Beware That Girl (25 page)

Mark began to unbuckle his belt.

“Well, then, little girl, Daddy will have to punish you now.”

I’d taken to texting Serena on the way to my admin duties at the school. Her texts were largely incoherent, especially before she went “in treatment.” Still, I had to keep that line of communication open. The girl had firsthand intel on Redkin, and who knows, maybe one day she’d cough up something useful. Besides, I kind of missed her. I think we all did, except for Olivia.

Every single conversation with Serena ended with the same desperate warning:

Mark way weird sick stay away!!!

Yeah, well, tell me something I don’t know.

I promise just get better grl.

I got to the school by 6:30 a.m. Mr. Jefferson had to let me in again. I told him it was a big push to get to as many files as possible by spring break.

He told me I work too hard. Mr. Jefferson had a mottled butterscotch complexion and the best smile in the school. I felt guilty about lying to him.

I got over it.

I was in Draper’s office by 6:35 a.m. And even on that ancient computer, I was into her files by 6:38. Like I keep saying, I’m that good.

I gambled that Draper would be the keeper of the staff resumes along with all the student records, and bingo, there he was—Mark Lawrence Redkin. There was a long version that weighed in at four pages, including an impressive list of references, and a summary that was barely a page. Both were right up to date. Good practice? Or ready to leap at a moment’s notice? I shut off Draper’s computer as soon as I’d sent the one-pager to the office printer.

MARK LAWRENCE REDKIN

A highly creative and results-driven nonprofit management professional specializing in independent schools. Almost ten years’ experience and expertise generating revenue and increasing support for expanding school programs. Enhanced international and national exposure with a proven track record.

AREAS OF EXPERTISE

HIGHLIGHTED EXPERIENCE

2015     
Executive Director of Advancement and Community Relations, The Waverly School, New York, New York. Reinvigorated and redefined the advancement team and program.

2014–2015    
Advancement Director,

The American School, Lucerne, Switzerland

2013–2014
    
Advancement Coordinator,

The American School, Lucerne, Switzerland

2012–2013    
Assistant Director Development Office,

St. Mary’s School for Girls, Melbourne, Australia

2010–2012
    
Director of Communications,

The York School, Sydney, Australia

2009–2010    
Senior Development Officer,

The Pilot School, San Francisco, California

2008–2009    
Donor Services Associate,

The Pilot School, San Francisco, California

2006–2008    
Advancement Associate,

University of California, San Diego,

San Diego, California

PROFESSIONAL AFFILIATIONS

Association of Fund-Raising Professionals

Young Nonprofit Professionals Network

National School Foundation Association

Chase Brookings & Associates

EDUCATION

Proposal and Grant Writing Certificate—New College, New York, New York

Master of Arts, Psychology—University of California, San Diego, San Diego, California (Phipps Scholarship, Anderson Fellow)

Bachelor of Arts, Psychology—Tufts University, Boston, Massachusetts (Truman Scholar)

I read it as it came out of the printer. Who are you, Mark Redkin? His resume was a testament to the power of moving around in your career. Every single move was a significant upward push. It was aggressive and opportunistic. I got that, understood it. But why? Was he the black sheep with something to prove? Poor bright boy made good? Yeah. That smelled right. He was a scholarship kid at both universities. Dear God, would my resume look like that one day? Was he right after all? Were we alike?

No. It couldn’t be. Could it?

I tucked the sheet inside my binder before heading off to the file room like I was supposed to. It was 6:51 a.m. I allowed myself to slump against the wall of cabinets, waiting for my heart to slow.
Think!
Okay, every move was a big step up. There was nothing suspicious in an ambitious young man pursuing advancement all over the globe. At least now I had specific markers to search: schools, cities, dates. But how, and for what? The Serenas of Mark’s world were hardly going to turn up on the front pages of
The Sydney Morning Herald.
What was I doing?

I was talking myself out of digging in, that’s what. My gut screamed that I couldn’t afford to do that. I flipped open my binder to my research notes on sociopaths. There was a copy of an old
Psychology Today
article written by a self-admitted sociopath, as well as other first-person quotes that I’d pulled from the Net. I skimmed them all but rested on these:

I have never killed anyone, but I have certainly wanted to…Remorse is alien to me. I have a penchant for deceit.

like to imagine that I have “ruined people.”

Handsome, confident, charming…Congrats, you have just had the pleasure of meeting my mask.

There are only two major motivations in my life: desire and rage.

I shut the binder. The quotes left me slick with sweat. They could have been written by my father. When he was sober and moving out and about in the world, people admired him, trusted him. The alcohol threw him off his game, messed with his control. As far as I could tell Mark Redkin didn’t drink, and he never lost control, ever. I’d barely survived my father.

I didn’t stand a chance against Redkin.

Olivia had planned the evening with her usual precision. She’d organized the car service to take them all to the party. They’d picked up Morgan and then Claire on the way to the Spice Room and headed off to the Meatpacking District at precisely 9:25 p.m. It was clear from the moment they giggled themselves into the car that the other half of the Wonders had indulged in some pre-party drinking along with their pre-party primping.

Olivia had arranged for champagne in the car and got a kick out of the four of them clinking their glasses and being seriously silly throughout the murderous traffic across town. She didn’t even mind when Claire insisted that they toast Serena. “To absent friends!” By the time they got past Chelsea, Olivia had to admit that she’d enjoyed every single minute of the ride over.

“Sweet!” said Kate as they entered the Spice Room.

With the restaurant’s warm glow of lanterns, Eastern exotica and hand-painted screens, it was like they had just stepped into Burma. The party was a combination Waverly–Brinksome event, with the Sanchez family footing the bill for their daughter, Nikita, and their son, Estevez. Selected seniors from both schools were invited, with the necessary publics thrown in for color. Morgan’s family was tight with the Sanchez clan, even though Morgan herself wouldn’t be caught dead near the fatally airheaded Nikita.

The Wonders were met with squeals and hugs as they were herded over to the bar area. The drink crafted specially for the evening was a Singapore Slingback, apparently a more potent and spicy reinvention of a seventies-era cocktail. Kate looked at it dubiously while Claire and Morgan inhaled theirs.

“Hey, Kate! Kate, over here!”

Olivia had to nudge her to pay attention. The noise level in the place was formidable. But there, at the far end of the bar, was Kate’s bakery boy, Johnny, waving a Michelob Ultra in the air.

“I got ya covered!”

Kate groaned loud enough for the Wonders to hear. “How did
he
get in?”

“That boy is smokin’ hot,” said Morgan, whistling. “If you ask me, he got in on looks alone.”

Olivia turned to Kate with a raised eyebrow.

“Okay, so, yeah, I maybe invited him a few Sundays back.” Kate winced. “Now what?”

“What do you mean you
maybe
invited him? You either did or you didn’t, goof.”

“No, see, I was stoned out of my mind on Ativan.”

“Ativan? You, Kate? I don’t believe it.” Olivia would have paid to see that. “Where did you get it?”

“Uh, Serena gave me a couple before she left. That girl must be on some hell of a dose. I was fondling pineapples and grinning my whole shift.”

“Well, from now on, come to me! God only knows what garbage that girl gave you. Go! At least have a drink with him. He probably had to smuggle that bottle into the place.” She pushed Kate over to Johnny, with Kate protesting the whole way.

Morgan appeared with another round of Slingbacks. The girls downed those and headed to the dance floor. They were into their fourth dance when a familiar voice called out to Olivia.

“Well, if it isn’t the ever-glorious Ms. Sumner!”

Matt Holbech strode toward them.

“Matt!” Olivia threw her arms around him, which was a challenge since Matt must have clocked in at six foot four. “It’s been forever! I thought you were at Oxford. Did they turf you out?”

“I’m just here for a few days, my gorgeous girl. But I was hoping you might put in an appearance, so I put in an appearance.” Olivia screamed out introductions to Morgan and Claire, and then to Kate and Johnny when they joined the group. Their dancing circle widened, intertwined and enlarged, with more boy add-ons. The last in were dispatched to retrieve more drinks. Olivia and Kate went for a reprise of their gala dance number as soon as the electropop blasted on. This was met with sincere and loud appreciation from every boy in the circle. Whenever the girls came in close, Kate entertained Olivia with screamed fashion commentary.

“Check out Tamara’s puce leather pants. They’re making my eyes bleed.”

“I think Shawna’s implants have left her unbalanced. She can’t dance with her new breasts.”

“Oh, look! Surprise, surprise, our hostess is beyond plastered already. So’s her brother. Sharp as bowling balls, the whole family.”

Matt didn’t take his eyes off Olivia, and that felt good. Better than good.