

“About his grades. And by the campus cops. He told Lily they had it in for him.”

That
was interesting. Phoebe asked if Jen knew why, but the girl said she had no clue. Phoebe signed off, promising to call tomorrow.

It was dark out now, and foggy too, and the rooms seemed to be shrinking, pinning her in. She knew she had reason to be on edge, but the fading light wasn’t helping. She dreaded the coming night and wished she’d never opened up that piece of cardboard. Why, she wondered, hadn’t Glenda called her? And where was Duncan? Why the hell was no one getting back to her?

And then, it was as if she had conjured him up. She heard a knock at the front door, and when she spun around, she saw Duncan through the glass in the window.

“Hey,” he said when she opened the door. His black trench glistened with water. “I got so crazed I never checked my phone, and when I heard your message, I decided to just hurry over.”

“Oh, God,” Phoebe said. “I’m just so glad you’re here. There’s something totally freaky going on.”

As he stripped off his coat, she began to tell him about the tarot card.

“Let me play devil’s advocate,” Duncan said when she’d finished. “Couldn’t it just be the Sixes leaving their own specific warning for you—that your fate is about to change?”

“Sure, I guess,” Phoebe said, flinging her arms up. “But the more I think about it, the more it seems like too big of a coincidence. Fortuna always left the mark of the wheel. And there’s a wheel right on the front of the card.”

Duncan looked at her sympathetically, but she suspected he felt she was making much ado about nothing. “Even if someone
did
find out about Fortuna—let’s say that Glenda mentioned it to someone—you shouldn’t let it cause you any grief, Phoebe. What difference does it make if someone knows about your past?”

“What if it’s
more
than that?” she blurted out. To her dismay, she heard her voice tremble as she realized something she hadn’t considered before. “What if someone from Fortuna is here—at the school? I never knew who all of the members were.”

“That seems unlikely. But even so, why be so afraid of them? They bullied you, but that’s really it, right?”

“No,” she said, her eyes welling with tears. “It was worse than that. Worse than I ever told you.”

***

A
FTER HER CLOTHES were shredded, she finally confided in a teacher, who brought her to the headmistress. The woman had listened, nodded, expressed concern and said that the school would not only investigate but also reimburse her for some of the clothing. But at the same time the headmistress, with her too-pert nose in the air, had seemed unsympathetic, as if she’d been forced to discuss something that she found trivial, the problem of a student too wimpy to fight her own battles and take care of herself.

Later she thought about the choice of the word investigate. That word never suggested that the culprits in Fortuna—because surely it was them—would be brought to justice. And from what she knew, no one ever was.

But at least after that things were quiet. Spring came. She met a boy from a coed prep school nearby, and they had coffee twice in town. To her relief, life seemed normal again. Maybe, she thought, Fortuna had moved on to someone else.

On Easter weekend she stayed on campus to work—she had so much to do leading up to finals. The fact that the campus was nearly deserted was actually a relief to her. And then on Saturday night, as she was walking back to the dorm, the boys had grabbed her.

She never saw their faces. They came up behind her and threw a hood over her head. From the sound of them muttering to each other, she knew that there were three of them, and they weren’t that old. They led her to a car and threw her in the back seat.

She thought she would be raped, and she was out of her mind with fear. But after a ten-minute drive they yanked her out of the car and forced her into some kind of crawl space. And then they sealed it shut.

She could barely breathe. It was cold and damp, and she thought she heard rats, scampering somewhere near her. Although she knew they must have driven away, she called out, again and again, to no avail. She tried to push, too, at what she thought was the opening, but she was too wedged in to create any force.

For the next thirty-six hours, she just lay there in the total dark, weeping sometimes, wetting herself. She pretended her mother was next to her, telling her to hold on, to be strong. She knew people would start to look for her, but how would they ever guess she was in this place? She was certain that she was going to die.

28

D
UNCAN SLIPPED HIS
arm around Phoebe, careful of her bad arm, and led her to the couch, easing her onto one of the cushions.

“Tell me what happened,” he said, sitting next to her.

She spilled out the whole story then—about the letters and the shredded clothes and then finally about being abducted and forced into the crawl space in the warehouse. She started to cry once but brushed the tears away.

“How did they finally find you?” Duncan asked. His expression was grim.

“It was partly because of Glenda,” Phoebe said. “She came back from Brooklyn Sunday night, and when she couldn’t find me, she reported it to the dorm mother. The school alerted the police. On Monday morning, someone—one of the boys, they later thought—called from a phone booth with an anonymous tip about me in the warehouse and the police dug me out. I was in the hospital for a couple days. I thought of going back to school after that, but my mother wouldn’t have it, and frankly, I was just too afraid. Needless to say, the school bent over backward to keep me from making a stink.”

“I can’t believe you went through that nightmare. And you’re sure it was Fortuna who was behind your abduction?”

“Almost positive. I’d been falsely signed out of the dorm for the weekend, which is why the dorm mother initially had no reason to be alarmed—and it must have been Fortuna members who forged my signature. The boys, I’ve always assumed, were from the nearby coed prep school that we socialized with. I suspect the Fortuna members talked them into grabbing me, though my guess is that they never meant for it to get so out of hand.”

“But why would they go to such an extreme to begin with?”

“I think because of a boy I’d started seeing,” Phoebe said. “He went to that other prep school, and we’d had coffee a few times. I heard later that one of the Fortuna girls was after him. She wanted to scare me off, apparently.”

“And they never caught the boys who did it to you?”

“No. Nor the girls. The school made a show of trying to find out who the ringleaders were, but the daddies of the Fortuna girls were the ones who gave the big donations, so I doubt they tried very hard.”

“Gosh, Phoebe,” Duncan said. “I can only imagine how this Sixes nonsense has stirred up all the crap from the past.”

On the one hand, Phoebe was glad she’d told him the story. She’d never even shared the full details with Alec. But now she felt even more churned up, knowing it was out in the open.

“Do you see what I mean now?” she implored. “I just keep wondering if someone from Fortuna is
here
, working with the Sixes.”

“Tell me how I can help,” he said.

She shook her head in despair. “I don’t know. Maybe just food, for starters. I never ate today, and it’s not helping.”

He suggested ordering a pizza. After making the call, he asked if she’d mind if he took a shower. He’d been at the lab much of the afternoon, he told her, and needed to wash up. After Duncan headed upstairs, she opened a bottle of wine and poured a large glass. It’s been twenty-five years, she thought, since Fortuna terrorized me, but I’m right back in that old place now, feeling undone again. She thought of Lily and Alexis and the other victims of the Sixes. She had to put a stop to what was happening here in Lyle.

A few minutes later, just as she heard the water start running in the shower, her cell phone rang. It was Glenda, finally calling back.

“Sorry to make you leave all those messages,” Glenda said. “I ended up going to the local library with Brandon, and I had to turn off my phone.”

“Have you
ever
mentioned Fortuna to anyone here at the college?” Phoebe demanded.

“Of course not. Why are you asking?”

She told Glenda about the tarot card.

“I don’t believe it,” Glenda said. “How can this be happening?”

“I wouldn’t blame you, G, if you said something,” Phoebe told her. “Maybe you mentioned it to someone when you talked about me coming to teach here, or when the whole Sixes business started up. It’s not anything I ever insisted had to be kept secret.”

“I’ve never breathed a word about it. Sure, you never told me it was supposed to be a secret, but since you always seemed to keep it private yourself, I did too. Believe it or not, I’ve never even told Mark. After he met you, he asked why you’d left school, and I told him that you’d missed your mom too much.”

“Well, someone’s found out—or even worse, someone here was once a member and told the Sixes.”

“Have you ever talked about it in an interview?”

“Never. And there was no press coverage of my abduction. The school made sure of that.”

“We’ll get to the bottom of this, Fee. I’m sure the cops are doing everything in their power to squeeze Blair and Gwen. It won’t be long before we know who all the Sixes are, and then we can find out if there’s really a connection to Fortuna.”

Phoebe took another swig of wine. “Okay, it’s just—you know. It’s just making me crazy, that’s all.”

“I’m sure,” Glenda said. “You called about something else, too. That committee Lily was on?”

“Right. I talked to someone who swears Blair and Gwen are being set up. She also says that Lily was in love with a faculty or administration member she met on a committee this fall. It sounds like they were having an affair—and that could be significant.”

“I’m back in my office, and I can check now on my computer. Just give me a sec to find it.”

Phoebe heard the sound of Glenda’s phone being set down on the desk. As she waited, she realized she was holding her breath. Finally Glenda picked up the phone again.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Glenda said. “But then, maybe you will.”

“
Who?
” Phoebe urged.

“Tom Stockton. It was a committee on campus life.”

Phoebe inhaled sharply. It was the same committee Jen was on, though she’d nicely withheld this detail. “Damn, despite what you told me about him, I didn’t see this one coming.”

“You sure about this, Fee?”

“Not totally. But if it’s true, he might be involved in the deaths. It could also explain why he’s been so eager to promote the serial killer idea. It deflects all the attention away from him.”

“Are you going to the cops about this?”

“Not yet. I want to check it out a bit more. And don’t worry, I’ll be careful.” Her mind flashed back to her experience earlier in Glenda’s house. “Tell me—how are things on
your
end?”

“For the time being, things seem relatively under control on campus, and I’ve managed to calm the board down—though I dread what will happen when more stuff starts leaking out about the Sixes. On the home front, it stinks. Mark has been out a lot lately, and he’s always got these intricate excuses that seem rehearsed. I keep thinking about what my mother used to say: A liar’s story is often just a little too pat.”

In her mind Phoebe could see herself creeping down Glenda’s front hallway, overhearing the ominous words that Mark had spoken. She needed to share with Glenda what she’d learned, but she didn’t want to do it over the phone.

“Is there any chance I can see you soon?” Phoebe said. “I really want to catch up in person.”

“Me too. There’s a women’s soccer game tomorrow at four. Can you meet me there?”

Phoebe promised she would.

“Are you going to be okay at home tonight?” Glenda asked.

“Yeah, Duncan’s here.”

There was a longer than usual pause.

“Okay, but remember you have a bed here whenever you need it,” Glenda told her.

Phoebe thanked her and started to sign off. “Oh, wait,” she said, remembering. “There’s one other thing I heard. Someone mentioned to me that Trevor Harris was being hassled by Craig Ball before he died. Their word, not mine. Did you ever hear anything like that?”

“That’s odd,” Glenda said. “I don’t recall Craig ever mentioning he’d had any issues with Trevor. And I don’t like the word
hassle
. That’s not the way we like to do business with students around here. Let me investigate, Fee.”

After saying good-bye, Phoebe dropped the phone on the table and leaned back in the chair, considering the info she’d learned from Glenda.
Stockton
. Knowing that he had a predilection for college girls, it wasn’t hard to imagine him falling for Lily. But it was tough to imagine it the other way around—what had that pretty, inquisitive girl seen in that pompous bore? And yet Phoebe knew Lily wasn’t the girl she’d first imagined her to be. She’d apparently been up to her ears in dirty tricks.

So had Stockton thrown Lily into the river? If he was obsessed with her, he might have done it out of jealousy. Or rage, because he’d learned she’d first set out to exploit him. And when Hutch figured it out, Stockton showed up at his cabin and battered him to death. But how had Hutch learned the truth?

The situation, Phoebe realized, might be even sicker than Stockton killing a former lover. Maybe—if she was really going to push the envelope in her thinking—Stockton was the serial killer, drugging and drowning students. She’d seen him in Cat Tails. Perhaps he’d been there before. Was
he
the thirty- or forty-something man who had spoken to Wesley? Wesley had been at the school only two years, and might not even have been familiar with Stockton. She needed to show Wesley a picture of Stockton.

She heard the water shut off, and a few minutes later Duncan bounded down the stairs. His skin was dewy, and his wet hair was slicked back off his face. Later, after they slipped into bed, she reached out for him in the dark and ran her fingers deliberately along his chest and thighs.

“Are you sure?” he said softly. “I would love nothing more than to have sex with you, but is it okay with your injuries?”

“Well, if you think I’m waiting six weeks till this sling comes off, you’re crazy.”

She gave in to the sheer pleasure of his hands exploring her and the feel of him inside her. It was an utter relief to leave the world behind.

The next morning, she was first out of bed and had already put out a few provisions for breakfast by the time Duncan wandered into the kitchen.

“You seem like you’re in a hurry,” he said.

“There are a few things I must take care of,” Phoebe said. “Are you ready for a piece of actually fun news?

“
Please
.”

She told him about her decision to babysit Ginger for a while.

Duncan smiled. “That’s nice of you to do, Phoebe,” he said. “It must be so tough for her, losing both her home and her master. Speaking of that, I wonder if we’ll hear news of the case today. If the girls don’t confess, they’ll have to stand trial.”

Phoebe had already decided she wasn’t going to reveal specifics about Jen’s visit—it wouldn’t go down well with Duncan if he knew she was still poking around. But she wanted his take on one aspect.

“What if my first instinct about the murder was right? That Blair and Gwen didn’t do it?” she asked.

Duncan, leaning against the sink, lowered his coffee cup, holding her eyes.

“Anything in particular inspiring this line of thinking?” he asked.

“Someone informed me yesterday that Lily was in love with a man—not a student—who works at Lyle. What if he was the one who killed Lily and then Hutch?”

“Who told you
that
?” he said.

“I can’t say at the moment.”

“For crying out loud, Phoebe,” Duncan snapped. “Why can’t you leave this all to the police? You keep putting yourself in danger.”

She appreciated his concern, but she didn’t need him telling her what to do—and certainly not in that tone.

“I’m looking for closure in this case, just like everyone else,” Phoebe said firmly. “But I don’t want closure based on a lie. The police may not have all the answers.”

“I’m sorry I spoke to you like that,” he said, sighing. “I’m just concerned about you.”

She accepted his apology and began clearing the breakfast dishes. The next few moments were awkward and clunky. She could sense his mind churning and his mood darkening. But when he said good-bye a few minutes later, he seemed more like himself again.

“Why don’t we go out to dinner tonight?” he said. “I’ve got a little cabin fever these days, and I’m sure you must too.”

She agreed, and he kissed her good-bye. She locked the door behind him and peered out the window. As she watched him trip down her front steps, it was hard not to notice the sullen slump in his shoulders. She didn’t like what had just happened.

Phoebe checked the time. She had a few hours until Hutch’s nephew was due to arrive, and she intended to use the time to track down Stockton. She wanted to ask him about the committee and see what vibe she picked up from his answer. She called his office and was told he had back-to-back meetings this morning.

“It’s fairly urgent,” Phoebe said after identifying herself. “Can you tell me where he’ll be at around ten?”

“Well, I’m not sure if—” And then, as if sensing she sounded silly withholding the information, the assistant volunteered that Stockton was presently at a meeting in the basement conference room of the library.

This time Phoebe walked the short distance to campus. The skies had cleared, but it was in the forties, with a stiff wind that made the flags on campus snap so hard they sounded as if they would tear in half. Students were bundled up today, some even in parkas. Since she was only able to drape her coat over her shoulders, Phoebe was shivering by the time she reached the library.

The woman at the library’s front desk said she had no idea where Stockton’s meeting was being held, but that there were several meeting rooms in the basement. Phoebe nearly flew down the stairs, worried about missing him. At this hour the basement level was nearly deserted, and as she searched along the corridors, she passed empty stacks, study carrels, and the glass-walled area that housed a collection of Revolutionary War–era letters, donated by an alumnus years ago.

Finally she heard a murmur of voices just ahead, and the echo of footsteps on the concrete floor. Two women turned a corner onto the corridor Phoebe was walking down.

“Good morning,” Phoebe said. “You haven’t seen Dean Stockton, have you?”