The Sixes

25

“FEE?” GLENDA ASKED.

“Yes, sorry—I’m just in a state of shock,” Phoebe said. So it had been them, she thought. Her breath felt stuck in her chest. “How—how do they know?”

“Typically, Michelson is giving nothing up.”

As she’d been speaking to Glenda, Phoebe had watched Duncan drop his dish towel and move toward the living area. He was standing directly in front of her now. He flipped his hands over, palm sides up, and let his mouth fall open. His whole body was asking, What the hell is going on?

Phoebe raised a finger, asking him to give her another minute. She was anxious to share the news with him, but she wanted to make sure she’d heard everything.

“Are they implicating them in Lily’s death, too? And Trevor’s?”

“I don’t know if they’ve managed to do that, but I assume they’re trying. The only motive I can think of for them killing Hutch is that he linked them to the drownings.”

“How will you handle this?”

“I’ve scheduled a meeting with my staff in five minutes to figure out what kind of damage control we need to do. Word is out about the Sixes. We’ll probably use the old there’s-always-a-few-bad-apples-in-the-bunch approach. But listen, Fee, thank you for all your help on this. If you hadn’t started this ball rolling—”

“—then Hutch would not be dead.”

“You can’t think like that,” Glenda said. “We had no idea they were that dangerous. There’s the doorbell. Everyone’s coming to the house for the meeting, so I better scoot. Let’s catch up tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.” Phoebe disconnected her phone and looked up at Duncan. “You’re not going to believe this,” she said. She relayed the news.

“Wow,” he said, plopping down onto the couch beside her. “And so it must have been one of them following you through the woods.”

“I guess so,” Phoebe said. She hadn’t been certain if her pursuer had been male or female, but she was having a hard time connecting either Blair or Gwen to the form that had stalked her. She wondered what evidence the police had found linking the girls to the crime.

Duncan raked his hand through his hair. “It’s going to seem like a bomb went off on campus tomorrow. Too bad U.S. News and World Report doesn’t measure notoriety for their college rankings. I bet we’d finally break the top one hundred.”

“Yeah, I just hope the board doesn’t hold it all against Glenda.”

“And how are you feeling?”

Phoebe let out a long sigh. “Relieved, I suppose. Maybe I can stop looking over my shoulder now. It’s just . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“What?” Duncan asked, his dark eyes quizzical.

Phoebe reached behind her head and shook her hair out from its ponytail.

“I guess I was wrong,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t really think that it was the Sixes.”

“But you thought it was a possibility.”

“Yes, but . . .” She struggled off the couch and paced before the stone fireplace. “I keep asking myself what Hutch saw in the notes that pointed in their direction. Of course, his contacting them may have had nothing at all to do with what was in the notes. Maybe he got a hold of them for another reason—he’d heard about them from me and might have begun to investigate them separately. And once he made contact with them, they went on the defensive.”

“Could be,” Duncan said. “Here, why don’t you let me see those notes?”

After retrieving them from her purse, she brought them to Duncan, explaining the difference between the two sets. He tugged a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket and began to peruse the pages. While he read, Phoebe watched the flames do their repetitive dance in the fireplace. Her good arm touched Duncan’s, and she could feel the warmth of his body through his shirt. It had been ages, she realized, since she’d hung out with a man on a couch after dinner. In the last years with Alec, their lives had been so busy in the evenings. After dinner there was more work, phone calls, answering e-mails, or often packing for a trip.

Duncan scrunched his mouth. “You’re right about there not being a single reference to any college girls in here.”

“Maybe Hutch found out about Blair being in the bar some other way,” Phoebe said. She rested her head briefly against the back of the sofa. She was tired and knew she wouldn’t figure this out tonight. “I probably should hit the hay so I’m fit for class tomorrow.” She turned to smile at Duncan. “But what do I do about my face? I was hoping the bruises would be mostly gone, but they’re turning out to be stubborn little bastards.”

“Hey, you’re the campus hero and those are your battle scars.”

“But as far as I know, I’m still not suppose to disclose that I was at the murder scene. By the way, I never asked how you found out I was there.”

Duncan ran a finger back and forth along his lower lip and looked off, thinking.

“It was Miles who told me you were in the hospital,” he said. “I think he said he heard it from Cameron Parr.”

“No, I mean about me being at Hutch’s.”

He paused. “Well, I hope this doesn’t land him in hot water,” Duncan said, tucking his glasses back into his pocket. “But Mark Johns told me.” He eased up into a standing position and tossed the notes on the table.

“Mark?” Phoebe said, totally surprised by the revelation. “Why would he volunteer that to you? Glenda didn’t know about you and me until today.”

“It just came out during a brief discussion we had,” Duncan said. “I think I mentioned to you that he might be teaching a course with us, and I bumped into him in the building on Monday. Miles had just told me you were in the hospital, and I’d also just heard about Hutch’s murder—though I didn’t know the two were related. I brought up the murder to Mark, thinking he might know something via Glenda. And that’s when he said that you’d been injured at the scene.”

“That was before I’d told Glenda the cops were keeping it under wraps, so she wouldn’t have told him yet not to say anything,” Phoebe said, following the sequence but annoyed nonetheless. “And yet he should have known to be discreet.”

“Please don’t let Mark know I said anything,” Duncan said. “I don’t want him ticked at me. Ready for bed?”

“Hmm, yes. Though I might grab some fresh air out on the deck for a few minutes. I’ve spent most of the day indoors, and I could use it.”

As Duncan headed for the bedroom, Phoebe slid open the back door. There was a real chill to the air, but it was just what she needed. The house had grown warm, because of the fire, and she’d been having a hard time focusing.

She crossed the deck to the railing at the far end. A light at the back of the house was on, and she could see that Duncan’s yard was a decent size, nicely landscaped. In the far back were several rows of fir trees, blocking a view of his neighbors. She glanced up. A zillion stars were scattered across the sky, and she could see the filmy swaths of the Milky Way. Orion towered above the trees.

If Blair and Gwen really had killed Hutch—and she assumed the police had enough evidence to arrest them—that meant Hutch must have become suspicious of them and telegraphed that to them. They killed him to protect themselves. I was lucky, Phoebe thought, that they only used their scare tactics on me.

So that meant Hutch had stumbled onto something linking them to the drownings or to Wesley’s fall in the river, or both. Something that wasn’t in the notes. But what? she wondered, yet again.

Suddenly a thought jumped in front of her, like a night bird lighting on the railing of the deck. Maybe Hutch had contacted Wesley himself. He might have wanted clarification of a few points in the notes, and Wesley could have told him about Blair being in the bar. She would call Wesley first thing tomorrow and find out.

Of course that didn’t explain all the underlines, she realized, but Hutch may have come to see that the clue he’d spotted in the notes didn’t amount to anything in the end.

Phoebe turned to go inside and then stopped. Duncan had shut off most of the great room lights, but there was still a light burning in the kitchen. He must have left it on so she could find her way. She realized that now that Hutch’s killer had been arrested, there’d be no reason for her to have to hole up at Duncan’s. Well, she thought, it would be tough to function indefinitely in a space that was not her own.

When she entered the bedroom a minute later, Duncan was standing by the bed in his gray boxer briefs, setting the alarm clock. Despite her fatigue and achiness, she felt a surge of desire shoot through her. She slipped into the bathroom, quickly washed her face, and changed into her pajama pants and camisole. He was in bed when she returned, propped up against the headboard and staring at a corner of the room, as if deep in thought.

“I didn’t even ask about your day,” Phoebe said. She crawled in beside him, mindful of her elbow.

“Mine paled compared to yours,” he said, directing his gaze at her now. “It was all pretty routine.”

“What about your student?”

“Student?”

“The one with the unexpected issue.”

“Oh, yeah. Smart kid, but the statistics part is totally over his head. He’s tried tutoring, and it’s just not working. He’s probably going to have to switch majors. You ready for lights out?”

“Yup.”

He switched off the swing lamp by his side of the bed. Phoebe lay on her right side, facing him, and in the dark she felt him shift his body closer to her. Duncan found her face with his hand, cradled it, and kissed her softly.

“Good night,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll feel even better tomorrow.”

She felt a twinge of disappointment. Should she just boldly announce her intentions? she wondered. But Duncan was already on his back again, pulling the covers up. Of course he’s not going to assume I want sex tonight, she told herself.

She thought she would fall asleep instantly, but when she closed her eyes, an image she had fought off all night made its way into her mind—Blair battering Hutch with a piece of firewood. Tonight should have brought a sense of closure, or at the very least the beginning of closure, but she felt troubled and discontent. And the nap had been too long. As she drifted off nearly an hour later, she realized she’d never heard from Jen Imbibio. She would grab her after class tomorrow. Blair and Gwen might be arrested, but the school still needed to shut down the Sixes.

In the morning she and Duncan took turns showering and drank their coffee quickly at the kitchen counter.

“Look, I know I offered my place while the killer was still at large,” Duncan said, “but why don’t you stay a few more nights? You’re still in recovery mode.”

“What if I take a rain check till later in the week,” Phoebe said. “I need to organize things at home.”

She left a few minutes ahead of him. It was colder out today than yesterday, and as she struggled to put on her gloves, one dropped to the ground. Stooping to pick it up, she felt a thought wiggling into her brain. At the hospital, Michelson had asked what she’d been wearing on Sunday night, and when she’d shown him her coat, he’d said, “Is that all?” The question had perplexed her. For the first time she wondered if the police had found an item of women’s clothing at the murder scene, something they needed to eliminate as Phoebe’s before linking it to the killer. So maybe that was one of the clues that had led them to Blair and Gwen.

Before heading to campus, Phoebe stopped briefly at her place. She unpacked her duffel bag, threw a load of clothes in the wash, and dropped some of the files she’d taken to Duncan’s back on her desk. Before leaving, she scooped up a few pinecones from the edge of her backyard and arranged them in a bowl on the coffee table. She wanted to feel safe again in her little house, but she wondered if she was being naive. According to Alexis, there were at least forty members of the Sixes. If someone else was really pulling the strings, they might still be a powerful force, even with a piece cut off.

She drove to campus. The scene, when she arrived, was just as Duncan had predicted—as if a bomb had gone off. People were gathered everywhere in clusters—talking, gesticulating, shaking their heads in dismay. A strong wind added to the disarray and tore across the quad, grabbing papers and candy wrappers and tossing them aside in a snit.

It didn’t take long to see that Blair and Gwen’s arrest had had a big impact inside the classroom as well. Nearly every student in her first class appeared hyped up, as if they’d dropped a couple of Adderall at breakfast. Though Phoebe had applied makeup over her bruises and scratches, they were still partially visible, but the students seemed too wired to notice. She decided to confront the situation head on.

“You must all be feeling pretty churned up,” she said once all the students were settled in their seats.

No one spoke for a moment, just looked at her in that slack-jawed style they so often resorted to in class, but finally a girl named Jackie lifted her shoulders in bewilderment and called out, “It just feels like, you know, everything’s out of control. All the kids are going ape shit. There’s press everyplace. And our parents want us to transfer.”

“Yeah,” a boy named Andy said. “I mean, I’ve heard of Skull and Bones. But who’s ever heard of a secret society on campus that actually murders people they don’t like? That’s freaking crazy.”

“Okay, I’ve got an idea,” Phoebe said, coming out from around the table she generally sat at. “We’re journalists, right? Let’s cover this. I want everyone to form a big circle with their chairs. We’re going to pretend we’re a media company, and we’re going to decide how to handle this on a variety of platforms. Some of you will report on it—talking to the police, and the administration. Some of you will write essay-style blogs. A good topic might be how you feel about the intrusion of the press in your life, or about the strain of trying to keep your parents from freaking out. You game?”

The students nodded their heads enthusiastically, and for the next hour they talked about the various angles of the crisis on campus and how they might cover it. Then they divvied up the assignments. It was part newsroom, part therapy session. The kids seemed enthralled. How ironic, she thought, that not one of the students suspected how deeply she was entrenched in the story.

As soon as class was over, she flew up to her office, closed the door, and called Wesley. He would be at work right now, but hopefully he would answer his cell phone. She reached only voice mail and left a message. Less than five minutes later, he called her back.

“I’m glad you phoned,” he said. “I’ve been going to call you ever since Monday, but I was feeling so weird about everything.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“That guy Hutchinson who died. I feel really strange about it.”

“Why?” she urged.

“He was the head security guy who interviewed me after I woke up in the river. You know, the one who just seemed to dismiss my whole story.”

“I know, I know,” she said impatiently. “But why do you feel so weird?”

“Well, he called me last Sunday, after I saw you. He said he’d been reviewing some notes about the case. I was about to blow him off, but he admitted that he might have misjudged the situation last year.

“I went over the details from that night with him,” he continued. “But this time . . . well . . .”

“What is it, Wesley?” Phoebe said. Christ, just spit it out, she wanted to scream.

“I told him about that girl Blair being there. That I hadn’t mentioned it the first time because I didn’t think it was important. And then he goes and gets killed, and those girls get arrested. I feel really guilty.”

So Phoebe had been right. Hutch had contacted Wesley. After learning about Blair, he’d obviously pursued the lead on his own.

“You still there?” Wesley asked.

“Yes, I’m here. And no, you shouldn’t feel guilty. How would you have known what they were capable of?”

“I know what you’re going to say next. You’re going to tell me to call the cops again. I already did. I called them right away once I heard about Hutchinson’s death.”

“Good,” Phoebe said. “Did Hutch ask you any specific questions about that night at Cat Tails?”

“Hutch? Oh, did you know him yourself?”

“Yes, a little bit.”

“I don’t recall him asking any specific questions. He just wanted me to go over that night again. You know, describe everything I could remember.”

“Did he give you any hint about what was on his mind—I mean, about any theories he might have had?”

“No, he didn’t let on about anything to me. He just said once more that he was sorry he hadn’t taken my situation more seriously last year—and that was it. Excuse me a sec, will you?” He turned from the phone. “If you’re looking for the fifty-pound bags, they’re against the wall.”

“One more thing, Wesley,” Phoebe said when she had his attention again. “Hutch reviewed the notes he and I both took about you being in the river, and he said he found something important in them—though he never had the opportunity to share it with me. By any chance, did he mention those notes to you?”

“Um, no. He just seemed interested in that girl, Blair.”

“Okay,” Phoebe said, frustrated. “If something occurs to you, just leave me a message.”

After signing off, she tossed the phone down and rested her chin in her hand, thinking. Something still gnawed at her, something she couldn’t see.

Her phone rang, and she swung her eyes toward it on the desk. The screen displayed a number she didn’t recognize.

“Hello, Phoebe,” a man’s voice said as soon as she picked up.

Her body tightened in surprise as she realized the caller’s identity.

Alec.