The Finishing School (9 page)

“Patricia, James Seward is on the board of trustees. He could raise quite a stink. We both know he loves to make trouble.”

“I’m certain Mr. Seward would want us to assist the investigation in any way possible,” Mrs. Andover said.

“Well, if you’re so certain, why not call him?” Siebert suggested. “If we get the parents’ consent, there won’t be any chance of an issue later.”

“Fine. If that’s what it takes to make you comfortable,” Melanie said with a sigh. She hated having to jump through unnecessary hoops because this guy wanted to make a show of earning his paycheck. But it turned out not to be a big deal. She spent the next ten minutes on her cell phone and quickly obtained consent from James Seward, Luis Reyes, and Buffy Meyers—who was in the middle of being interviewed by Dan and Bridget—for searches of their daughters’ lockers.

“Thank you so much for indulging Ted by making those calls,” the headmistress said when Melanie was done. “I never would’ve put you through it, but he’s just trying to look out for us.”

Ted Siebert gave the headmistress an angry glare. Melanie wondered what the subtext was here.

“No problem, Mrs. Andover,” she said. “We’d like to search now, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.”

“Wait just a second. I don’t think we’ve covered all the issues,” Siebert interjected again. The headmistress’s brow furrowed.

“Before we go ahead, Patricia, you should stop and consider the media implications of this. What if more drugs are found on school property? At the very least, I think we need assurances that nobody’s gonna blab to the press.”

“I won’t be speaking to the press personally. I can promise you that. I can’t make any representations about what others in my office might do,” Melanie said, thinking about her boss.

“This is absolutely the wrong time for a scandal,” Siebert insisted.

This guy was really starting to annoy Melanie. “The cat’s out of the bag, Mr. Siebert. The scandal’s already happened. And if there are drugs on school property, I’d think you would want them removed as promptly as possible.”

“A few wild girls experimenting with drugs, and suddenly Holbrooke is labeled a druggie school,” Siebert said. “We don’t need negative press right now. It’s a sensitive time, funding-wise.”

“Ted’s referring to the fact that we’re in the middle of a major endowment campaign,” added the headmistress. “It concludes this Friday with a black-tie holiday gala where we expect to announce a major contribution. Naturally we’d like this unfortunate event to get the minimum public attention possible, so as to have the least impact on our campaign. It’s very important to the future of Holbrooke.”

Two, maybe three, girls die, and they were worried about the effect on their fund-raiser? The headmistress seemed cooperative enough, but Melanie was running out of patience for her attack dog here. She didn’t have time for this. Carmen Reyes was missing, and the morning was slipping away.

“Mrs. Andover…” Melanie began impatiently.

But the headmistress was nodding encouragingly. “Yes, I understand, Miss Vargas. Don’t worry, I’m going to overrule Ted on this one.”

“What?” sputtered Siebert. “Patricia, I must insist—”

“Ted, at a time like this, we have to pull together and help the authorities. Selfish concerns can’t stand in the way.”

THE HEADMISTRESS PERSONALLY escorted Ray-Ray to search the girls’ lockers. Meanwhile, the school psychologist was pulled out of a grief-intervention session and assigned to help Melanie locate and review the girls’ files, which contained transcripts, disciplinary records, and other possible items of interest.

“This is a small school, so faculty wear many hats,” Dr. Harrison Hogan explained as they headed toward his office. “I’m head shrinker, science teacher, and director of college counseling all rolled into one. These girls were juniors, so I should have their files in my office for college-application purposes, although with my so-called filing system, you never can tell.”

Hogan was lanky and good-looking, with longish dark hair and a sculpted face. He wore a tweed jacket over frayed blue jeans and projected an air of nonchalant cool. She followed him down a narrow hallway teeming with Holbrooke girls changing classes, many of whom checked her out, even eyed her with hostility.
Don’t worry, I’m not his girlfriend
, she felt like saying. Hogan was obviously the object of his share of schoolgirl crushes.

Holbrooke girls hadn’t changed much since Melanie’s college days. They still had that slutty-preppy thing going on. Little plaid kilts barely grazing the tops of their thighs, exposing miles of lithe leg even in the dead of winter. Itsy-bitsy T-shirts and skintight cardigans with the buttons provocatively undone. Long, straight hair and smudgy eyeliner. Melanie’s sister, Linda, the Puerto Rican diva, had dressed like a hooker in high school, but come on, they grew up in a rough neighborhood. These were rich girls—you’d expect better, right? The fact that these kids dabbled in heroin wouldn’t shock anybody looking at them.

“You see why we’re doing this endowment campaign,” Hogan was saying. “We’re really squeezed for space. Patricia wants a new building.”

He was right. Holbrooke’s square footage was clearly insufficient for its needs. Several town houses had been awkwardly combined into a cramped, confusing layout. The interiors were surprisingly musty and run-down, in need of a good sprucing, although you could imagine there would be fondness among the alumnae for the school’s dear old WASPy worn-out look.

“How much money is the school trying to raise?” Melanie asked.

“The campaign was for fifty mil over two years. It concludes at the gala Friday night.”

“Fifty
million
? Wow. Did they reach their target?”

“From what I understand, yes, or at least they will have by Friday. Holbrooke alumnae come from the wealthiest families in America. Besides, Patricia is a clever businesswoman. She gets what she wants.”

Hogan opened a door with a frosted-glass window and beckoned her in.

“My humble abode,” he said. “Sorry, I’m not much of a housekeeper.”

The office was claustrophobically tiny, littered with files and papers, and had an absentminded-professor air about it. To say Hogan couldn’t keep house was an understatement. Even the books in the shelves lay askew, as if they’d been shoved in any which way.

“Please,” he said, indicating a chair shoved into a corner next to the door.

Melanie had to move a stack of books off the chair in order to sit down. She picked last year’s Holbrooke yearbook from the top of the pile, flipping through it as Hogan searched through file cabinets looking for the girls’ transcripts. Whitney Seward’s photograph leaped out at her. Whitney had one of those perfect faces that made everyone else in the world look like a badly drawn cartoon. Absolutely symmetrical features, straight blond hair, and blindingly white teeth. Carmen Reyes was on the facing page, looking serious and shy, with big dark eyes and braces. Melanie had to search for Brianna Meyers. Despite being quite pretty, with long, curly dark hair, light-colored eyes, and a nose so pert that it smacked of the surgeon’s knife, there was something nondescript about Brianna, something nervous and self-effacing. Melanie felt a ripple at the tip of her consciousness, like if only she could understand these girls, she’d solve the puzzle.

“While you’re looking for those files, Dr. Hogan, may I ask you a few questions?” Melanie said.

“You can try. Anything sensitive, though, I’m gonna have to refer you back to Ted Siebert, the school lawyer.”

“Why is that?”

“Patricia runs a tight ship. We don’t give out personal information on students without the okay from our attorney.”

“Mrs. Andover was extremely cooperative, I assure you. She sent me here specifically to get this information from you.”

Hogan grimaced meaningfully. “She might’ve acted that way in front of
you
, but I know what side my bread is buttered on.”

“Did Mrs. Andover instruct you not to answer my questions?” Melanie asked.

“She’s too clever to come right out and say that. But I know better than to air dirty laundry about the daughter of a major contributor like James Seward.”

“Was the faculty aware that Whitney Seward was doing drugs, Doctor? Is that what you’re getting at?”

“I’m not gonna say Whitney was pure as the driven snow. That would be a lie.”

“Can you be more specific? I’m looking for anything that would help explain what happened last night.”

Hogan seemed to be avoiding Melanie’s eyes. “Her grades were mediocre, and she was in danger of failing English, but college wasn’t an issue. She was a legacy many times over at Harvard. Buildings named for her family, that sort of thing. She was getting in, no matter what….” He trailed off, occupying himself once again with the filecabinet. Melanie nodded. She knew all about those Holbrooke girls who got into Harvard. But there was more here.

“I’m getting the sense you want to tell me something, Doctor. I understand you’re concerned about the repercussions. You have my word I’ll keep everything in strictest confidence.”

Hogan looked up and sighed. “You didn’t hear it here.”

“Of course not. I never reveal a source.”

“Whitney was big into the club scene. Mixed up with a bad element. You should check it out.”

“Just the club scene generally? Do you know any names or locations?”

“She was hanging out at a club called Screen, with a guy named Esposito who’s really sleazy.”

Melanie noted the names on her legal pad. Come to think of it, they sounded familiar. “Thank you, Doctor. Anything else about Whitney?”

“I heard she had a blog where she was doing some wild stuff. Not sure, though.”

“A Weblog? You mean like a personal Web page?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard some of the other girls talking about it.” Hogan glanced nervously at the door, then at his watch. “Patricia is going to wonder what’s taking us so long,” he said.

“Two more questions, Doctor. What can you tell me about Brianna Meyers?”

“Okay, now,
Brianna
was troubled.”

“Troubled? In what way?”

“Terrible home life. Parents divorced, father out of the picture, mother a big socialite who had no time for her. So Brianna acted out.”

“Acted out how?”

“She was dating this creepy kid, kind of a goth type. He used to come around the school a lot. Had a really scary affect. Like, made you think of Columbine. I wondered about his mental stability.”

“What was his name?” Melanie asked.

“Trevor Leonard. He goes to Manhattan Learning. It’s a high-end school for kids with behavioral issues who are mainstream academically.”

She noted the information on her legal pad. “Any reason to think he was into drugs?”

“That’s possible, sure.” Hogan nodded. “In fact, I’d bet on it.”

“Okay. Last question,” Melanie said. Hogan glanced nervously at the door again. Man, this guy was scared of Patricia Andover. Interesting, really, when you thought about it. “We’re very concerned about Carmen Reyes. Apparently Carmen went to Whitney’s apartment last night right around the time the girls were doing the drugs, and she hasn’t been heard from since. Is there anything you can tell us about Carmen, her friends, her connections, her habits? Anything that might help us locate her?”

“Carmen was relatively new to the school, and I didn’t know her well,” Hogan said. “I could give you my gut reaction. But I’d rather not.”

“Why not? What do you mean?”

“Well, it isn’t based on much, frankly, and I hate to speak ill of a kid.”

“What? Please tell me, Doctor. This is too important to stand on good manners.”

Hogan sighed. “Okay,” he said with obvious reluctance, “but you have to take this for what it’s worth, which isn’t much. As head of counseling, I knew that Carmen had real money problems. She was very concerned about paying for college, not only for herself but for her little sister, Lourdes, who goes to school here also.”

“What’s your point?”

“I don’t know a faster way for a kid to make money than selling drugs. And Carmen struck me as
that
desperate.” Hogan stopped talking and looked up at the ceiling, scratching his head. “Seems I’ll have to get back to you on the girls’ files. They’re not here.”

“Are you serious?” Melanie said.

“Yeah, I’ve gone through every pile. Somebody must’ve taken ’em. Unless they’re lost, which is always a possibility. As you see, organization is not my forte.”

“Who would take them?”

“You could try Ted Siebert, for starters. He’s been known to just walk into people’s offices and remove records when there’s some kind of legal issue.”

There was a sharp rapping on the frosted glass of the office door.

“Yeah!” Hogan called.

The door opened inward, slamming into the back of Melanie’s chair.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Ray-Ray Wong said.

“We’re just finishing up here, Ray-Ray,” Melanie said. “Any luck searching the lockers?”

“
Oh
, yeah. We hit the jackpot big time with Carmen Reyes’s locker. We found heroin. And it’s the right stamp.”

CARMEN REYES DRIFTED in and out of consciousness. She wanted desperately to stay asleep. Being awake was too horrible. But the physical agony of her confinement prevented her from escaping awareness for more than a few minutes at a time. She was in too much pain. Her limbs tingled with fiery numbness. She was parched and hungry. She needed to go to the bathroom. And breathing required actual thought, if she wanted to avoid swallowing the rag stuffed in her taped mouth.

In moments of lucidity, Carmen relived the events of the night before, seeing them again in the darkness with nightmarish clarity. Last night had felt like a bad dream even while it was happening. From the moment Carmen heard Whitney’s voice, she’d had a strange sense of foreboding. She just
knew
something was off. If only she’d listened to that instinct.

“Aw, c’mon, Carm, we’ll study for a while, then you can party with us,” Whitney had said, in a wheedling tone Carmen had never heard her use before. It was bizarre, in fact, for Whitney to want
anything
from Carmen, let alone her company.