The Sixes (9 page)

Phoebe offered her name and number, which the girl typed into the desktop computer, her nails clacking against the keys. Phoebe started to leave but then turned back. “Oh, just one more thing,” she said. “I need a locksmith. Can you make a recommendation?”

“Mmmm, lemme see,” the girl said, sliding open the top drawer of her desk. “I’ve got some cards in here.”

“You lock yourself out?” the old guy said. Gruff voice, but his nearly translucent blue eyes were kind.

“No, just want to change one of my locks,” Phoebe said.

“There’s a place called Reliable Locks over on Broad. Tell them Hutch sent you.”

“Thanks a lot,” Phoebe said. She realized that this must be Hutch Hutchinson, the security head that Ball had nudged out of his job.

As Phoebe pushed the door open to leave, she could sense the old guy sidling back up to the desk.

“Well, tell Craig I stopped by again,” she heard him say. His comment was followed by the sound of his parka being zipped.

“I will, Hutch,” the girl said almost tenderly. “I’m so sorry he hasn’t had a chance to call you back. It’s been just crazy around here, you know.”

Outside on the path, Phoebe called directory assistance on her phone and learned the exact address of the locksmith. She could swing by there right now, she thought. She was putting her phone back into her purse when she nearly collided with Hutchinson. In the bright light of day she saw that his face was leathered with age, but thanks to his striking blue eyes and thick head of gray hair, he was still a handsome man.

“You’re the former head of campus security, right?” Phoebe said. “I’m Phoebe Hall, an old friend of Glenda’s. I’m teaching a couple of classes here this term.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Hutch said and pumped her hand with a firm grip.

“Glenda tells me you did a great job here.”

“Well, I sure enjoyed working with Dr. Johns,” Hutch said. “She’s one of the best things that ever happened to this college.”

“Do you still keep in touch with many people on campus?” Phoebe said, thinking of the comment he’d made inside about stopping by again.

“Not so much. But with this girl drowning, I thought they could use an extra pair of hands in the investigation.” He didn’t add that Craig was obviously not responding to his overtures. She bet Craig would rather be caught drinking a cocktail with a pink umbrella in it than encourage any help from his former boss.

“What’s your take on the situation?” Phoebe asked.

Hutchinson puffed up his chest, clearly pleased to be asked. “Hard to say when I don’t know any details. Could be suicide, but when a young lady ends up dead, there’s often a guy in play. Could be a bad catch she picked up in a bar—or a boyfriend she dumped. One of the most dangerous things for a girl this age is breaking up with a guy who doesn’t want to be broken up with.”

Interesting, Phoebe thought. “Someone in the administration has a theory there’s a serial killer on the loose,” she said, deciding it was okay to mention it to him.

Hutchinson harrumphed. “By definition, then, I’d say there’d have to be more than one dead body.”

“There was another drowning, though, right? The spring before last?”

Hutchinson looked off and didn’t say anything

“Scott Macus,” he said after a few seconds. “A crying shame about that. But the cops ruled that an accident. Besides, there’s a year and a half between the two deaths. Serial killers like a cooling-off period, but it’s rarely
that
long.”

He tilted his head and scratched his neck with a knotted finger.

“Unless,” he added, “you count the kid who ended up in the river but survived.”

Phoebe felt cold in her thin jacket. “When was that?” she asked.

“Last November, just before I retired. A kid came into the security office one night, sopping wet and shivering his butt off. A senior, I recall. Said he’d come to in the river and didn’t know how he’d gotten there. Last thing he remembered was being at that damn bar, Cat Tails. He managed to kick off his shoes and swim to shore. I wasn’t on duty that night, but I followed up with him the next day. He didn’t have a scratch on him, so there was no indication of foul play. My determination was that he’d been inebriated and had fallen in accidentally.”

My God, Phoebe thought. Cat Tails was the bar that both Lily and Scott Macus had last been seen in.
Could
there be a serial killer?

“Does Craig know about this?”

“It’s in the database, but since he didn’t handle the call, he might not know to look there.”

“Should you tell him?”

He smiled. “Craig doesn’t seem to care about what I have to say. Besides, in my opinion, if you put a college next to a river, kids are always gonna fall in. This serial killer angle seems pretty out of the box to me.”

“I have another question for you,” Phoebe said, knowing he wouldn’t mind. “Glenda asked me to look into whether there may be a secret society of girls on campus, called the Sixes. Ever hear anything like that?”

Hutch cocked his head, clearly surprised.

She continued. “They apparently sometimes leave their mark—for instance, the number six painted on a wall, or six objects clustered together.”

Hutch shook his head. “Nope, never got wind of anything like that. But I’ll keep my ears open.”

Phoebe dug out a business card from her purse and offered it to Hutch.

Hutch smiled as he accepted it and gave her a small salute with his large hand. Phoebe sensed he’d enjoyed the exchange.

As she watched him walk off, she heard someone approach her too closely from behind. She spun around. Standing smack in front of her was the man she considered the incarnation of the devil on earth.

9

“W
ELL, HELLO, PHOEBE,”
Pete Tobias said smarmily. She half expected him to drop to the ground and begin to slither around her ankles on his belly. “Fancy meeting you here.”

The last line was a total lie. It was suddenly clear to Phoebe that he’d been the guy who had asked Craig Ball about her. Tobias worked for the
New York Post
and was one of the reporters who’d treated her most viciously in print following the plagiarism charges. His distaste for her had seeped through every word, and she’d wondered if she’d once done something indirectly to enrage him, leading to a grudge against her. He’d obviously figured out where she’d fled in exile and driven out here so he could file an update for readers who craved the rush of schadenfreude her saga could provide.

“Oh, really?” Phoebe said, trying not to reveal how much his sudden presence disturbed her. “That’s funny, because weren’t you asking for me on campus yesterday?”

Though there was still a smug tug to his mouth, his too-small eyes flickered. She’d caught him in a lie, and it had thrown him off his game a little. “What I meant was that I’m surprised to see you in front of campus security,” he said. “Everything
okay
, I hope?”

“What exactly do you want from me?” she asked. She could hear an edge in her voice and she warned herself to take it down a notch.

Tobias’s lips curled into a full smile. With a start she wondered if there was a dreadful new development in her situation—someone else claiming she’d stolen his words and threatening to sue her ass off.

“I hate to disappoint you, Phoebe, but I’m actually here covering the death of Lily Mack.”

“Why would a death in Pennsylvania interest the
New York Post
?”

“There’s a very good reason. Lily’s a New York City girl—from Cobble Hill, Brooklyn. Then someone told me that you were working here. What a coincidence! I’d love to buy you a cup of coffee and hear what you’ve been up to.”

Sure, Phoebe thought, but you’ll have to drag me back to hell with you to do it. “I’m sorry, but this is a very busy time for me,” she said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

She strode briskly away, headed to Glenda’s house to pick up her car. Because she knew Tobias was probably following her with his eyes, or might even be tailing her from a distance, she kept her posture confident. But once she was in the car, she let her shoulders sag in dismay. She couldn’t believe that prick had surfaced in her life again.

Phoebe drove directly home without bothering to stop by the locksmith’s. She felt discombobulated by her encounter with Tobias, and right now she craved the sanctuary of her house. As soon as she entered, she made a sweep through the rooms, checking for any sign of disturbance. But everything appeared to be fine.

She was desperate for a shower, but that was trumped by her need to know what Tobias was really up to. She clicked on the
New York Post
Web site and searched under his name. Bless his evil heart, Phoebe thought. He’d been telling the truth. There were several reports with his byline on the disappearance of Lily and the discovery of her body, including a few details from anonymous sources about the drowning and some breathless quotes from kids on campus.

And then, to her chagrin, she discovered a reference to herself at the end of Tobias’s most recent story. “Lyle happens to be the college where disgraced celebrity biographer Phoebe Hall now teaches,” he’d written. Next, she thought, the jerk would be insinuating that she was linked to Lily’s death somehow. She imagined the headline: “Plagiarist Eyed in Death of Pretty Coed.”

Enough about him, Phoebe told herself. She needed a game plan for tackling the Sixes. If only I knew more about them, she thought. Was membership simply about feeling important and superior—and the thrill that came from excluding other girls? Or was there something far more sinister at work?

Somehow she had to find a way to make direct contact with Blair Usher. The girl wasn’t returning her calls, and it was pointless to keep trudging over to the house on Ash Street, where Gwen and Blair could just ignore her knocks on the door. She decided to ask Glenda for both a photo of Blair and the girl’s class schedule. Then Phoebe would basically stalk the girl until she caught up with her.

Also, as she’d told Glenda, she needed to talk to Alexis Grey. Phoebe had no classes on Thursday and she decided to drive to the Baltimore area then.

Only in learning more about the Sixes would she have a chance of understanding what Lily had been referring to. Was there something awful she’d discovered about the group only after she’d joined?

Of course, Phoebe realized, Lily’s need for a fresh start might have nothing to do with the Sixes. Maybe the mess was a romantic one—she’d hooked up with the wrong guy, for instance, after her boyfriend Trevor disappeared. It might be the guy she’d hinted to her roommate Amanda about. And her death might be linked to the romance.

She felt unsettled suddenly, almost claustrophobic. I’m letting those stupid apples still get to me, she thought. She headed upstairs, hoping a shower would relax her.

Later Phoebe returned to her study and gladly diverted her attention to grading the last few reports for class the next day. At one point her eyes drifted over to the folder at the back of the table, the one stuffed with clippings that were supposed to inspire her next book idea. The sight of it triggered a brief wave of anxiety. I’ve
got
to come up with something, she told herself. But not today. There was just too much going on.

As the day continued, Phoebe still couldn’t shake her unease. She decided she would go back to Berta’s before the seven o’clock memorial service and treat herself to a light dinner there. Before leaving the house, she remembered to call the locksmith Hutch had recommended and arranged for her lock to be changed after her second class tomorrow.

She cut through campus on her way to Berta’s. The sun was already low in the sky, mostly hidden by swaths of sooty gray clouds. Students hurried down pathways and across the grass, shouting to each other in order to be heard over the wind. Halfway across the quad, Phoebe decided on a detour. She headed over toward the plaza in front of the student union, where the memorial would be held. She was curious to see what the setup was.

When she arrived, she saw that a platform and podium were already in place, as well as a hundred or so folding chairs. Nearby, a few boys tossed a small football back and forth, though the wind played havoc with their fun. A huge gust suddenly tore through campus, making the podium rock back and forth. Phoebe caught sight of the pathway that ran from the plaza toward Arthur Hall, the one whose puddles she had leaped over with Lily that day.

“Professor Hall?”

Phoebe didn’t use “Professor” as a title because she wasn’t one, but occasionally students made the mistake. She turned around.

She’d never met the girl who was standing before her. Phoebe would have remembered. She had long brown hair, which was glossy and smooth, even in the wind. Her eyes were a striking khaki color, set slightly far apart, and they glistened now, as if she had just blinked back tears. There was a pretty flush to her cheeks, and her full lips were naturally outlined in a rosy shade just a bit darker than the rest. Not a classic beauty in any way, Phoebe thought, but the kind of face you couldn’t take your eyes off.

“Yes?” Phoebe said.

“I’m Blair Usher,” the girl replied.

Phoebe had to fight to hide her surprise. So no need to stalk her after all, she thought.

“Ah,” Phoebe said. “Nice to meet you.” She wondered if she was standing face to face with someone who’d snuck into her home.

“You keep leaving me messages,” the girl said, almost petulantly. “Can I help you with something?”

“Yes, you can,” Phoebe said. “I’m part of a team doing an internal investigation into Lily Mack’s death, and I’d like to ask you a few questions. Actually, I was going to grab a bite before the memorial. Can I treat you to a burger or a salad?”

“I have plans right now,” Blair said. “Sorry.” She didn’t sound very sorry.

“Which way are you headed?” Phoebe asked.

“Why?” Blair demanded. She seemed wary but at the same time utterly confident. Certain animals in the wild are like that, Phoebe thought. Big cats, for instance.

“Just wondering,” Phoebe said.

“That way,” Blair said, pointing east with her chin. “Off campus.”

“Me too,” Phoebe said. “I’ll walk with you for a bit, then.”

Blair hesitated for a moment, and Phoebe was sure the girl was about to say she’d misspoken, that she was really headed north or west or anyplace other than where Phoebe was going. But Blair finally shrugged a shoulder. “Whatever,” she said.

As they started to walk, Phoebe studied Blair from the side. She had to be one of the most attractive girls on campus, and she dressed as if she knew it. She was wearing skintight jeans, knee-high black suede boots, and a black coat nipped in at the waist with a flared skirt. Wrapped twice around her neck was a pink cashmere scarf. An It girl, just as Stockton had said. To her right Phoebe saw some of the touch football players pause and look, staring right through Phoebe at Blair.

“I’m sure the police have already asked you,” Phoebe said. “But do you have any thoughts on what might have happened to Lily?”

“None whatsoever,” Blair said. “I hadn’t spent any time with her lately.”

“But there was a chance you were going to see her that night, right? Her roommate said Lily had told her she might stay at your place.”

“No,” Blair said firmly, “Lily was never going to
stay
at my place that night. At the very beginning of the term she used to stay over sometimes. She’d gotten totally screwed in her living situation when her boyfriend took off, so we’d let her crash on our couch. But that was weeks ago.”

So either Lily had lied to her roommate or Blair was lying now, Phoebe thought.

“Why do you think she told her roommate that, then?” Phoebe asked.

Blair paused on the cement path and turned to face Phoebe. “Maybe,” she said softly, in a fake conspiratorial tone, “she didn’t want her roommate to know what she was really planning to do that night.”

“When you
were
seeing more of Lily, was she ever blue or depressed?”

“If she was, she never let on to me. Of course, I’m sure she wasn’t pleased when her boyfriend bolted. He left without even saying good-bye.” There was a hint of glee in the last statement, as if she thought Lily had gotten what she deserved. Phoebe told herself not to react.

“Had you heard whether she was dating someone new lately?”

“
Dating
someone?”

Oh, that’s right, Phoebe thought. No one in college
dated
anymore.

“I mean seeing someone. Or hooking up. Her roommate mentioned that she thought Lily had started to see a new guy. Any ideas who that could be?”

A look crossed Blair’s face, and then it was gone almost instantly, like the ripple made by a breeze across a puddle of water. But Phoebe had caught it: a micro expression of disapproval, perhaps even anger. Have I pricked a nerve? Phoebe wondered.

“Nope,” Blair said. “No clue.”

They were getting close to the eastern gate, and Phoebe guessed she only had a minute or two more.

“So you and Lily had drifted apart,” Phoebe said. “Did you two have some kind of falling out?”

“Why would you think that?” Blair asked.

“Because that’s often the case when people stop being friends.”

Blair stopped and turned to Phoebe, holding her eyes. “I guess as a famous biographer, you know all about what makes people tick,” she said smugly.

Phoebe smiled at her. “Sometimes it’s just common sense,” she said.

“Well, to be perfectly honest, Lily turned out to be someone who wasn’t trustworthy. I decided it was better to keep my distance.”

“What did she do that upset you?”

“I probably shouldn’t say. It wouldn’t be nice—with her being dead and everything.”

They had just passed through the east gate, and Blair stopped on the sidewalk. She would make certain, of course, that she went the opposite way that Phoebe did.

Phoebe decided to go for broke. “Lily didn’t join the Sixes, did she?” she asked. “Is that what upset you?”

The girl clearly hadn’t expected Phoebe to go there, and, caught off guard, she looked briefly away. Phoebe could tell Blair’s mind was racing, trying to figure out how to play it. The girl looked back at Phoebe.

“The Sixes?” she asked slyly. “I’m not following.” Her tone suggested she was up for a little game.

“It’s a secret society of girls here,” Phoebe said. “Though it’s hardly much of a secret anymore. I would have thought you’d heard of them.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Blair said, and briefly touched the tip of her tongue to her pillowy upper lip. “There
have
been a few rumors about them.”

“And what exactly have you heard?” Phoebe asked.

“Nothing really very specific,” Blair said, staring straight at Phoebe. “Just that they’re very,
very
powerful.”

Phoebe’s heart skipped. The last comment hadn’t just been part of the game. It had been a threat, of course. I’m being warned off, Phoebe thought anxiously, just like I was years ago.

“Is there anything else?” Blair asked. “I really have to go.”

“No,” Phoebe said. “Thank you for your time.”

Phoebe turned toward Bridge Street, and behind her, she heard Blair walk briskly off in the opposite direction, her boots tapping hard against the sidewalk.

As soon as she was at Berta’s, Phoebe ordered a glass of wine. She had envisioned a quiet hour by herself, a chance to unwind, but she felt totally on edge. Phoebe had no doubt now that the Sixes existed, and that Blair was in the thick of it. There was something truly unsettling about the girl.

By the time Phoebe finally headed back to campus, it was dark and she was later than she’d planned to be. Reaching the plaza, she saw that a huge crowd of students and faculty was already milling around. Many of the students held candles, cupping the wildly flickering flames with their hands. Phoebe’s eyes scanned the crowd. Far off to the left, she spotted Pete Tobias talking to a bunch of students, obviously coaxing information from them like a con artist. She headed to the opposite side of the plaza, aiming to steer as clear of him as possible.