The Sixes

33

PHOEBE WONDERED WHAT it could possibly mean. She considered whether Rossely might be routinely prescribing OxyContin to student athletes, particularly those in the Sixes. Some of them may have become addicted to the drug—and that could be affecting their actions.

As soon as Phoebe was home, she called the campus health center. The person who answered the phone put her through to the nurse on duty.

“Is Dr. Todd Rossely someone on your list of recommended orthopedic experts?” Phoebe asked after identifying herself. She wanted to find out if the center referred students to Rossely, or if some of the Sixes had stumbled onto him on their own.

“Hmmm, I don’t see him on the list,” the nurse said. “But you could double-check with the director tomorrow.”

Something was definitely off, Phoebe realized. Why would students go to a doctor not on the school’s list?

As soon as she hung up, she called Glenda. She didn’t answer her cell, and the automated message indicated she was out of range and a message couldn’t be taken. She was obviously in a place with spotty service, but Phoebe had no idea where it was. Glenda, Phoebe realized, had been oddly vague about the donor she was going to see.

After dinner Phoebe tried again, with no luck. She then called Glenda’s home number, but only the answering machine picked up.

“Glenda, call me the minute you get back, okay?” Phoebe said. “I’m taking Ginger for a walk, but I’ll have my cell. There’s a weird connection between a doctor in town and the Sixes, and I’ve got to figure out what it is. Is there anyone in health care services I can talk to?”

After she hung up, Phoebe put Ginger on the leash and locked the house. It was crisp out, but not the biting cold that had taken hold during the past few days. She’d been walking to the college and back with the dog, but tonight, when she reached the edge of the campus and started to turn back, Ginger tugged on her leash. The dog seemed eager to keep going, perhaps because the night was warmer than usual.

“Okay, okay,” Phoebe said.

She wasn’t far from the west gate to the college, the one that offered easy access to the playing fields. Phoebe walked with the dog up to the gate and entered the campus. She realized that Ginger would probably love a chance to scamper around on a little grass for a change. She let the dog lead her to the southern end of the fields, just to the left of the athletic center. There was a big workout center inside, and as she meandered with the dog, the door opened intermittently as students strolled in and out.

Phoebe tried to let her mind drift. She was eager for answers, but thinking so hard wasn’t helping at the moment. Ginger seemed to relish being on the campus. She was sniffing at every single bush, leaf, and scrap of paper they passed. After a few minutes Phoebe realized that they’d wandered fairly far and were now at the edge of the baseball diamond, away from the light cast from the big windows of the athletic center. She took her eyes off the dog and looked round. There was no one else in sight. Dumb, she thought. How the hell did I let myself get up here alone in the dark?

“Let’s go, princess,” she said, tugging on Ginger’s leash for her to shift directions. As Phoebe started to make a beeline back toward the athletic center, she heard the rustle of dried leaves off to her right. She spun in that direction. Suddenly a man stepped from behind one of the big maples. He was tall and wearing a long, dark coat that reached below his knees.

Phoebe’s heart skipped. It’s just someone from campus, she told herself, someone cutting through to reach the athletic center. And in a split second she saw she was right. It was Mark Johns. Ginger jumped a little in recognition. She was familiar with Mark, of course, from her stay at Glenda’s.

“Hello, Mark,” Phoebe said. Part of her was relieved it was him; another part felt awkward. The last time she’d talked to him was when he’d confronted her in the hall of his house. And then there was the dreadful experience of overhearing him on the phone as she crept down the hall of his house, practically on her belly.

“Hello, Phoebe,” he said. His voice was cool, unfriendly. Clearly, Phoebe thought, he’s as happy to see me, as I am to see him.

“How are you anyway?” she asked. She didn’t know what else to say.

“Not so good, actually,” he said.

“I’m sorry. I know what a tough time this has been.”

“Oh, do you now?”

“Yes, Mark, I do,” she said. Don’t let this get hostile, she told herself. “I know it’s been awful for Glenda and I’m sure it’s been very hard on you as well.”

“You know what I know, Phoebe?” he said. His voice sounded weird, even edgier than it had the day he’d chewed her out at his house. “What I know is that you just can’t back off. You have to nose your way into everything.”

Oh boy, Phoebe thought. Glenda must have told him that Phoebe had overheard his phone call.

“I don’t want to interfere in your marriage, Mark,” Phoebe said. “I just want what’s best for Glenda—and for you, too.”

“What do you know about me anyway?” Mark said. “You’ve never had any damn sense of who I am.”

“It’s true we’ve never been close—but I care about you.”

“Is that right?” he said. His tone was contemptuous. “You cared about me as I hauled my butt to wherever Glenda landed a hot new job, despite what it did to my own career? You cared about me as I had to play the president’s wife, hugging the wall at those endless, godawful receptions? Funny, I never noticed you caring one freaking bit.”

Phoebe knew at times that Mark might resent Glenda’s success, but she’d never suspected his anger ran this deep.

“I’m sorry if I didn’t seem attentive to you,” Phoebe said. “I felt at times that you didn’t like having me in Glenda’s life. Look, maybe we could grab a cup of coffee this week and talk more about it?”

He shook his head and sighed angrily. “Oh, I’m afraid it’s a little too late for coffee, Phoebe.”

“You may feel it’s too late to be friends with me,” Phoebe said. “But it’s not too late to save your marriage.”

He let out a manic laugh that made her heart skip.

“Oh, now smart, sassy little Phoebe is going to play marriage counselor. Isn’t that rich? No, Phoebe, I need you to come with me.”

“Come with you?” Phoebe asked, startled. “Where?” She didn’t like the way he was sounding or looking.

“You don’t need to know where. I’m the boss tonight.”

“No,” Phoebe said. “I’m going home and you should do the same.”

“Oh, nobody’s going home right now,” Mark said. He slipped his hand into the pocket of his coat and drew something out. At first she thought it was a tool of some kind, and then the light from the lamppost caught it: he was holding a gun. Phoebe felt her legs buckle in fear.

“Mark,” Phoebe stammered. “What are you doing?”

“Like I told you, Phoebe. You need to come with me. Back over behind these trees. You and I have some unfinished business.”

“Please, Mark,” Phoebe said. She wondered desperately if there were people still coming out of the athletic center, someone she could shout to, but she didn’t dare turn around. “I never meant to be disrespectful to you.”

“It’s not about respect right now. It’s what I said before—you have to have your nose in every goddamn thing. I told Glenda she shouldn’t have you look into Lily’s disappearance, but oh no, it had to be Phoebe to the rescue. I always thought your little celebrity investigations were so pathetic, but wouldn’t you know, you dug up a serial killer. Almost got yourself killed, just like that stupid girl, but somehow once again you survived.”

“But why—why would you mind if I looked into Lily’s death?” Phoebe asked. She took a breath, trying to calm herself.

“Because it just wasn’t any of your business. And then you still couldn’t stop, could you? You were out today, making more trouble.”

Today? Frantically she wondered what he was talking about. She hadn’t been out of the house—except for her trip to Rossely’s. And she hadn’t even had a chance to tell Glenda about that. But wait, she had told her, she suddenly realized. She’d left a message about it on Glenda’s answering machine.

“Do you mean my trip to Dr. Rossely’s?” Phoebe said. She was totally confused. She couldn’t understand why Mark would care about that.

“Very good, Phoebe,” Mark said. “Maybe you’re a little smarter than I give you credit for.”

“But what do you have to do with Rossely anyway?” My God, she suddenly realized, this might be about OxyContin. “You’re not taking drugs, are you?”

“Oh, is that what you think?” he snapped. “That I’m just some kind of junkie? Is that why you went there? To check up on me?”

“No, it had nothing at all to do with you,” Phoebe said. Don’t push any buttons, she warned herself. “I found out that members of the Sixes are going to him. I’m wondering if some of them might be addicted to drugs he’s giving them.” Hutch’s words echoed in her ears again: Eighty dollars a pill. “Or maybe—” she added, thinking out loud, “maybe they’re getting prescriptions and selling the pills. On the black market.” Was that the sixth circle, she suddenly wondered. Dealing drugs? “If Rossely’s helping these girls deal drugs . . . ?”

“Rossely?” Mark said disdainfully. “You think he’s in charge?”

He let out another exasperated sigh. “That’s so typical of you, Phoebe—and Glenda too. I might be standing in the room, but you always assume someone else is in charge.”

Then suddenly, she knew. “You’re involved with the Sixes, aren’t you?” she said. It can’t be true, she told herself and yet she knew now that it was. She was in even graver danger than she’d realized.

“Ahh, you’re finally catching on.”

“But why, Mark? What could they possibly offer you?”

“Let your imagination run wild for a change, Phoebe,” he said. “Or are you so used to spewing out the blabbering words of movie stars that you can’t?”

Thoughts ricocheted in Phoebe’s head. The fifth circle—seduce and exploit. The sense that Jen and Alexis both had that Blair was consulting with someone.

“Blair approached you, didn’t she?” Phoebe said. “You had an affair with her.”

“I hope you’re not going to go all indignant on me for it, Phoebe. I deserve a woman who respects me.”

“And did Blair cook up the drug scheme?”

“Blair? You think it was her idea? You love underestimating me.”

“Mark, please,” she said. He was becoming unhinged, but she had to keep him talking. Surely, at some point, people would pass by this part of campus, maybe even the campus police. “Whatever your reasons, you need to stop all this. If not for Glenda’s sake, then for Brandon’s. The Sixes are going to be exposed.”

“Oh, that’s right, you’re on your little mission, aren’t you? You just won’t let go of the past.”

“What do you mean the past?” Phoebe asked. She could feel something strange stirring in her, something beneath the fear.

“You’ve always had a hair up your ass about girls doing their thing. Your life would have been much less complicated if you’d just backed off years ago.”

“You mean Fortuna, don’t you?” Phoebe said, startled. “But Glenda said she’d never told you about Fortuna.”

“Of course she told me,” he said, cocking his head up. But Phoebe sensed he was lying.

“How do you really know about Fortuna?” Phoebe said. “Is there someone here, on campus, who was part of it?”

Mark said nothing. The gun jiggled slightly in his hand and Phoebe felt her knees buckle again. And then a thought rammed her brain, like an explosion.

“Omigod,” Phoebe said. “When you were at school—you knew about Fortuna. You knew what happened to me.”

Mark snickered. “Even back then, you were the girl who didn’t know when she should just leave things fucking alone. You were just always asking for trouble.”

The ground seemed to fall away beneath her.

“You were one of the boys, weren’t you?” Phoebe said, nearly choking over her words. “One of the boys who buried me in the crawl space.”

“Shut up, Phoebe,” Mark said. “Just shut the fuck up.”

She could see from his expression that she was right, though.

“Come on,” he said, tightening his grip on the gun and pointing it straight at her. “Like I said, you need to come with—”

And then there was a rustling off to their right.

“Mark, put the gun down,” someone shouted.

It was a woman’s voice, coming from near the trees. They both looked up in surprise as Glenda burst into the halo of light from the lamppost.

“Go away, Glenda,” Mark shouted. “What are you doing here?”

“You have to stop, Mark. If you kill Phoebe, what do you think that does to Brandon? Are you going to ruin his life, too?”

Mark began to flick the gun back and forth in his hand, like someone crazed. Suddenly he pointed it directly at his head.

“Mark, please no,” Glenda called.

He took two steps backward and lowered the gun.

“Just so you know,” he said hoarsely, “I was the one who called the police and told them where the crawl space was.”

Then he pulled back his arm and hurled the gun toward the baseball diamond. A second later he took off running into the dark.