The Sixes (11 page)

“Fee, I’m so sorry I got you into this,” Glenda said.

“Well, at least we can be pretty sure now that the Sixes
do
exist,” Phoebe said. She brought Glenda up to speed on her conversation with Blair. “It also means they’re fairly organized. It took at least two people to pull this off, I’d say.”

“And they’re even nastier than we imagined,” Glenda said.

Off to her left, Phoebe could hear that Craig was now in her study. She hated the idea of him in there, possibly pawing her things. When he eventually emerged, he made a beeline for the front door, opening it with a handkerchief.

“Which door did you use when you came home tonight?” he asked Phoebe.

“The front.”

“You need to use a key to lock it when you exit, right?”

“Yes. I’m sure I locked it when I left, and it was locked when I got back. I also made certain the back door was locked when I left.”

Ball didn’t say anything, just moved around the periphery of the room, checking the windows. When he was done, he stood silently for a moment, his mouth twisted as he deliberated. Without asking, he headed upstairs, and they could hear the clomp of his feet above them. Five minutes later he was back downstairs, shaking his head.

“All the windows are locked, too,” Ball said. “And the back door. Which means they must have made a copy of your key. Because if they got in through an entry point that you’d accidentally left unlocked, they would have been forced to leave either a door or window unlocked when they took off.”

“So
now
do we call the police?” Phoebe asked.

Again Ball shot a look at Glenda, one that seemed to speak whole sentences. Phoebe glanced at Glenda. Her face was tense with worry, but Phoebe wasn’t sure what she’d just telegraphed to Craig.

“Ms. Hall, I know this may be awkward for you,” Ball said, “but I’m going to ask you a favor as a member of the school community. I’d like us all to keep a lid on this for the time being.”

“A
lid
on it?” Phoebe said. “Why?”

“I think it’s best that we handle this ourselves for now. I’ll investigate discreetly and try to determine who exactly broke in—and then we’ll go to the police. That way we don’t end up creating a big stink that the whole world knows about. And I mean that literally. We’ve got a damn New York City reporter on campus.”

Phoebe snapped her head toward Glenda, convinced her friend would nix the suggestion. But Glenda’s eyes were imploring.

“Please, Phoebe,” she said. “So much is at stake.”

“But—” Phoebe started to protest but caught herself. Ball was right—the whole thing could blow up in Glenda’s face.

“All right,” Phoebe said. She wasn’t crazy about the idea of covering things up, but she could understand Glenda’s point of view. Besides, if they alerted the cops to what had happened, Phoebe would be told to stop her own investigation.

And she had no intention of giving up. Because that was exactly what the Sixes expected her to do.

***

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

L
EAVING 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.

“Well, if actions dazzle you more than words, let me make a stronger case for myself, then,” he said.

He reached his right arm behind her, pulled her toward him, and kissed her. His lips were warm and soft, and as they pressed deeply into her mouth, she felt a rush of intense desire spread through her lower body.

All too quickly, he pulled away. She caught her breath. Don’t stop, she wanted to say. Duncan stared into her eyes so intensely she had to fight the urge to look away.

“Did I convince you?” he said.

“Almost,” she whispered.

He took her glass from her hand and set it down on the table. Cupping her face in his hand, he kissed her again, this time more urgently, and within seconds his tongue was in her mouth, exploring. She reached her arms around him and kissed him back, harder and deeper. Her body felt on fire now.

Without taking his mouth from hers, he began exploring her breasts with one hand, massaging them through the tissuey fabric and circling her nipples with his thumb. Involuntarily Phoebe let out a moan, and pressed her body into his.

“So what’s the verdict?” he asked, pulling away again. “Do you believe me now that I don’t give a rat’s ass—if you’ll excuse the expression—about Val?”

“Yes,” Phoebe said softly. She realized that she was trembling a little—from desire, from everything the night had entailed. Duncan said nothing back, just held her eyes, and she knew then that the next move would have to be hers. The kiss had come because she’d challenged him with her comment about actions versus words, but he wasn’t going to push it. He’d learned his lesson with his first dinner invitation.

“Would you like to stay?” she asked him. God, I’m really doing this, she thought. “I mean, I may not be at the top of my game, considering everything that’s happened, but I’d give it my best shot.”

“Something tells me that not the top of your game is very good,” he said.

She led Duncan upstairs. She was glad she’d left just the one bedside lamp burning in her bedroom. Though she was in good enough shape, she felt self-conscious suddenly. The last time she’d made love to a
new
man, it had been Alec and she’d been thirty-seven, with firmer breasts and a flatter stomach. But as Duncan pulled her pajama top over her head, she just stopped thinking. He took her breasts in his hands, stroking and kneading them. He kissed her urgently at the same time. He stepped back just long enough to nearly tear his shirt off and toss it on the small armchair. His chest was smooth and well defined. She ran her hands over it, feeling the softness of his skin.

Pulling her closer again, he slipped his hand inside her pajama bottoms. His fingers began to explore, softly at first, teasing her, and then more firmly. And then suddenly his finger was inside her, making her gasp. Phoebe reached between his legs and stroked him.

“Why don’t we get in bed,” he said.

While she found a condom in the dresser, Duncan peeled off his blue jeans and boxer briefs. As she reached the bed, he stripped back the comforter in one move and lay her down. He tugged off her pajama bottoms and began to explore her with his mouth and his tongue. She pulled on his hair, urging him up and inside her. The strokes he used at first were long and torturously slow, and she writhed beneath him. Suddenly he quickened his pace, moving faster and faster, and it was only seconds before she climaxed. He slowed his speed so that she could concentrate on the waves, and then moved faster and faster until she felt him come inside her.

Afterward he held her, spooning. He stroked her hair with his hand. “Was the invitation for the entire night?” he murmured into her ear.

“Absolutely,” she said.

A little while later she thought she sensed him drift off to sleep. She had thought the sex would enable her to fall back asleep easily, but she suddenly felt wired. The image of the dead rats came rushing back. After lying quietly for a while, unsuccessfully willing sleep to come, she slipped out of bed and padded down the hall to the bathroom. In the mirror she saw that her cheeks were still flushed red. She wet a washcloth with cold water and, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, held it to her face. Had she been crazy to go to bed with Duncan, to start up a fling with someone at the school? Maybe, she thought mockingly, I was suffering from posttraumatic rat syndrome and couldn’t think straight tonight. But she knew that wasn’t true. Her desire for him had been building since he’d sat across the table from her eating spaghetti carbonara. And what she knew for sure was that tonight had done nothing to quell that desire. She wanted him all over again.

She stood up, hung the washcloth on the towel rod, and massaged lotion into her face. It was now after midnight, and she had to force herself to sleep so she would seem reasonably sane in class tomorrow. She switched off the bathroom light and snuck quietly down the hallway. The darkness made her heart skip just a little. As she approached the bedroom, she stopped in her tracks. She could hear the murmur of Duncan’s voice. He was talking to someone.