The Sixes

13

HUTCH HUTCHINSON LIVED on the outskirts of Lyle, and his driveway turned out to be about a quarter of a mile long. As Phoebe reached the end of it, she saw that the house was actually a log cabin tucked into a cluster of fir trees at the edge of a heavily wooded area. There was an old red Honda in front of the cabin, as well as a black pickup truck, its hood and windshield scattered with pine needles.

Phoebe had tried to wrestle the information out of him over the phone, but he was adamant about telling her in person. It seemed to Phoebe that he might be craving face-to-face time with another person. She asked if he’d mind meeting at eight thirty the next morning because she was heading out of town.

“Sure, why don’t you come over to my place,” he said. “Coffee’s on me.” It would delay her arrival in Maryland, but she was anxious to hear whatever he had to share.

As Phoebe stepped from her car, her nostrils were filled with the fragrant scent of fir trees. This was the kind of setting she’d envisioned for herself in Lyle, but she now knew she probably would have felt skittish living so far from anyone else. She strode up and knocked on the wooden door of the cabin. No one answered. Could he still be sleeping? Phoebe wondered. Just then she heard a sound behind her, and she spun around. A golden retriever, its muzzle whitened with age, was lumbering toward her from the direction of a large work shed. A tiny Chihuahua suddenly shot right past the retriever and nearly bounded into Phoebe’s arms.

“Okay, Ginger, give her a minute to get the lay of the land,” a voice called. Hutch had now emerged from the shed himself. He wore baggy khaki pants, work boots, and a faded plaid shirt. “We don’t even know if the lady likes dogs.”

“I do,” Phoebe said. The retriever licked her hands with abandon as Ginger pranced at her feet like a tiny reindeer. “Though the combo is a bit of a surprise.”

Hutch laughed deeply, but Phoebe heard a doleful chord somewhere in there.

“Ginger was my wife Becky’s dog,” Hutch said, scooping Ginger up with one hand. “She passed two years ago, and Ginger just goes nuts if she sees a nice looking female.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Phoebe said.

“I appreciate that. I’m not a toy-dog kind of guy. The retriever, Sunny, is more my style. But needless to say, Ginger’s got a special place in my heart. Come on in.”

The inside of the house was cluttered but homey looking and layered with smells from all sorts of things—dog hair, pipe tobacco, fresh coffee, and the smoldering logs in the wood-burning stove. Over the hearth was an oversize framed photo of Hutch and his wife. Becky had been a plump, pretty woman whose face exuded kindness and a fierce devotion to her man.

“Sit wherever you’d like,” Hutch said, gesturing broadly with his large hand, “and just help yourself to coffee.” Phoebe took the couch, figuring Hutch would prefer the big leather recliner for himself. She could practically see the shape of his body in it. On the coffee table in front of her was a tray with a glass coffeepot, mugs, sugar, and milk. Phoebe poured a mug for herself.

“You make a mean cup of joe,” Phoebe said after taking a swig.

“Unfortunately it’s about my only selling point as a bachelor,” Hutch said. “That and the fact that I still have all my hair.”

“Well, those things are at the top of a lot of girls’ lists.”

“Good to know,” Hutch said, smiling warmly. The skin crinkled around his eyes. “Now, I’m not going to take up a lot of your time because I know you wanna be on the road.”

“That’s okay. I’ve recently had a harrowing experience with the Sixes, so I’m anxious to hear what you have to say.” She told him about the rats.

“God damn,” Hutch said, shaking his head in disgust. “Excuse my language, but that just makes me mad. We never had anything as bad as that happen, but after you told me about the group, I thought back, and something hit me. There was an incident that might be significant.”

Phoebe leaned forward expectantly.

“Tell me.”

“Because you said the Sixes was a group of girls, I first tried to think about stuff involving the coeds,” Hutch explained. “They usually don’t create much drama here—oh, sometimes they get drunk and throw up all over, and once I thought I was going to need a hose to break up a catfight between a couple of them.”

“Over a guy?” Phoebe asked.

Hutch smiled. “Yup. And I’m sure he probably wasn’t worth it. But I couldn’t recall anything directly involving a group of coeds. Girls just aren’t into pranks the way boys are.”

He took a swig of his own coffee and set the mug down on the thick wooden table.

“But then,” he said, “something popped into my mind when I was out with the dogs last night after supper. Early last fall, before I was handed my walking papers, a bunch of fellows at Lyle ended up with a big black check mark painted on their dorm-room doors over the course of a few days. They were all quick to report it because if the school thinks you’ve damaged your room yourself, you have to pay for the repairs out of your own pocket. I sent one of my deputies out to investigate. The boys claimed to have no idea who was responsible.

“Now, as you’ve probably figured out,” he continued, “kids don’t like to tattle on each other. But I ended up talking to some of these guys myself, and I got the feeling they really didn’t have a clue as to who was responsible. Last night I dug out my notes from that time. You see, I kept some records of my own over the years, in addition to what we had on file at h.q. And guess what?”

“What?” Phoebe asked. She sensed Hutch was stretching things out a bit, enjoying having her company and attention.

“Six doors had been painted in all.”

Another “signing” of the group perhaps, Phoebe thought. But what did it mean? “Was there any connection between the guys?” she asked. “Were they on the same sports team, for instance?”

“No, there wasn’t any obvious connection. Interestingly, though, the doors were in three different dorms, which seemed to suggest that it wasn’t all random—that the boys were targeted somehow.”

“That’s creepy,” Phoebe said. “Targeted for what, do you think?”

“Don’t know,” Hutch said, but Phoebe sensed he had something on his mind. He took another swig from his mug.

“Do people still use the word dork?” he asked.

Phoebe laughed a little. “I think so. Why?”

“Like I said, I spoke to all these guys myself. And I remember they all seemed kind of dorky or nerdy to me. The kind of guys who never went to the prom in high school and who are smart in things like statistics.”

“Did you think someone was bullying them?”

“The thought crossed my mind at the time, so I asked around a bit. Didn’t find anything.”

“Interesting,” Phoebe said. “Though I can’t see how it fits in.”

She glanced at her watch. It was after nine, and she needed to get her butt in motion. She wasn’t sorry she’d taken a detour to Hutch’s this morning—a connection with him could prove useful as she kept digging—but what he’d shared hadn’t amounted to much, and she was anxious to find Alexis. As Hutch escorted Phoebe down the driveway, with the dogs bounding alongside them, they agreed to keep each other in the loop. Then he told her he had one more piece of information to share that morning.

“That fella I mentioned the other day,” Hutch said. “The one who woke up in the river? I got his name for you. Wesley Hines. And I was right. He graduated last spring.”

Phoebe thanked him again, and before firing up the engine, she took a minute to program her GPS for the Crossgates Mall.

The first leg of the trip, just fifteen minutes long, took her down a two-lane road until she picked up the interstate to Lancaster, Pennsylvania.

The landscape constantly shifted as Phoebe drove. In between massive housing developments, which looked like eruptions of giant mushrooms, she passed sprawling old farms with silos and red barns, many with fields of dried corn stalks. Eventually a sign announced that she was now in Amish country. And then she spotted a hex sign, huge and ominous-looking, on the side of a barn.

At ten she made two calls as she drove. The first was to the Gap at the mall, asking for Alexis. Phoebe wanted to double check that Alexis was on duty today.

“She just ran down to the stockroom,” a young man replied. “Do you wanna hold?”

“No thanks—I’ll call back,” Phoebe told him.

The other was to Glenda’s assistant. Phoebe explained that as part of the investigation she was doing for Dr. Johns, she needed contact information on a former graduate, Wesley Hines. The assistant promised to e-mail Phoebe with it after she called alumni relations.

In Lancaster Phoebe picked up I-83 and headed south. The traffic was heavier here, bumper-to-bumper in places. Signs for Baltimore appeared. It all seemed so busy and oddly strange to her after the two months she’d spent sequestered in Lyle. She felt like a character in a movie who has been kidnapped and hidden someplace seemingly remote, only to discover when she escapes that the real world has been thundering by just outside the door the entire time.

Yet as surreal as the trip seemed at moments, she also felt energized. She had a mission, something she hadn’t had since before the plagiarism charges brought a halt to her world. Though she had no reason to be particularly optimistic about today, she told herself she would return with something vital after meeting with Alexis. She had to.

From time to time her mind found its way to Duncan. Last night in bed, she’d kept thinking about the sex with him, but she knew that more than lust was involved in her preoccupation. She liked the man. Maybe that was why she’d turned him down for dinner in the first place. Because she’d been fighting an attraction to him without even realizing it.

But where could this possibly lead? she asked herself. She’d be heading back to New York as early as January—and May at the latest. The last thing she needed was to become emotionally entangled with someone in Lyle. Besides, for all she knew, that was what he was avoiding as well—especially considering what he’d been through in the past two years.

Despite heavy traffic in spots, Phoebe made decent time, and at just after noon she pulled into the massive parking lot of the Crossgates Mall. It had been years since she had been to a suburban shopping mall, and she felt slightly overwhelmed when she stepped inside. There was a cacophony of sound—Muzak, reverberating voices, gushing water from the fountains—and visual noise too: endless signs, banners, and flags. Phoebe used the map to locate the Gap on the main floor, and after sliding on a pair of black sunglasses, she slipped into the store.

There were only a few customers inside, flipping through stacks of jeans and shirts. Phoebe moved toward a table piled with cotton turtlenecks and feigned fascination. After a moment she glanced up and let her eyes sweep around the store. At the moment there appeared to be only two salespeople on the floor—an African American woman in her forties and a white guy just out of his teens. No sign of a woman of about twenty. Maybe Alexis was in the stockroom again.

Phoebe moved a few feet to a table piled with sweaters. Minutes passed, and still no sign of Alexis. Just as she was starting to worry that she’d blown it somehow, Phoebe noticed a doorway that led to the Gap kids’ section. She sauntered toward it, and when she peered into the room, she saw a pretty brunette wearing a headset, folding tiny little sweaters. That’s got to be her, Phoebe thought.

She hung by the doorway of the kids’ room rather than going inside and drawing attention to herself. A short time later, the black woman drifted into the section and began talking to the brunette. Phoebe strained to hear, hoping the women might call each other by name, but it didn’t happen. By this point, though, it was clear there weren’t any other salespeople, and Phoebe was certain the brunette was Alexis.

Phoebe made her way back outside, settled on a bench directly across from the Gap entrance, and called the store again.

“I’m planning to stop by the kids’ department, but I wanted to make sure that Alexis will be there today,” she said to the employee who answered. “She was so helpful to me the last time.”

“Yes, she’s here,” the girl said.

“Great. I hope she’ll be there during lunch.”

“Yes, she doesn’t take her break till two.”

Phoebe made a quick dash to the ladies’ room and then, after picking up a newspaper and coffee, began her wait.

At about one forty-five, earlier than predicted, she saw Alexis walk briskly out of the store. Phoebe jumped up and followed her until, a few minutes later, she entered the food court. After buying a soda and slice of pizza, the girl took a seat at a white metal table for two. Phoebe grabbed a breath, then made her way in that direction.

“Alexis?” Phoebe asked when she reached the table. She noticed that the girl had pulled off all the cheese from her pizza, and it now lay in doughy clumps on the waxed paper. Alexis glanced up casually, perhaps expecting to see a coworker or a friend. When she spotted Phoebe standing there, she wrinkled her brow.

“Yes?” she said.

“My name is Phoebe Hall. May I sit down?” Phoebe didn’t wait for a reply. She slid into the empty chair across from the girl. Though Alexis was pretty, up close Phoebe saw that there were angry red patches of rosacea on her cheeks and forehead, the kind of flare-up that was often stress-related.

“What—who are you?” Alexis demanded. She seemed flustered, but Phoebe also sensed anger beginning to boil beneath the surface.

“I’m a new instructor at Lyle College. And I was hoping to talk to you for a few minutes.”

Alexis’s face reddened even more, as if someone had suddenly held a blowtorch to it. She placed both palms against the table and shoved her chair back, making a metallic grating sound so loud and obnoxious that other customers snapped their heads to see what was happening.

“I already told people there last spring,” Alexis sputtered. “I have nothing to say.” She screwed the cap back on her Diet Pepsi, preparing to bolt.

“I know you went through a lot, Alexis,” Phoebe said. “And I know it must be hard to talk about certain things. But if girls are being bullied or intimidated on campus, we need to stop that immediately.”

Alexis stared at her soda bottle and shook her head quickly back and forth. She said nothing.

“Have you heard the news about Lily Mack’s death?” Phoebe asked.

This time the girl’s brown eyes flickered in response. “What about it?” she said. The lack of surprise indicated she’d already been informed somehow.

“We have reason to believe Lily was part of the Sixes. And we need to find out if they’re connected to her death in some way.”

Alexis had flinched when Phoebe said the name of the group, and now she was stuffing the remains of her pizza slice into the paper bag next to her.

“Will you tell me what they did to you, Alexis?” Phoebe said.

“Don’t ever contact me again, okay?” Alexis said, jumping up. “My uncle’s a lawyer. He can get a restraining order against you? Do you hear me?”

Phoebe didn’t like hearing the L-word. She had tussled with lawyers during the writing of each book, and she’d learned not to let them intimidate her, but this situation involved Glenda and the college, and she couldn’t risk causing trouble for either.

Phoebe rose from the table, but before turning to go, she tried to read Alexis’s eyes. The girl seemed belligerent now, more than a little freaked, and Phoebe half wondered if she would let out a scream in the middle of the food court. That would be fun.

“I’m sorry to have bothered you, Alexis,” Phoebe said calmly. “I’m sure this last year has been a terribly upsetting time for you.”

“You have no clue,” the girl said.

“Maybe I do,” Phoebe said. “The Sixes have been after me lately. They broke into my home and did something terrible.” She reached into her purse, dug out a business card, and dropped it on the table. “If you change your mind, please give me a call. I want to prevent the Sixes from ever hurting anyone else.”

Alexis’s expression had gone completely blank, as if she’d dove deep inside herself, though the patches of red on her skin seemed to be practically throbbing. Phoebe moved away slowly, hoping the girl might change her mind and call out, but she didn’t. After Phoebe had walked to the end of the food court, she glanced back discreetly. Alexis was hurrying away from the table, back in the direction of the Gap. The pizza bag and soda bottle were still on the table, and so, too, Phoebe assumed, was her business card.

Phoebe kicked herself all the way to the parking lot. She had blown it, totally blown it. And yet she couldn’t imagine what tactic would have worked with the jumpy girl.

She was all the way to the car when her phone rang. She glanced at the screen, wondering if it was Glenda with news, or maybe even Duncan. The screen read, “Caller Unknown.”

“Yes?” she said, picking up.

No one spoke, though she could hear shallow breaths on the other end.

“Yes?” Phoebe asked again, her pulse kicking up a little.

“No one must ever know I talked to you, okay?” a strangled voice said suddenly. Alexis. So she had picked up the card after all.

“They won’t,” Phoebe said. “Trust me.”

“I mean it. If they find out, they’ll try to ruin me again. At my next school.”

“Why are they doing this to you, Alexis?” Phoebe asked. “Because you wanted out?”

“Yes,” she said, nearly in a moan. “And I said I would tell.”

“Tell about the group? What they’re up to?”

“Yes, I said I would tell the school. About them. About what they did. About the freaking circles.”