The Sixes (24 page)

As the hot water streamed over her, soothing her aching muscles, Phoebe let her mind find its way back to the Sixes. Though she’d been fixated on Hutch’s murder since Sunday night, she knew she also had to stay focused on exposing the group, since there was still a chance that they were tied to Lily’s death—and even to Hutch’s. I need to find out who else is a member, she told herself—and what the fifth and sixth circles are.

Maybe it’s time for another chat with Jen Imbibio, she thought. Though Phoebe had been undecided about whether Jen might be a member, she sensed the girl
knew
something.

With just a towel wrapped around her, Phoebe typed an e-mail message to Jen on her laptop. She told her that there was a small matter she needed to chat with her about and asked that she get in touch by phone.

As she tramped back to the bedroom to dress, Phoebe could feel her energy starting to wane a little. She couldn’t let that happen. There was plenty she needed to do today, including making a trip to campus. She planned to give Ball a debriefing, per his request, and also because she was eager to learn if he knew anything about Hutch’s murder.

She dug out a fresh pair of jeans and a top from her overnight bag and struggled into them. She’d just run a brush through her wet hair when a sharp buzzer sound tore through the house, startling her. It wasn’t until it had rung a second time that Phoebe realized it was the doorbell. Who could it possibly be? she wondered. An alarm bell went off in her head. Had the killer tracked her to Duncan’s? Well, he sure as hell wouldn’t be ringing the doorbell, she chided herself.

She slipped into the great room and made her way to the front door. It was solid wood, but there was a tall, narrow window on each side of it. She was going to have to look outside and see who was there. But before she could move toward the window, the person on the other side of the door took a step to the right on the stoop, and leaned forward, peering in through the glass.

Phoebe caught her breath. Val Porter was standing there, staring right at her.

24

P
HOEBE’S FIRST URGE
was to duck and scuttle back into the bedroom, but it was clear Val had seen her, and so she had no choice but to go to the door. What the hell was Val doing here, anyway? Phoebe wondered. Was this part of her plan to win Duncan over—just popping by in the morning to say hello?

Phoebe crossed the room and swung the door open.

“Good morning, Val,” she said. “If you’re looking for Duncan, I’m afraid he’s already headed over to campus.”

Val ran her eyes over Phoebe—her bruised face, her bare feet, and back up to her wet hair. Then Val smiled slyly, as if the two of them were in on the most wicked little secret.

“I was just dropping off something for him. Do you mind if I come in for a second?”

She’s got to be kidding, Phoebe thought. She wants to
prolong
this awkward little moment?

“Sure,” Phoebe said, not knowing how she could refuse.

“Looks like you’ve had an accident of some kind,” Val said, as Phoebe closed the door behind her. Val was wearing a long plum-colored coat today, with brown stiletto boots, and her hair was pinned up on the top of her head again, showcasing those silvery tendrils around her face. “What in the world happened?”

“I took a bad fall off my bike,” Phoebe replied. She’d already worked out this explanation as she lay in her hospital bed.

“Oh, dear. I’m so sorry. I bet it hurts.”

“A bit, yes.”

“But it appears that Duncan’s taking good care of you. I didn’t realize you two were seeing each other.”

“I guess even at a school as small as Lyle, news doesn’t
always
travel fast. How can I help you, Val? You said you wanted to drop something off?”

“Oh, right, I’m sorry,” she said, with a trace of condescension. She dug into the brown leather tote bag she was carrying, withdrew a book from the bag, and then hesitated.

“Actually,” she said, “I should really give this to him in person. Why don’t I just catch up with him another time.”

“Sure,” Phoebe said.

Val smiled slyly again and tucked the book back in her tote. She gazed around the room appreciatively.

“He’s created a wonderful space, hasn’t he?” she said to Phoebe with a familiarity that suggested she’d been there before.

“Yes, very nice,” Phoebe said. A code blue alert went off in her mind.

Val looked back at Phoebe and gripped her eyes with her own. “It’s tragic about his wife, isn’t it?” she said. “But at least she left him the money to do all the things he really wanted to, like this house.”

Against her will, Phoebe could feel her face begin to form an expression—of perplexity, of surprise—but she fought it and tried to simply stare back at Val.

“Is there anything else I can help you with, Val?” she asked. “I need to get ready to go over to campus myself.”

“No, no, I’m going now,” Val said, heading back to the door. “Feel better.”

After closing the door behind Val, Phoebe collapsed on the sofa and swung her legs onto the coffee table. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Her head was starting to ache again, not the agonizing hurt she’d experienced in the hours after the fall, but an odd sensation of someone gripping her head in their hands and squeezing.

She blamed Val for the headache. The zinger she’d delivered—the comment about Duncan and the money—had managed to get under Phoebe’s skin. Had Duncan really inherited a bundle from his wife? she wondered. Had that had something to do with his decision to stay with her through her illness? He seemed like a good guy to Phoebe, not someone capable of using his wife. Val had probably deliberately misstated the situation because she’d been so pissed to find Phoebe at Duncan’s. It was crazy to dwell on it, Phoebe realized. She needed to get moving.

When she reached the campus security building a half hour later, she found that the mood there seemed more energized than it had on her last visit. Phones were ringing, and two officers were huddled in the reception area, discussing their patrol plans for the day.

There was only one other visitor in the office, a girl reporting to Mindy that her meal card had been stolen. When the student finished and turned away from the desk, Phoebe stepped up and saw that Mindy’s eyes were still puffy from an apparent crying jag. Phoebe gave her name and said that Ball had asked her to stop by.

“He’s in with a student right now,” Mindy said, “but I’ll let him know you’re here.”

“I’m very sorry for your loss, by the way,” Phoebe said after Mindy had buzzed Ball. “I’d come to know Hutch a little, and I’m sure you cared about him a great deal.”

“He was like a granddaddy to me,” the girl said, dabbing at her eyes with a wadded tissue. “I just feel so awful about what happened.”

Behind Mindy a door creaked, starting to open. Mindy dropped the balled-up tissue in her lap, slid her chair up to the desk as tight as possible, and began to thumb through a stack of papers. A second later Ball stepped into the open area behind Mindy, followed by a male student whose boyish face suggested he was probably a freshman. Ball nodded toward Phoebe in recognition, and she saw his eyes circle over her bruised face. Then he turned to the boy.

“Think about what I said, Kevin, and get back to me,” Ball told him bluntly. The kid nodded his head gloomily, and skulked off toward the door. As he passed by Phoebe, she saw that his green sweatshirt read Philadelphia Eagles, and she realized he was the same kid she’d spotted Ball talking to the evening she’d walked up to the science center.

“Thank you for stopping by, Ms. Hall,” Ball said, commanding her attention. “Why don’t you come in now?”

She snaked around Mindy’s desk and followed Ball into his office. The space was as nondescript as the rest of the small security building—metal desk, file cabinets, industrial-looking lamps—except for the fame wall. There were at least a dozen photos of Ball with various dignitaries who’d obviously visited the campus—the governor, a few mid-level rock singers, and a book author Phoebe figured Ball had never actually heard of. He gestured for Phoebe to take a seat in the chair opposite his desk and slid into his own chair, which appeared to have been jacked up to give him extra height.

“Campus troublemaker?” Phoebe asked as she sat down.

“Excuse me?” Ball said, frowning.

“That kid who just left. Is he a campus troublemaker?”

“Why would you ask that?” Ball said.

“I saw you talking to him the other day.”

“Just some information gathering on my part,” Ball said, folding his arms on the desk.

“Related to the drownings?” Phoebe said.

“No, Miss Hall, it was not,” Ball said, brusquely ending that line of discussion. “Speaking of Mr. Hutchinson, why don’t you tell me what happened. It will be just between us, of course. I know the cops are keeping your involvement hush-hush for now.”

She gave Ball a bare-bones version of the events, mindful of the fact that the police didn’t want her sharing key details, but also aware that Ball was in the loop to some extent because of his contacts. When she was done, she leaned forward in her chair. She could tell he was about to fire questions at her, but she wanted to jump in.

“I’d love your thoughts on the crime,” Phoebe said, trying to sound just the right amount of ingratiating. “Do you think it was a burglary that went wrong—or something else?”

Ball twitched in his chair. Phoebe sensed that he was both annoyed at being cut off and flattered to be asked for his opinion.

“You can’t expect me to hypothesize without seeing any of the evidence,” he said. “And Michelson, unlike his predecessor, isn’t one to share. But what I hear from some of my buddies on the force is that there was no sign of a burglary. There’s a chance, of course, that you interrupted it when you arrived, but if that was the case, how were they going to cart anything out of there? They couldn’t very well lug it through the woods to their car.”

“So they parked along the road somewhere,” Phoebe said, keeping her voice neutral. “That’s what I’d figured.”

Ball hesitated before answering. “Possibly,” he said, though the slight shift in his eyes told her that he knew something in this regard, may have even checked out the site himself. It was clear Ball liked snagging info, but not sharing it.

“If it wasn’t a burglary, then what’s your best guess—without seeing any evidence?” Phoebe asked.

“You’d probably make a better guess than me,” he said, “since you were at the scene. Did it look like he’d been taken by surprise?”

“I’m sorry, I’m not supposed to discuss details of the actual crime scene,” Phoebe said.

Ball laughed, with a hint of a snicker to it. “We’re all working toward the same goal here.”

“I know. But as you indicated, Michelson is a real stickler about not sharing.”

“Fair enough,” he said, though his tone suggested he thought otherwise. He picked up a pencil and began to tap it against the fleshy palm of his tanned hand. “I’ve a question for
you
now. How’d you and Mr. Hutchinson get to be so buddy-buddy?”

“We were hardly that,” Phoebe said. “I’d talked to him a couple of times because of the research I was doing into the Sixes.”

“And what was that trip to his house Sunday night about? Just another chitchat session?”

“Yes, we were going to touch base. Mr. Hutchinson told me he had some information he wanted to share. It might have been important, but unfortunately I never had the chance to hear it.”

Ball raised his eyebrows—they were same silver gray color as his hair—and pulled his mouth into a kind of trout pout.

“He give you any hints?”

“No, nothing, I’m afraid.” Phoebe was suddenly anxious to leave. “Is there anything else? I should be on my way.”

“That’s it,” he said. “This must all be very trying for you. Do you need a lift home, or do you have your vehicle?”

“I’ve got my car, thanks,” Phoebe said, rising.

“Speaking of which, Officer Hyde told me he didn’t see your car in the driveway when he drove by your home last night. I was concerned, needless to say, but assumed you might be staying with Dr. Johns.”

“Um, actually, I’m staying with a friend for the next few days.”

“Could you let me know when you return, please? I don’t want to deploy a man to check an empty house each night when our resources are already stretched.”

“Of course,” she said. She assumed he’d enjoyed the opportunity to slap her wrist.

Her next stop was going to be her office, but as she headed toward the quad, she passed a couple faculty members and was struck by their double takes when they saw her face. She realized she’d be best off waiting until tomorrow to show up at Arthur Hall. Her bruises would be fading then, and she’d reduce the chances of people buzzing about her.

She turned and headed back to the eastern parking lot, feeling suddenly weary and achy again. This part of the campus, away from the quad and the plaza, tended to be quiet, and it was no different today, even with all the turbulence going on elsewhere. She had the path to herself, except for the dried leaves that chased each other ahead of her. It’s so deserted here, she realized, and instinctively she spun around, checking behind her. What if the killer knew who she was and was tracking her movements? By the time she reached her car, her stomach was twisted in a knot.

The entire way back to Duncan’s, she kept her eye on the rearview mirror, and she locked the door carefully once she reentered the house. She staggered into the bedroom. Not only was she fatigued, but her headache had intensified, and there was now a piercing pain in her elbow. Maybe she’d overdone it, she thought. Though her stomach was grumbling from hunger, she popped half a pain pill and fell onto the bed, letting sleep overtake her.

She stirred once during her nap, aware that dusk was descending and that she should turn on some lights, but she felt too leaden to move. She was asleep again almost instantly.

She woke the next time with a start, her heart racing and her body sticky with sweat. The room was dark. She’d had a nightmare, she realized, and the terror still had hold of her. In the dream she’d been back at Hutch’s house. She’d just walked in the front door and discovered Hutch on the living room floor, but this time he was alive, moaning. It was an odd kind of moaning, almost like the mooing of a cow. And then there was someone else in the room, off to the left and wearing a black cloak with a hood covering his face. She’d gasped, and slowly the person had lifted the hood to reveal his face. It was Dr. Parr, the English department chair.

Where in the world is Duncan? Phoebe wondered, using her good elbow to prop her body up. She glanced at the digital clock: 5:20. She fumbled for the bedside lamp and turned it on, creating a pool of light along the side of the bed.

She struggled out of bed and into the bathroom. It had been ages since she’d napped during the day, and she felt jet-lagged, slightly disoriented. After dabbing a cold, wet washcloth on her face and pulling her hair into a ponytail, she wandered out to the great room. In the dark, the unfamiliar shapes of the room seemed ominous, almost threatening. She had no clue where the lights were, and she fumbled around the room for a minute, trying to locate the switch on the wall. Finally she found it by the door. The moment she touched the button, the room was flooded with light from the dozen or so small fixtures in the ceiling.

After pouring a glass of sparkling water, she found her phone and checked for messages. Duncan had called once to see how she was doing—she had stupidly forgotten to bring her phone into the bedroom with her. He’d also sent an e-mail about an hour ago. “I hope you’re napping. I’m running later than planned but will be home by 7. DO NOTHING ABOUT DINNER.” She smiled. His message assuaged some of the weirdness she was feeling.

Two hours later, when she heard Duncan’s key turn in the lock, Phoebe was ensconced on the couch with her laptop, reading the news online.

“Hey there,” he said when he spotted her, “how’s the patient?”

“On the mend,” she said, smiling.

“Sorry about being so late,” he said. “I had an unexpected issue with a student.”