The Sixes (16 page)

“No, they’re certainly not. Does this circle stuff ring any bells with you? The deleted term papers, for instance?”

“Actually, yes,” he said, stroking his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “We’re used to those ‘dog-ate-my-homework’ kind of excuses here, but there were a couple of incidents recently that concerned me. Within one week, two different students reported having a term paper they were working on deleted from their laptops while they were in the library. They’d been sitting in the same section of the library, and had gotten up briefly. In one case to go to the ladies’ room, and in the other to locate a book. From what I could determine, they didn’t know each other.”

“What about anonymous postings about sexual encounters?”

“
That
I’m not aware of specifically. We know that cyber bullying goes on with kids, but it’s an elusive thing because they don’t like to come forward. I hope Alexis named names.”

“No, she refused.”

“Well, that’s the only way we can speed up shutting these girls down. I had Blair Usher in for another talk this morning, but she just plays totally dumb. Claims she’s heard of the group, but has no idea if anyone she knows is in it. Why would Alexis insist on protecting them at this point?”

“She’s fearful of further recriminations.”

“You mean, reaching-beyond-the-grave kind of thing? I’d say that’s overreacting a bit, wouldn’t you?”

“No, these girls seem pretty fierce. Has Glenda had a chance to tell you about what the Sixes did to me—the rats?”

He wrinkled his nose, as if a putrid smell had just blasted into the room.

“Yes, a grisly business. I wish I could devote more of my attention to it, but I’ve got the Lily Mack situation to deal with. And that comes first.”

Phoebe realized she needed to bring Stockton up to speed on her conversation with Wesley. But as she started to speak, someone knocked on the door. Stockton called for the person to enter, and to Phoebe’s surprise, Val Porter stepped inside.

“Oh good, Val, you’re here,” Stockton said.

What was
this
all about? Phoebe wondered. Val smiled at Stockton but only ran her eyes quickly over Phoebe’s face, as if she were a stranger on a train platform.

“I’ve asked Val to join our discussion,” Stockton told Phoebe. “Needless to say Val has a wonderful understanding of female adolescent behavior, and I thought it would be helpful to obtain her input on the Sixes.”

Phoebe could barely hide her annoyance. Just because the woman taught courses like Introduction to Feminist Theory and Geographies of Gender hardly made her an expert on secret girl societies.

Val took a seat at the other end of the sofa, but close enough for Phoebe to pick up the scent of patchouli. Val’s hair was pinned on her head tonight, and silvery tendrils hung loosely around her face in that boho style she favored. Phoebe wondered what Val’s reaction would be if she learned Phoebe had been to bed with Duncan.

“So how can I help?” Val said, addressing the question mainly to Stockton. She grasped a silver tendril between the index and middle fingers on her right hand and slowly slid it through her fingers.

“I’ll let Phoebe fill you in,” Stockton said. “She’s had an interesting trip to the Baltimore area.”

“
Baltimore
?” Val said. “What has that got to do with anything?”

Phoebe practically glared at Stockton.

“Unfortunately,” Phoebe said, “it’s not appropriate for me to share details about my visit down there with anyone else, since I promised confidentiality.” She turned to Val. “What I
can
share is that the Sixes is capable of being extremely cruel and nasty. A psychologist I talked to said that it’s girl power run amuck, and it isn’t uncommon at this stage of their lives. Does that jibe with what you’ve seen in your gender classes?”

“Until Tom mentioned it to me, I’d never heard of this little group, so I really don’t have much to contribute.” Val’s self-satisfied tone, however, suggested that they were about to hear an opinion regardless. “That said, I
could
see female students here banding together to encourage a sense of empowerment.”

“Are you saying the girls here need a boost?” Phoebe asked.

“Good God, no,” Val said. “The women at Lyle—like the women at most colleges today—are smart, proactive, and ambitious. They arrive here thinking that they’ll meet men of their equal, men superior to the slacker boys they attended high school with, but that’s not the case. They soon discover that it was much tougher for them to be admitted to the school than their male counterparts—we have fewer male applicants these days, so we lower the standards for them. The boys aren’t up to par socially or intellectually, and that can wear on the women very quickly. Banding together would at least be a way for them to experience solidarity and sense of purpose.”

“You’re not suggesting it’s a good thing, are you?”

“No, Phoebe,” Val said. “I don’t believe that’s what I said at all.”

“Are there any girls in particular who you think might—”

The door to Stockton’s office suddenly flew open, and all three of them turned in unison. Glenda stood in the doorway, her face etched with concern.

“What’s happened?” Tom asked.

“Trevor Harris—the student Lily Mack was dating?” Glenda said. “They found a body in the river late this afternoon, and the cops are pretty sure it’s him.”

16

“W
HAT?” TOM SAID,
shooting up from the chair. “How did you hear this?”

“Craig and I were called down to the police station just a little while ago. Michelson told us.”

“And does it mean Trevor was actually living in the area this whole time?” Stockton asked.

Glenda shook her head quickly back and forth.

“The body’s badly decomposed, so he probably died last spring. I assume, since it’s too soon for DNA results, that they found some type of ID on him. He never took off for parts unknown, as everyone suspected.”

Phoebe felt numb. It was another endorsement of Tom’s serial killer theory. There was even a pattern emerging, she realized. Scott had died a year ago this past spring. The following fall Wesley Hines had found himself in the river. Trevor had obviously died this spring, and now Lily this fall. It felt to Phoebe like one of those ridiculous but terrifying slasher movies she’d seen trailers for—where bodies of teen victims pile up at regular intervals.

Phoebe started to blurt out what she’d learned from Wesley, but then caught herself. She didn’t want to share the info in front of Val.

“But I don’t get it,” Stockton said. He’d started to pace, arms across his chest. “Bodies eventually pop up from a river. What took this one so long?”

“Michelson said that the body was snagged in some tree roots close to the shore. It’s similar to what happened to Lily.”

“Who spotted it?” Stockton said.

“Michelson was being cagey, but it sounded like the police actually came across the body. You know that antique place, the Big Red Barn on Route 1? If you cross the road to the bike path, there’s a picnic area right in front of the river. The body was found nearby in some fairly dense vegetation. The police were apparently searching the area for some reason.”

“Perhaps they’re still trying to figure out where Lily went into the water,” Phoebe said.

“But why—” Val started to say, but Stockton interrupted her.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” he said. “There
is
some maniac out there preying on our students. We’ve got a total nightmare on our hands.”

Here we go, Phoebe thought.

“But how big a nightmare it becomes depends on our actions,” Glenda said. “We have to keep cool and use our heads. We can’t have a single regret later about how we handled this.”

“So what’s the plan?” Stockton asked. “Have you talked to the parents?”

“I’ve left a message for them, but I’d like you to follow up,” Glenda said. “I’ve got the PR team coming to my house in a few minutes to devise a strategy on that end.”

“I should join you,” Stockton said.

“No, Tom, I need you here,” Glenda said. “Our first priority is the students. I want you to draft an e-mail alerting them to the news. Tell them I’ve already arranged for the campus police to beef up security, but they also need to watch out for each other. And draft an e-mail to the parents, too. Full disclosure. I also want you to brainstorm with Craig about any additional safety recommendations we should be making. We don’t want to set off a panic, but we may want to tell kids to travel in pairs.” She paused. “And finally, I want to know if we have any rights in controlling student behavior
off
campus.”

“What do you mean?” Stockton asked, wrinkling his brow.

“That bar Cat Tails keeps turning up in every story,” Glenda said. “Can we restrict students from going to the river bars? I know that’s extreme, but if we’re going to prevent another death, we may need to practice tough love.”

Glenda checked her watch and then turned to Phoebe. “Have you got your car? I walked today, and I’d love a lift home.”

“Of course,” Phoebe said, relieved at the request. She was anxious to talk to Glenda alone.

“What can
I
do, President Johns?” Val asked. “I want to be of assistance.”

“I appreciate the offer, Val,” Glenda said, “and I’ll let you know if something comes to mind. Right now all I ask is that everyone be discreet.”

Phoebe followed Glenda from the room. The building was eerily quiet now. Though the hall lights were on, most of the staff had left for the day, so offices were dark. They passed no one in the building, but outside, as they hurried to the parking lot, groups of students dashed by them, chatting and laughing. They won’t be laughing so hard tomorrow, Phoebe thought, once they’ve learned the news about Trevor.

As Phoebe pulled the car out of the parking lot a few minutes later, Glenda threw her head back on the seat of the car.

“Three deaths in two years,” Glenda said. “I can’t believe it.”

“Actually,
four
incidents,” Phoebe said. She relayed what she’d learned from Wesley.

Glenda shook her head and blew out a breath. “Well, at least the police seem to be giving it their full attention now. It was like an overturned beehive down there tonight.”

“I just wonder if they’re equipped to handle something this big,” Phoebe said.

“I could ask myself the same question,” Glenda said. “You know, I’ve worked at four different colleges and been trained to deal with just about everything—budget cuts, student protests, faculty caught sleeping with students. But no one ever took me aside and said, ‘Here’s what you need to do if a Ted Bundy type shows up on your campus.’ ”

“What if there really
is
a serial killer,” Phoebe asked quietly, “but not some Ted Bundy type? What if it’s someone we know?”

“What do you mean?” Glenda said. Even with her eyes on the road, Phoebe could sense her friend’s shock at the comment.

“What if the Sixes did it?” Phoebe quickly spelled out what she’d learned from Alexis about the circles and how Blair loved to exact revenge.

“My God, this is worse than I thought. We’ve got to nail these girls. But you don’t really believe they’re cold-blooded killers, do you, Fee? I can entertain the idea that they might have accidentally killed Lily as part of some prank gone wrong, but
three
murders? It seems unfathomable.”

“It’s just something worth mulling over.” Phoebe knew she needed to learn what the fifth and sixth circles entailed. “We should finally mention the Sixes to the cops now, don’t you think?”

“Let’s continue to let Craig investigate the Sixes for a bit longer. I don’t want to open a Pandora’s box unnecessarily.”

Phoebe felt a pang of doubt but kept her mouth shut. She had to take Glenda’s lead on this one.

“Why didn’t you want Tom to come to your house, by the way?” Phoebe asked.

Out of the corner of her eye Phoebe saw Glenda cock her head, deliberating.

“I
do
need him on campus right now, taking care of business there, but I’ve also picked up a weird vibe from him lately, like he’s saying one thing and thinking another. Or maybe this whole mess has made me paranoid.”

“There’s a vibe
I
pick up from him,” Phoebe said. “That he seems to really
like
the serial killer theory. As if he’s dying for it to be true.”

“And why would that be, do you think?”

“Well, would he be a candidate for your job if this whole thing exploded in your face?”

Glenda nodded slowly. “So you mean he’s pushing it in order to throw the campus into even bigger turmoil?” she asked. “And give the board a reason to boot me out?”

“Maybe,” Phoebe said. “He just seems awfully slick to me, and worth keeping an eye on.” Glenda was silent.

“So you think there’ll be a full-scale panic tomorrow?” Phoebe asked.

“Not so much from the kids,” Glenda said. “But the parents are going to go nuts. Trust me—some will be showing up with U-Hauls to whisk their kids away.”

When they reached Glenda’s house, Phoebe put the car in park and leaned over to hug her friend.

“Hang in there, okay?” Phoebe said. “There’s nothing you can’t handle.”

Alone in the car, Phoebe headed home. As she drove down the dark, empty streets of Lyle, she could feel her unease rising. About Trevor Harris being found, about everything. Plus, she hadn’t had time to go home earlier to turn the lights on, and she couldn’t bear the idea of walking into a pitch-black house.

As she pulled into the driveway, her eyes raced quickly over the front of the house. The glowing porch light, controlled by a sensor, seemed to accentuate how absolutely dark the inside of the house was. Phoebe stepped out of the car, locked it, and scanned all around her. There wasn’t a soul anywhere.

Phoebe unlocked the front door, pushed it open a few inches, and listened. The only sound was the low purr of the furnace. Patting her fingers along the living room wall, she located the switch for the overhead light, which she rarely used. When she flicked it on, the room exploded with light. At first glance, everything looked exactly as she’d left it.

After locking the door behind her, Phoebe made her way to the kitchen and quickly flipped on the light. Her eyes roamed the room—the back door, the windows, the fridge. Everything seemed okay.

As she shrugged off her coat, Phoebe felt her stomach growl from hunger. She hadn’t eaten a thing since the morning. She dumped a can of New England clam chowder into a pan. While the soup heated, she dug her phone from her purse to check e-mails. There was one from Duncan, sent a short while ago.

“Looking forward to tomorrow night,” he’d written.

“Me, too,” she typed back, smiling. “What time? And where?”

She almost jumped when another e-mail appeared from Duncan almost instantly. So he was online right now.

“Why don’t you come by my office in the science building at six,” he replied. “I’ll show you around the lab and then we can head to my place.”

“Great,” she wrote, though the idea of seeing the lab made her squirm. “Btw, have you heard the news about Trevor Harris?”

She watched the screen, waiting, but nothing else appeared. Their brief exchange had lifted her mood, but now she felt her unease return, weighing down on her.

She took her soup to her office and typed up notes from her conversations that day with both Alexis and Wesley. When she was done, she printed out a set for Glenda and one for Hutch as well, which she would drop off tomorrow. It would be good to get his input, though she wondered if he’d feel he’d been wrong not to take Wesley seriously.

Next she went online and searched date-rape drugs like GHB and roofies. She quickly learned that victims often appeared normal after they’d been slipped the drugs, and people around them might have no idea they were under the influence. And just as Wesley had told her, they might later experience total amnesia about what had transpired.

When she’d finished reading, she closed her eyes and massaged the area between her eyes. Her brain hurt, and so did her body, from so many hours in the car. She shut off her laptop and, leaving several lights downstairs blazing, mounted the stairs to her bedroom.

As her head sank into the pillow a few minutes later, she picked up a faint musky scent, and she realized it was Duncan’s cologne, still lingering in the fabric from the other night. Until she’d received his e-mails, she had kept thoughts of him mostly at bay since the morning, but now, as sleep began to overwhelm her, she allowed a few to roam her brain. I can’t help it, she realized. I’m dying to see the man again tomorrow. Sure, it’s just a fling, she told herself, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t relish it. In fact, maybe that’s why the sex had been so intense and exhilarating the other night—because they both knew it was destined to end before long.

She woke with a start after three, cold all over. Searching the bed with her hand, she found that the duvet had slipped off onto the floor. She slid out of bed and began to drag the duvet back onto the mattress. As she stood barefoot on the cold floor, adjusting the duvet, she froze. There was a noise, like a machine running. Her heart seemed to ram into her rib cage.

Phoebe flicked on the bedside light and listened. There was definitely a noise, the low, steady hum of a motor of some kind. She grabbed her phone and forced herself to tiptoe into the hallway. Whatever the noise was, it was coming from downstairs. With her heart still pounding hard, she made her way to the top of the stairs. It’s the dishwasher, she realized after a moment. She could now hear the rush and swirl of water.

But she hadn’t run the machine after dinner, and even if she had, it wouldn’t still be running
now
. The dishwasher in her city apartment had a delay feature so it could run hours later. Did this one have the same feature, and had she set it accidentally? She didn’t think so; it was an old model.

Damn, I’ve got to go down there, she told herself. She flicked on the stairwell light and edged down the stairs. As soon as she reached the third step from the bottom, her eyes flew to the front door, to the chain lock. From the light she left on, she could see the lock was still in place.

She’d left the kitchen light burning, too, and as soon as she approached the room, she could see that the chain was still in place on the back door, too.

She relaxed a little. This has got to be a mechanical fluke, she told herself. She entered the kitchen and ran her eyes rapidly over all the fixtures. Nothing was amiss. The only sound in the room was the swish and swirl of water.

Phoebe approached, set her phone on the counter, and rested her hand on top of the dishwasher door. Open it, she told herself. You have to open it.