Two, maybe three, girls die, and they were worried about the effect on their fund-raiser? The headmistress seemed cooperative enough, but Melanie was running out of patience for her attack dog here. She didn’t have time for this. Carmen Reyes was missing, and the morning was slipping away.
“Mrs. Andover…” Melanie began impatiently.
But the headmistress was nodding encouragingly. “Yes, I understand, Miss Vargas. Don’t worry, I’m going to overrule Ted on this one.”
“What?” sputtered Siebert. “Patricia, I must insist-”
“Ted, at a time like this, we have to pull together and help the authorities. Selfish concerns can’t stand in the way.”
THE HEADMISTRESS PERSONALLY escorted Ray-Ray to search the girls’ lockers. Meanwhile, the school psychologist was pulled out of a grief-intervention session and assigned to help Melanie locate and review the girls’ files, which contained transcripts, disciplinary records, and other possible items of interest.
“This is a small school, so faculty wear many hats,” Dr. Harrison Hogan explained as they headed toward his office. “I’m head shrinker, science teacher, and director of college counseling all rolled into one. These girls were juniors, so I should have their files in my office for college-application purposes, although with my so-called filing system, you never can tell.”
Hogan was lanky and good-looking, with longish dark hair and a sculpted face. He wore a tweed jacket over frayed blue jeans and projected an air of nonchalant cool. She followed him down a narrow hallway teeming with Holbrooke girls changing classes, many of whom checked her out, even eyed her with hostility. Don’t worry, I’m not his girlfriend, she felt like saying. Hogan was obviously the object of his share of schoolgirl crushes.
Holbrooke girls hadn’t changed much since Melanie’s college days. They still had that slutty-preppy thing going on. Little plaid kilts barely grazing the tops of their thighs, exposing miles of lithe leg even in the dead of winter. Itsy-bitsy T-shirts and skintight cardigans with the buttons provocatively undone. Long, straight hair and smudgy eyeliner. Melanie’s sister, Linda, the Puerto Rican diva, had dressed like a hooker in high school, but come on, they grew up in a rough neighborhood. These were rich girls-you’d expect better, right? The fact that these kids dabbled in heroin wouldn’t shock anybody looking at them.
“You see why we’re doing this endowment campaign,” Hogan was saying. “We’re really squeezed for space. Patricia wants a new building.”
He was right. Holbrooke’s square footage was clearly insufficient for its needs. Several town houses had been awkwardly combined into a cramped, confusing layout. The interiors were surprisingly musty and run-down, in need of a good sprucing, although you could imagine there would be fondness among the alumnae for the school’s dear old WASPy worn-out look.
“How much money is the school trying to raise?” Melanie asked.
“The campaign was for fifty mil over two years. It concludes at the gala Friday night.”
“Fifty million? Wow. Did they reach their target?”
“From what I understand, yes, or at least they will have by Friday. Holbrooke alumnae come from the wealthiest families in America. Besides, Patricia is a clever businesswoman. She gets what she wants.”
Hogan opened a door with a frosted-glass window and beckoned her in.
“My humble abode,” he said. “Sorry, I’m not much of a housekeeper.”
The office was claustrophobically tiny, littered with files and papers, and had an absentminded-professor air about it. To say Hogan couldn’t keep house was an understatement. Even the books in the shelves lay askew, as if they’d been shoved in any which way.
“Please,” he said, indicating a chair shoved into a corner next to the door.
Melanie had to move a stack of books off the chair in order to sit down. She picked last year’s Holbrooke yearbook from the top of the pile, flipping through it as Hogan searched through file cabinets looking for the girls’ transcripts. Whitney Seward’s photograph leaped out at her. Whitney had one of those perfect faces that made everyone else in the world look like a badly drawn cartoon. Absolutely symmetrical features, straight blond hair, and blindingly white teeth. Carmen Reyes was on the facing page, looking serious and shy, with big dark eyes and braces. Melanie had to search for Brianna Meyers. Despite being quite pretty, with long, curly dark hair, light-colored eyes, and a nose so pert that it smacked of the surgeon’s knife, there was something nondescript about Brianna, something nervous and self-effacing. Melanie felt a ripple at the tip of her consciousness, like if only she could understand these girls, she’d solve the puzzle.
“While you’re looking for those files, Dr. Hogan, may I ask you a few questions?” Melanie said.
“You can try. Anything sensitive, though, I’m gonna have to refer you back to Ted Siebert, the school lawyer.”
“Why is that?”
“Patricia runs a tight ship. We don’t give out personal information on students without the okay from our attorney.”
“Mrs. Andover was extremely cooperative, I assure you. She sent me here specifically to get this information from you.”
Hogan grimaced meaningfully. “She might’ve acted that way in front of you, but I know what side my bread is buttered on.”
“Did Mrs. Andover instruct you not to answer my questions?” Melanie asked.
“She’s too clever to come right out and say that. But I know better than to air dirty laundry about the daughter of a major contributor like James Seward.”
“Was the faculty aware that Whitney Seward was doing drugs, Doctor? Is that what you’re getting at?”
“I’m not gonna say Whitney was pure as the driven snow. That would be a lie.”
“Can you be more specific? I’m looking for anything that would help explain what happened last night.”
Hogan seemed to be avoiding Melanie’s eyes. “Her grades were mediocre, and she was in danger of failing English, but college wasn’t an issue. She was a legacy many times over at Harvard. Buildings named for her family, that sort of thing. She was getting in, no matter what…” He trailed off, occupying himself once again with the filecabinet. Melanie nodded. She knew all about those Holbrooke girls who got into Harvard. But there was more here.
“I’m getting the sense you want to tell me something, Doctor. I understand you’re concerned about the repercussions. You have my word I’ll keep everything in strictest confidence.”
Hogan looked up and sighed. “You didn’t hear it here.”
“Of course not. I never reveal a source.”
“Whitney was big into the club scene. Mixed up with a bad element. You should check it out.”
“Just the club scene generally? Do you know any names or locations?”
“She was hanging out at a club called Screen, with a guy named Esposito who’s really sleazy.”
Melanie noted the names on her legal pad. Come to think of it, they sounded familiar. “Thank you, Doctor. Anything else about Whitney?”
“I heard she had a blog where she was doing some wild stuff. Not sure, though.”
“A Weblog? You mean like a personal Web page?”
“Yeah, I’ve heard some of the other girls talking about it.” Hogan glanced nervously at the door, then at his watch. “Patricia is going to wonder what’s taking us so long,” he said.
“Two more questions, Doctor. What can you tell me about Brianna Meyers?”
“Okay, now, Brianna was troubled.”