The Sixes (29 page)

“We’ve just come from a meeting with him, actually,” one said. “Make a left, and you’ll find him farther down on the right.”

Stockton was where they said he would be, slipping papers into a soft leather briefcase in the conference room. His camel topcoat and tartan scarf were still draped over one of the chairs. He turned at the sound of Phoebe entering the room.

“Well, well,” he said, clearly surprised. “You’re not someone I expected to see in the bowels of the library.”

Phoebe smiled sweetly. She needed to keep this light, though she felt her heart skip a beat.

“I hope that’s a compliment, Tom.”

“Of course. Are you on the mend, by the way?”

“Yes, thanks for asking.”

“I suspect it must be a bit like horseback riding. You’ll want to get on again before it becomes too frightening of a prospect.”

“I’m not following,” Phoebe said, wondering what mind game he might be playing.

“Your bike. I heard you took a nasty spill.”

“Oh . . . right.”

“Now tell me what I can do for you,” Stockton said. “Unless you’re actually down here to read about hardships endured during the Revolution.”

“I just have a quick question. I’m still trying to dig up information on the Sixes. They—”

“Why?” he asked, as he resumed stuffing his briefcase. “Aren’t the police handling that now?”

“I’m just wrapping up what I was doing—and of course I’ll inform the police of anything they need to know. Several days ago you mentioned that you’d organized a committee on quality of life on campus. Was Lily Mack on that committee?”

Stockton stopped his paper stuffing and looked up at her. “Why is that relevant?” he asked huffily.

“It’s just a loose end I want to tie up.”

“If you must ask, she
was
on it—but in name only. After the incident with the chairs, I invited her to join. She agreed, but never showed for any meetings.” He grabbed his coat and scarf. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another meeting.”

Was he telling the truth? Phoebe wondered as he strode from the room like someone headed to a world economic summit. It would explain why Jen hadn’t mentioned Lily being on the committee. Of course, even if Lily hadn’t attended any of the meetings, she’d been invited by Stockton to join. Jen may have simply been confused about how the two of them met. Or maybe Stockton
hadn’t
been her love interest after all.

Phoebe made her way back along the corridor. She didn’t pass another soul, and the only sound was her footsteps on the cement floor. Where
is
everyone? she thought anxiously. She felt suddenly claustrophobic being all alone below ground. She turned a corner and realized she’d gone the wrong way. Just get me the hell out of here, she thought. She quickly retraced her steps, nearly at a jog. When she finally located the stairwell, she took the steps two at a time.

Once outside, standing under the library’s portico, Phoebe dug out her phone and tried Jen’s number. The girl answered in a groggy voice, as if she was still in bed.

“Did you find something out?” Jen murmured after Phoebe identified herself.

“Not yet, but I have another question. You told me yesterday that Lily met the person she fell for on a committee this fall. But are you sure about that? Could she have met him under different circumstances?”

“Not this fall,” the girl said, more coherently this time. “The committee was this past spring. That’s when she met him. But she didn’t really get the hots for him until this term—when she chose him for the fifth circle.”

So then it
wasn’t
Stockton. Phoebe signed off and immediately called Glenda’s office. The assistant told her Dr. Johns was in meetings the entire morning.

“Is it possible for you to get a message to her?” Phoebe nearly pleaded. “Could you tell her I need some additional information. I need to know the committee Lily Mack was on during the
spring
term.”

“I may be able to help you this time. I asked Dr. Johns how to access that information if I ever needed to find it again. Give me a moment, please.”

Phoebe waited, watching as students began to surface on campus, like creatures emerging from their burrows after a storm.

“Okay, I’ve found it,” the assistant said. “She was on a committee on animal testing.”

“Who else was on it?” Phoebe asked quickly.

“Six, er, seven other students.”

“But what
faculty
member?”

“Oh, let’s see. Okay, here we go. It was Dr. Duncan Shaw.”

29

I
T FELT AS
if someone had shoved Phoebe from behind full force, knocking the wind out of her.

“Um, okay,” she said. “Anyone else? I mean, any other faculty on the committee?” Maybe Duncan hadn’t been the only one.

Phoebe could sense the woman scanning the page on her computer.
Hurry up!
she wanted to scream.

“Just him, actually,” the assistant said. “Can I help with anything else?”

“No, uh, no,” Phoebe sputtered. “Thank you.”

She dropped the phone in her purse. Her legs felt wobbly suddenly, and she leaned against the building for support. Two people leaving the library turned and checked her out, their eyes curious.

Had Duncan really had an affair with Lily? she wondered desperately. It just didn’t fit. He seemed smart, mature, together, not the kind of guy who’d become entangled with a student and possibly jeopardize his standing at the college. And yet the truth was, she knew absolutely nothing about his personal life since his wife’s death. Phoebe hadn’t yet felt comfortable probing about that. She’d just assumed he’d dated very little since then, perhaps having a sexual fling or two. But then maybe that’s exactly what Lily had been for him.

Of course, if she were to believe Jen, Lily had made the first move. As part of the fifth circle, her initial plan had been to seduce and exploit. Had Duncan discovered her original intent?

Whatever the case, Phoebe realized, an affair would certainly explain Duncan’s behavior this morning—why he’d snapped at her when she’d raised the subject of Lily’s love life.

But there was an even more awful question to consider: Had Duncan
murdered
Lily? She considered what she knew of him, as if she were spreading pages of notes on a table in front of her. He had stuck by his wife during her illness; he had good friends in his department; his students adored him. But even a good man could be pushed. There was that moody side of him, too, which might point to something dark—malevolent, even.

And one detail she couldn’t ignore: he had seemed extremely interested in the murders, always pressing her for details. Was he just pumping me, she wondered, to make certain he knew as much as he could about the police investigation? Is that why he’d been so eager to check out Hutch’s notes—to make sure there was nothing implicating him? He’d also pushed her to stop the research. Was that really because he feared her getting too close to the truth?

The whole notion was crushing. She’d had sex with Duncan; she
cared
about him. Was he really a murderer?

No, it couldn’t be true, she told herself frantically. She caught a student looking at her and she realized she had been shaking her head back and forth.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. What she needed to do, she could see, was to go someplace quiet, where she could think in peace. Her office. Clasping her coat closed with her good hand, she headed for Arthur Hall. As she rounded the corner of the library, she nearly collided with Pete Tobias. God, she thought, this is the freaking last thing I need right now—another face-to-face with Lucifer himself.

“Well, Phoebe Hall,” he said. “I thought you might be avoiding me.”

Be careful, she warned herself. Talking to him was like trying to skirt around a rattlesnake on a mountain trail. And she couldn’t let him see how frazzled she felt at the moment.

“Shouldn’t you be busy writing the retraction about me?” she asked.

He looked annoyed. “It’s being posted today, actually,” he said. “Of course, I think the real story turned out to be far more interesting than what we’d been led to believe was true. That students here decided to
frame
you. Why do you think anyone would want to do that?”

“Maybe they were mad because I don’t grade on a curve,” Phoebe snapped. “But I’ll leave that for you to figure out, since you’re such a good reporter.”

He harrumphed. “I’ll do that, then. By the way, I’m surprised you’re not competing with me on the bigger story here.”

“I’m not following.”

“The ever-burgeoning body count in little old Lyle. It may not involve any of your celebrity crushes, but it’s the kind of juicy story Phoebe Hall generally likes to get her hands on.”

“Oh, I could never compete with you, Pete,” she said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to be someplace.”

Once inside her office, door closed, Phoebe collapsed at her desk and squeezed her eyes shut. She considered why Lily would have selected Duncan to seduce and exploit. She was a psych minor. She hadn’t taken classes with him yet but perhaps she planned to next term.

But then she fell for him. And perhaps something went wrong. Was
Duncan
the mess Lily had referred to during her dash with Phoebe through the rain?

None of this meant, though, that he’d
killed
Lily. But what if he had? Phoebe thought. It meant he probably also killed Hutch. Was it Duncan who had chased her through the woods that night? she wondered miserably.

There was one thing she
could
see: how easy it would have been for Duncan to frame Blair. Thanks to Phoebe, he knew all about the Sixes and the house on Ash Street.

As she leaned back in her chair, trying to slow her breathing, a chilling thought shoved its way into Phoebe’s brain: Lily and Trevor had drowned—and so had Duncan’s wife.

There had to be a way to learn more. She needed to talk to Amanda again, she decided. Lily’s roommate hadn’t known much about the new guy in Lily’s life, but asked some pointed questions, she might be able to cough up a detail. Phoebe called the girl’s number and left a message on her voice mail.

She also left a message for Wesley. She wanted to obtain a better description of the man at the jukebox, the one who had seemed to intrigue Hutch so much.

Phoebe then tried to turn her attention to paperwork, but she felt nauseous, too crazed to concentrate. Everything seemed to be crushing in on her. She gathered her belongings together and locked up her office. As she turned around, she saw Jan Wait approaching her in the hall.

“Phoebe, hi, I hope you got my message. How
are
you?”

“Much better than on Monday,” Phoebe said. “And I appreciate your call, Jan.”

She wished there was some way to pump Jan for information about Duncan. She must know a fair amount about him because of his friendship with Miles. But she couldn’t do it without shooting off a big red flare. She pictured Jan’s reaction to a comment like, “I’ve been shacking up with Duncan—would you happen to know if he’s a psychopathic murderer?”

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Jan asked. “You don’t seem like a casserole kind of girl, but I’d be glad to drop one off if you could use it.”

“That’s sweet of you, but I’m managing pretty well now. It just takes some getting used to.”

“I know. Miles broke his foot last year, and it turned into such a drag.”

“How’s his angina, by the way? Is he feeling better?”

“Angina? Why do you say that?”

“Oh, didn’t he—”

“Miles doesn’t have angina,” Jan said.

It was the shove again, like someone ramming Phoebe between the shoulder blades. She fumbled for a reply.

“Um—oh, sorry. I’d heard a psych professor had an angina attack. For some reason I thought it was Miles. Well, look, I’d better run.” There was a roaring sound in her ears, and she couldn’t even think.

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, yes, fine. I’ll see you later.”

She barely remembered the trip home. Her mind had scrambled over what she’d heard from Jan, trying to figure out what it meant. Duncan had clearly lied about Miles because he must have gone someplace else in those fifteen minutes. But
where
? Had
he
turned off the lights? To scare her off her research into the case?

Ten minutes after she reached home, Phoebe heard a dog yap outside and realized that Dan had arrived with Ginger. She swung open the door. Dan was tall—at least six-three—and he carried the tiny dog awkwardly against his body with one hand, as if he’d been forced to hold a woman’s purse. The sight of the little dog overwhelmed Phoebe with both grief and relief.

Though Dan was sporting a beard, Phoebe thought she could see a little of Hutch in him. “Sorry to have to meet you under these circumstances,” she told him.

“Same here,” Dan said, stepping into the house. In his other hand Phoebe saw that he was carrying a large bag of dog supplies. He set the bag down and passed the chihuahua to Phoebe. As she took Ginger into her arms, she felt the dog’s body suddenly soften.

“We couldn’t get into my Uncle Ed’s house, so everything’s brand-new. Oh, and there’s food in the bag. Any luck finding a home for her yet?”

“Not yet, but someone affiliated with the school is bound to want her.” She could feel the dog’s little snout pressed into her chest.

“She sure seems to like you,” Dan said. “She never did seem very comfortable with me and my wife.”

“Thank you,” Phoebe said. “And again, I’m sorry for your loss.”

As soon as he left, Phoebe pulled Ginger back and looked into her eyes. “You’ve had a tough time, haven’t you, little girl?” Phoebe whispered to her. “I promise to take good care of you.”

For the next few hours, she tried to acclimate Ginger to her new situation. She showed her around the house, filled the bowls with food and water, and took her for a walk up and down the street. But as much as Phoebe attempted to focus on Ginger, her thoughts were constantly torn back to Duncan, to the idea that he might be a killer.

She tried Wesley twice more but didn’t reach him. She also called Jen Imbibio. She’d given the girl twenty-four hours to produce information, and it was time to confront her.

“Did you learn anything yet?” Phoebe asked when Jen answered.

“Uh, no. I just can’t come right out and ask about the circles. I have to, you know, wait for the right moment.”

“What about Fortuna?”

“Um, no, not yet. Not exactly.”

Phoebe’s heart skipped.

“Which
is
it, Jen?” Phoebe demanded. “Not yet or not exactly? Because not exactly suggests you found something.”

“I don’t have anything, you know, uh, specific. But I said something to the girl, the one in charge, and she got this kind of funny smile. Like she knew what I meant. But I can’t be sure.”

Phoebe fought to rein in her emotions.

“Did
you
find out anything?” Jen asked, filling the silence. “I mean, about the murder, that Blair didn’t do it.”

“I’m working on it, Jen,” Phoebe said. “But it’s a two-way street. I need some real answers from you, okay? I’ll call you tomorrow, and I expect to hear something.”

“Okay,” the girl muttered.

Phoebe walked Ginger once more, trying to tamp down her mounting anxiety. When she returned, she called Duncan, knowing he’d now be at class. There was no way she could stay with him again until she figured out the truth.

“Hi, it’s me,” she said to his voice mail. “I’m sorry, but I have to bail tonight. Glenda needs me for something important, and I’m going to bunk down at her house. I’ll—I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

And then what do I say tomorrow, she wondered in despair, when I still don’t have any answers?

At four she promised Ginger she would return shortly and, with her coat draped around her and a pashmina for extra warmth, she headed out on foot. She’d never been to the soccer field, but she knew where all the playing fields were—on the northern part of campus, west of the Grove and the science center. She entered the college through the western gate and walked north. Several of the playing fields were occupied—there were girls swinging hockey sticks on the one nearest to her, and football practice just beyond that. Farther down, she was pretty sure, was the soccer game—there was a fair number of people watching. Phoebe picked up her pace, eager to connect with Glenda. The ground was still soggy from the rain, and Phoebe felt her boots becoming damp. Though the pashmina helped her body stay warm, the wind was strong, and before long her face felt raw.

She spotted Glenda almost immediately along the sidelines of the field, towering above the crowd in her red coat. As Phoebe made her way in that direction, Glenda seemed to sense her presence and looked over. She waved and broke away from the people who’d congregated around her. As she reached Phoebe, her smile faded.

“What’s happened now?” Glenda asked. She had obviously read Phoebe’s face.

“The news just keeps getting better and better,” Phoebe said. She spilled what she’d learned—that it was Duncan, not Tom, who’d been on the committee with Lily. Glenda flung her head back, grimacing.

“Oh, wow. You’re sure?”

“That’s the information in the computer. Of course, I have no proof they had an affair.”

“Are you in love with him, Fee?”

Phoebe shrugged mournfully. “Not in love yet, fortunately,” she said. “But in
like
, definitely. And it’s not just that he might have had an affair with Lily. But what
else
might have happened.”

The wind whipped Phoebe’s hair in front of her face, and she yanked the strands away, tucking them behind her ears.

“I need to ask you a question, G,” Phoebe said. “When I first told you about me and Duncan, you paused a beat. Why?”

Glenda looked off, gathering her words. The wind was playing havoc with her hair, too, and she smoothed it down distractedly with her hands.

“Not because I’d heard anything
bad
about him,” she replied. “Of course I would have told you that. And look, the guy has a stellar reputation here. Not only do the kids like him, but he’s published terrific papers. But when his wife was sick—well, there were rumors that his attention was diverted elsewhere.”

“With a student?” Phoebe demanded.

“No,” Glenda said. “Again, I would have told you something like that. I heard it was with someone in town. Look, people cheat every day, and maybe he just needed a way to cope with his wife’s illness. But then there was the creepy way she died.”

“You think he might have killed her?” Phoebe asked, her voice catching.