Very Bad Things (7 page)

“That can’t be real, can it?” Even tough-as-nails Tessa sounded freaked out. “It’s rubber, right?”

But it didn’t look rubber to Katie. It didn’t smell like it either. She stared at the object unraveled from the stained paper, her stomach churning. She could hardly breathe.

“Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God,” she murmured over and over, turning away, unable to look a second longer.

Had someone cut off the party girl’s rose-tattooed hand and delivered it to her?

“I’m calling security!” Mrs. Gabbert said in a shaky voice as she backed out of the foyer.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Katie murmured, wobbling as she took a few steps away from the box. As Tessa held her arm to steady her, Katie turned her head and puked all over Tessa’s shoes.

M
ark swiped at his bloody nose with the sleeve of his blazer as he walked down the marble-tiled hallway. Just outside the closed doors to his father’s office, he caught his reflection in a mirror and frowned. A purple bruise had begun forming along his jaw and drying blood clung to his nostrils. He let out a slow breath, telling himself that Steve had asked for it, that the beating was long overdue.

If Whitney Prep’s head of security hadn’t shown up so fast, Mark would have killed the guy. But Wharton’s crew had quickly broken things up and disbanded the crowd that had gathered. One uniform had taken Getty to the school’s infirmary—with Steve giving Mark a hint of a bloody smile on his way out, like he’d won the fight, not lost it—while Wharton himself had dragged Mark to the administration building. “Your father wants to see you, and he’s not happy” was all he said.

Like that wasn’t the understatement of the year. Mark expected Wharton to shadow him into the building, right to his father’s door, but the campus security chief got a call on his walkie-talkie and sped off toward the dorms, leaving Mark to go it alone.

Mark swallowed hard as he stared at the engraved brass plate on the double doors.

HEADMASTER GREGORY M. SUMMERS, PHD.

Yep, his dad must be pretty damned pissed.

He pushed open the outer doors, entering the reception area normally manned by poodle-haired secretary Naomi. Only Naomi was nowhere in sight. Probably still out to lunch.

Almost immediately, the inner door swung wide and Greg Summers appeared, holding it open. A tall man wearing the blue uniform of the Barnard police emerged, hat in hand. “I appreciate that you came to see me first, Captain Franks,” Mark’s dad was saying. “I promise that campus security will look into the matter. I’ll be in touch when we have any information.”

“Much obliged,” the police captain said, scrutinizing Mark’s bruised face before he tucked his hat back on his head and left.

As soon as the outer double doors clicked shut, Mark’s father hustled him into his office. He didn’t say another word until he’d locked them in. Then he frowned at Mark. “Mind telling me what the hell’s going on around here?”

Mark touched his aching jaw. “You want to know about the fight?”

“I want to know about
everything
.”

Mark was taller than his dad and far broader in the shoulders but somehow his father still intimidated the crap out of him. “You always taught me to stand up for myself. That’s all I did.”

“That isn’t all, Mark. You and I both know that.” Gregory Summers’s forehead bunched above his tortoiseshell glasses as he walked around his desk and settled into his leather chair. “Be straight with me, okay? No bullshit.”

Why did it feel like this was about more than the fight? Mark sat down across from his father. “I’m here because I kicked Steve’s ass, right? Has he got Ambassador Getty threatening to sue the school?”

“No one’s threatening anything,” his dad replied. “Steve Getty’s lucky to be here, all things considered.”

Mark wondered what kind of trouble Steve Getty had caused to get booted from so many boarding schools before Whitney. Was it cheating? Smoking pot? Had he stolen something? But Mark knew his dad wouldn’t tell him, and whatever Steve had done wouldn’t be found in his transcripts either. That was how it worked for the sons of politicians: their fathers donated a tidy sum for a new computer lab or football field and any charges of misconduct disappeared from their records.

“Steve’s been an asshole since he got here,” Mark said, and rubbed slick palms along the crease of his khakis. “So don’t ask me to apologize—”

“Apologize?” His dad cut him off. “You think I brought you here so I could force you to tell your teammate you’re sorry?” Gregory Summers sighed. “If this was just about a fight it would make things much simpler.”

Mark hated seeing his dad look so upset. Not an hour ago, Katie had looked at him much the same way. How could things have changed so fast in just a few days? It had all started with the damned party. He wished like hell it had never happened.

Oh, crap. That was it, wasn’t it?

“You heard about the party,” Mark said, and wondered if his dad knew about the photo, too. “It wasn’t any big deal. Just some guys from the hockey team celebrating.”

“Really?” His dad cocked his head. “Are you sure about that?”

Mark winced. His father knew about the girls.

His nose began to drip, and he reached up with his sleeve, smearing blood on his cuff. “All right, so there may have been a couple of townies there. Steve snuck them in. I didn’t know who they were. I had nothing to do with them.”

“Mark,” his dad said, like he didn’t buy it.

“I swear,” Mark said, but he was sweating.

“Then why was a Barnard police officer just in my office asking about someone named Rose Tatum who apparently went to a party at my house last Saturday night?”

“I didn’t even know the girls’ names,” Mark said, wondering if she was the one in the photograph. “Did she steal
something from the house?” He asked the first thing that came to mind. Had she stolen his medallion?

“No, that’s not why Captain Franks was here.” His dad took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked afraid, Mark thought, really freaked out. “Rose Tatum’s roommate reported her missing. She hasn’t been seen since Saturday evening.”

“What?” Mark shook his head, hardly able to swallow. The girl was gone? His dad couldn’t possibly think he had something to do with it. “Look, I barely saw the girls,” Mark said, and met his dad’s eye. “Talk to Steve. He must know them. He brought them onto campus. I figured he took them home.”

“I’m told you were the last to see her.”

“Me?” Mark blinked, completely caught off guard. “Did Steve say that?”

“It’s what the girl’s roommate told the police,” his father explained. “She said that when she left, Rose was ‘getting busy’ with the headmaster’s son.”

“But I didn’t—” Mark started to deny the accusation, only to have his father’s stare shut him up fast.

“I’ve seen the photo of you and the girl, courtesy of Mr. Getty. How drunk were you that night, Son?”

Mark’s chest filled with red-hot anger. “I wasn’t drunk! Steve handed me a beer before I passed out. He must’ve slipped something in my cup. There’s no other explanation.” Mark paused at the disappointed look on his father’s face. “I’m telling the truth.”

His dad’s eyes narrowed on him. “You were drugged by your teammate?”

“Yes.” Mark was sure of it.

“So you have proof?”

“No.”

His father sighed. “I see.”

But Mark could tell that he didn’t. That knot in the pit of Mark’s stomach kept growing. “You believe me, don’t you?”

“It’s not that.” His dad pinched the bridge of his nose again, something he did when he was nervous and trying hard not to show it. “It’s keeping everything from blowing up. You have to think harder about that night. You have to try—”

“I’ve tried! Steve must have spiked my beer with roofies, Special K … hell, I don’t know,
something
,” he insisted, because it was the only thing that made sense. “He’s out for blood, Dad. I mean, it’s never been good between us, not since his first day on campus. But I didn’t know he was so hard-core. Yeah, he wants to be starting forward, not second line, so he’ll get the attention of recruiters and scouts. But it’s more than that. It’s like he wants to take everything I have away from me.”

“You can’t remember anything?”

“I was talking to Charlie.” Mark stood up, too frustrated to stay put. “I felt like I was about to throw up. I wanted some air. The next thing I know, it’s morning, and I’m in Annalisa’s room with my clothes off.” He fell back into the chair, exhaling loudly. “If I’d cheated on Katie, I
wouldn’t forget it. I’d own up to it, you know I would. But I didn’t.”

“So the picture’s a fake?” his dad said.

Mark shrugged. He didn’t know how to answer. “I didn’t participate willingly. I know that for sure.”

For a long moment, his father looked at him, saying nothing. The phone started ringing, but he ignored it. When it stopped and rang again, he muttered, “Where the hell is Naomi?” But he didn’t answer it. He loosened his tie and the button at his collar. “We’ll figure this out,” he said, but his dark eyes were grim. “It’ll be okay.”

“Yeah?” Mark wanted so badly to believe him.

“Maybe Rose Tatum will turn up and it’ll all blow over.”

Mark thought of the way the cop who’d left his dad’s office had stared at him, and he swallowed hard. “The police don’t think I have something to do with her disappearing?”

When his dad didn’t answer, Mark shook his head.

“No way, that’s crazy!”

Even as he said it—even though he believed it himself—something inside his gut twisted. Because he couldn’t be one hundred percent sure, could he? The more he tried to remember, the more that night became a big, fat blank.

“Just lie low for a while,” his father said. “Go to classes and to practice, then straight home. No more fights. No girls. You got it?”

“Yeah,” Mark replied.

“It’ll be all right, you’ll see.”

“Sure,” Mark said without much conviction. He had a
really bad feeling about this whole thing. It wasn’t like his mom leaving or his dad changing jobs; it was much, much worse and it scared him shitless.

The phone rang again. This time, his father picked it up.

And Mark took the opportunity to bail.

W
ithin ten minutes of Katie opening the box and finding the hand, Amelia House was swarming with campus cops. Tessa wondered who’d show up next. The police chief from Barnard? Dr. Arnold from the cadaver lab? That tired-looking actor from
CSI: New York
?

Her chin jerked up as the French doors to the den opened, and she realized she’d left someone off her list: the school shrink.

“Dr. Capello, thanks for coming so quickly. The headmaster thought it would be a good idea for you to chat with the girls,” Mrs. Gabbert said as she ushered the psychiatrist into the room where Tessa and Katie had been stashed after the security chief had finished grilling them. For some reason, he hadn’t seemed at all happy with Tessa’s replies.

Do you have any idea who sent the package?

Isn’t it
your
job to find out?

Do you know why someone would target Miss Barton?

Because she dates that jerk Mark Summers?

Are you aware if Miss Barton has recently received any harassing emails or texts?

Does that include hurl-inducing love notes?

Tessa heard the security chief mumble “Smart-ass” under his breath.

“Can I get you anything, Lisa? Coffee, tea, water?” Mrs. Gabbert rambled on. Her face was red and she kept kneading her hands. She looked on the verge of a heart attack.

“Thanks, Estelle, but I’m good.” Dr. Capello smiled thinly. “I’ll take it from here if you don’t mind.”

“Certainly.” Mrs. Gabbert nodded and left the room.

“How’re you both doing?” Dr. Capello asked, and pulled a chair nearer the sofa where Tessa and Katie sat.

“I’m all right,” Tessa said. “But then I’m not the one with the secret admirer.” She glanced at Katie’s pale face and the tissue she was pulverizing in her lap.

“How about you, Katie?” the doctor asked, sitting down and crossing her legs. Her dark hair was pulled off her face in a ponytail, and she had bangs that made her look more like a Whitney student than a grown-up. She was even wearing a burgundy jacket that was a dead ringer for their school blazers. All that was missing was the crest.