The Little Woods (16 page)

He looked at me strangely. “Why are you so interested in this, anyway? You didn’t even know the girl.”

I shrugged. “That’s probably why. I just want to understand who she was. I just want to know what happened to her.”

“Cally, it’s no big mystery. She went out to meet her dealer. Either he killed her or some vagrant killed her.”

“Or maybe a vagrant drug dealer killed her,” I snorted. “Anyway, how can you be so sure?”

“Because I saw her get the call.”

“What?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”

“The day she disappeared, I was in the bio lab working on our cellular respiration lab before dinner. Iris was in there too—she was Asta’s lab assistant, so she was in there a lot, but that day she was super edgy. She even yelled at Asta about some grade. She was really hostile, raising her voice, even. I mean, no one talks to Asta like that, you know? They were arguing. It seemed like it was about something Iris had found in the display case or something. It was super weird, and then someone came and got her, told her she had a call back on the dorm phones. She never came back. The next day she was dead.”

“Have you told anyone else about this?”

“Of course I told the police back in October, but no one thought she was dead back then. It takes on more importance now that they’ve found her.”

“Do they know who it was?” I asked, running my hand across my forehead. “Do they know who called her?”

He shook his head. “No. The person who came and got her can’t remember who called.”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes. “She doesn’t even remember taking the call.”

“Really? You’d think you’d remember something like that.”

“Yeah. You would. Especially if you were someone with early acceptance to Harvard.”

“Freddy?”

“President Bingham to you,” he said, and wrapped his arm around me.

I was reading
Don Quixote
, wondering if I was Dulcinea or Quixote and deciding that I was probably just Sancho Panza, when Helen asked me if I wanted to come to her house for spring break.

“We have a spring break?”

“I think that’s kind of implicit in my invitation. Don’t tell me you haven’t started studying for midterms.”

“Why would I study for midterms?”

“I thought you were supposed to be this wunderkind. Don’t you ever study?”

“Don’t have to. That’s why I’m a wunderkind.” I smiled.

“You’re lazy is what you are.”

“Yeah, well, I know you are but what am I? Hey, though, I wanted to ask you something. It’s about Iris.”

“Oh God, not this again.”

“Do you know if she was into puzzles?”

“Puzzles? How would I know that? I told you, I didn’t know her.” She shook her head.

“Yeah, but you were roommates. Did you ever see her doing a crossword puzzle or anything?”

“Dude, no. You are so weird sometimes.”

“What about art? Was Iris an artist?”

“I don’t know. Can we drop this already? You are seriously creeping me out.”

“Fine,” I sighed. “Is everyone going to your house? Pigeon and Freddy?”

“We’re only inviting
you
, silly,” she said, and knit her brow as if anything else would be absurd. “The others are wonderful, don’t get me wrong, but we just want to chill and not think
about things.” She stretched her arms up over her head and then fell back onto her bed. “It should be really relaxing. Really earthy.”

I didn’t know what
really earthy
meant, but I figured I’d put in my request form anyway. That night I slept fitfully, drifting into and out of fever dreams. At one point I was convinced Helen was gone for what seemed like several hours, but when I forced myself awake to get up and go wash my face, I saw that she was sleeping soundly, and when I took my temperature in the morning, it was normal.

Midterms were mildly unpleasant, but I survived them, and before I knew it, it was the night before spring break. After study hours, I packed my things and headed up to the library to check in with Carlos before he left. I found him reading in his usual spot. I slumped into the chair beside him.

“What’s up, chickadee?” he said without looking up from his paper.

“You’re into puzzles, right?”

He shook his head. “Into puzzles? No.”

“Come on. You’re always playing weird little games.”

“I’ll have a go at Settlers of Catan now and again. I enjoy a good RPG session, and I’ve been known to dabble in a brainteaser or two, but that does not make me
into puzzles
. That sounds like I’m ten.”

“Sorry. I just wanted to ask you something.”

“What?”

“Well, this is totally random, and you’re gonna think I’m weird.”

“I already think you’re weird. Go ahead. Speak your mind.”

“Okay, well, Iris Liang, do you know if she was into puzzles or games or anything?”

He nodded. “Sure, she was in puzzle club.”

“No way,” I gasped. “There really is a puzzle club?”

He groaned and put his head in his hands. “God, no, Wood. I’m messing with you. Why do you want to know this?”

“It’s complicated,” I said, opening my novel. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have bothered you. It’s stupid.”

“No it’s not,” he sighed. “Listen, I’ll come clean with you. I think I might be able to help you.”

“You’re not still messing with me?”

“No. Listen. Iris Liang wouldn’t have given me the time of day, but she used to come by Tanner’s room pretty often. I live next door to Tanner and spend a lot of time on the hammock on my balcony, so I am, as you might imagine, privy to a lot of pretty intense stuff that goes on at this school.”

“Okay, but does any of it involve puzzles?”

“It does, in fact.” He raised his eyebrows.

“Oh my God, really?”

“I think so. It might be nothing, but I did see her with something like a puzzle once—at least, I think it was a puzzle.”

“Seriously?” I said, turning to face him, hands on my knees.

“Yeah. One night when she was waiting for Tanner, she leaned over his balcony and a bunch of papers fell out of her notebook. I, of course, sprang to her assistance. She wasn’t the
least bit grateful, I assure you, but one thing I can tell you is that the pages, at least the glimpse that I got, seemed to involve a really complicated crossword or something.”

“A crossword?”

“That’s what it looked like. And I remember thinking that was kind of weird, but then, Iris was a weird girl. Does that help?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I think it does. Thanks. What about anyone else? Is there anyone you think of as being into puzzles? Or someone you saw working with Iris on something that might have been a puzzle.”

He shook his head. “Now we are reaching into the realm of total speculation.”

“Hmm.” I tapped my finger against my lip. “Well, let me know if you hear anything.”

“Sure thing.” He nodded. “And if you ever want some truly juicy gossip on Tanner, I am your man.”

“Yeah, thanks,” I groaned as I thought about Freddy. “I think I’ll pass on that.”

“Suit yourself.” He snapped open his newspaper and resumed reading.

“Wait,” I said. “One more thing. You know much about the art teacher? What’s his story?”

“John? He’s a good guy, a really good guy. Don’t you take art?”

“No. I hate it.”

“You’re missing out. He’s the best teacher here. You should sit in on one of his classes. He lets me do that during my free periods.”

“Carlos,” I said, impressed. “I didn’t know you were an artist.”

He shook his head. “I’ve got no natural talent, but I love it.”

“Hmm, maybe I will go talk to him. Is he down at the art barn, do you think?”

“No. You’ve missed him, I’m afraid. Left early for break.”

“Like I said, I’ll talk to him when we get back from spring break. Have a good one, my friend.”

“You too,” he said, saluting. “See you back here a week from Sunday.”

I saluted him back and headed out.

IT WAS DURING THE CAR
ride over to the Slaters’ that I first noticed that Noel had lost an alarming amount of weight. Bony concavities were visible on her wrists, and her fingers looked frail and gray as she gripped the steering wheel. I was almost sure she hadn’t been that thin a week earlier. Was she sick? Should I say something? But when I thought about it, I realized that I hadn’t seen her eat anything for quite a while. Suddenly, I felt ill.

We’d been at the house fewer than ten minutes and had barely unloaded the car when Chelsea Vetiver appeared, lank and dissolute, spindly digits crisscrossed over a white unfiltered cigarette. She wore a slip the color of mayonnaise and an alarming number of silver bangle bracelets. Her eyes were heavy with charcoal liner.

“What’s for dinner?” she asked Helen, sweeping her eyes over me once, letting them linger just long enough to make an appraisal, then moving on to Helen. “You need a new look, Helen. This whole classic beauty thing is getting old. I’m thinking massive body mods, transdermal implants, the works.”

“Thanks,” Helen said, rolling her eyes at me. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

Chelsea’s gaze slipped back to me, a smile playing on her lips.

“Columbo,” she croaked, falling into a low chair and tossing her legs over the rattan arm. “I heard about Alex Reese. Good on you. He was a little, um—how should I put this?—short-lived for my tastes, but I’m glad you’re making it work.”

“How’s truancy treating you, Chelsea?” Noel asked, poking her head out of the kitchen.

“Holy Christ, Noel, what the hell happened to you?” Chelsea asked, her lips curled into a snarl.

“What do you mean?” Noel asked, looking away.

“What do you think I mean? Are you auditioning for
Dachau: The Musical
, or what?”

Helen choked on a piece of bread and scowled at Chelsea. “Chelsea, do you think you can try not to be offensive for just a few minutes? Why don’t we talk about subjects you can manage, like, say, your art? How’s the big project going?” She turned to me. “Chelsea decided not to go back to Exeter this semester. A mental-health break. She’s using it to work on some amazing art project that’s going to transform all of us, society as a whole, in fact. Am I right, Chelsea?”

“See, Wood, I told you I was an art star.” She cackled and blew little rings with her smoke.

“Hey, Chelsea, do you know how to French inhale?” Helen asked.

“No,” she drawled. “Because it’s disgusting. And it makes you look like a fucking whore.”

“I think it’s sexy,” Noel said, laughing.

“Yeah, well, I think eating is sexy.” Chelsea laughed, then popped up from the chair into perfect yoga posture. “What’s for fucking dinner? Don’t you guys have a fucking cook?” And with that she was gone. I expected her to show up as soon as Noel finished with the chicken curry, but it was just the three of us eating—well, two, really, though I did see Noel suck on a few strands of red pepper.

“Where’s Chelsea?” I asked during a quiet moment. “I thought she wanted dinner.”

“Who cares?” Helen said. “Pass me the wine. Oooh, Margaux. Nummy choice, Miss Slater.”

“Why, thank you, Miss Slater. Here, Wood, you want some?”

I shook my head. “No. No thank you.”

The next morning, Chelsea Vetiver came bearing doughnuts. I was immediately suspicious, and rightly so, because as soon as I bit into my first maple bar, she explained that she wanted me to model for her … out in the woods … immediately after finishing my maple bar. Weakened by my sugar daze, I acquiesced, and she led me out a fair way from the Slaters’ place to a spot where the leaves were an otherworldly kind of green.
Chelsea’s monstrous black Nikon hung pendulous from her neck.

I wondered if it was safe, walking in those woods, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask Chelsea what she thought. I was sure she’d laugh at me, so I tried to forget about Iris. I tried to act cool.

“Um, can you hang upside down in a tree for me?” she asked, genuflecting before a giant oak and fiddling with her camera lens.

I wrapped my sweatshirt around my waist. “You want me to hang from a tree?”

She looked up and squinted at me. “Yeah,” she said in that languorous monotone.

So I climbed trees, hung upside down, performed a few impromptu cherry drops, and finally, after about three-quarters of an hour, Chelsea shook her head.

“Come on, we need to change location. The pond, I think.”

“We’re close to the pond?”

“Yeah, it’s right through those trees a bit. I like it there. I like to think there. My thoughts are clearer. If you want, I’ll even let you watch me think while we’re shooting.”

“Um, thanks.”

“No problem. Come on.”

After a short walk, we emerged into the clearing, the pond sparkling with early-morning sun. It was strange to see it there. Conceptually, Helen and Noel’s place seemed a million miles from school, and it was a vaguely unpleasant reminder to see how close we actually were, separated only by these haunted little woods, and that fey pond.

“Okay,” she said, rummaging around in her bag. “So you’re gonna be pissed, but I need you to put on this dress and wade out into the water.”

“No.”