“But isn’t the next assignment a reporting piece?” Jen asked.
“Yes. But you can still add attitude if the topic allows for it.”
“Um, wow, okay,” the girl said. “So it would probably have to be something I have a strong opinion about?”
“That’s right. Take a day to rethink your topic. . . . Of course, I know this is a hard time to focus right now.”
Jen knitted her tiny brows, not sure at first what Phoebe meant. Then she got it. “Right,” she said quietly.
“Were you friends with Lily?” Phoebe asked.
The girl took a breath before answering.
“Sort of,” she said. “I mean, we used to be friendly last year. Lately, though, we didn’t see very much of each other.”
“From what I know, they’re still not sure what caused her death,” Phoebe said. “Do you think she may have been depressed?”
“I wouldn’t have any idea,” Jen said. “Even if I’d seen her, she wouldn’t have confided in me. We were never that close.”
“I happened to speak to Lily myself—a week or so ago.”
“Really?” the girl said.
“Yes, just briefly. I got the sense she was struggling with some things.”
Jen said nothing this time. She just bit her lip, and shifted in the chair.
So, Phoebe thought, the easy-does-it strategy was going nowhere; time for a bolder approach.
“I feel so bad that I wasn’t able to help Lily,” Phoebe said. “I’ve thought a lot since then about what might have been troubling her. I wondered if she might have gotten caught up in something she regretted . . . like the Sixes.”
Jen’s whole body froze, except her blue eyes, which danced around anxiously. “I—um, I don’t know what you mean,” she said.
“The Sixes,” Phoebe said, glancing surreptitiously toward the door to make sure no one was outside. “The secret society on campus.”
“I don’t know about any societies,” Jen said hoarsely. “I’m really focused on my own stuff. Gymnastics. And dance.”
“And you’ve never heard about a group that might be bullying or threatening other students?”
Jen shook her head back and forth slowly.
“No,” she said. “I can’t imagine the girls here doing something like that.”
“Maybe it’s just one of those urban legends then,” Phoebe said, smiling, trying to break the tension. “When I was in college this crazy rumor went around, claiming that a psychic had predicted a guy was going to kill six coeds at a school that began with the letter W. Guess what school I went to? Wisconsin. As you can imagine, all the girls were hysterical.”
There was no response. Phoebe could see that bold hadn’t worked either, and if she kept at it, she was going to make the girl’s tiny heart stop in her chest. She needed to drop the subject and establish some trust, which she could possibly tap into later.
“I should let you get to your appointment,” Phoebe said. “But there’s a book I’d love to loan you.”
The girl’s face relaxed just a hair. Just then, a noise from the hall caught Phoebe’s attention. It sounded like the soft scuff of a shoe. Phoebe waited for the person to pass by the door, but no one did. She had the sense that someone was standing on the other side of the doorway, listening. But Jen, distracted, had clearly not heard anything.
Phoebe rose quickly but quietly from her desk and stepped over to the other side of the office. She leaned her head out into the hallway. There was no one there. When she pulled her head back in, Jen was standing up, waiting eagerly to be dismissed.
“Here it is,” Phoebe said, tugging a book from the shelf. “It’s a collection of articles by a terrific writer named Ron Rosenbaum, who first made his mark in the 1970s and ’80s. There’s a lot of attitude in his reporting pieces. I think you’ll be inspired.”
“Thanks,” Jen said, smiling weakly.
After the girl had departed, Phoebe stepped into the hallway. She could hear Jen nearly tripping down the steps in her hurry to leave, but otherwise it was quiet. Phoebe walked down the hall to the department reception area. Four or five offices fanned off it, all belonging to senior members of the English faculty. The receptionist, Bev, was sitting at her desk, staring at her computer screen, while the department chair Dr. Carr stood nearby, thumbing through a stack of mail.
“Why hello, Phoebe,” he said, looking up. He was about sixty, built like a bear, and surprisingly gracious to her, considering she’d been foisted on him by Glenda. She suspected he was slightly intrigued by her, as if he’d been asked to employ a parolee who’d served time for murdering her husband years ago. “What can we do for you?”
“I was just wondering if anyone was looking for me. I thought I heard someone come by my door.”
“Not that I’m aware of,” he said. “Bev, do you know?”
“I think most people are at lunch,” the receptionist said.
“Okay, thanks,” Phoebe said. She turned to leave.
“Oh wait,” Bev said, finally taking her eyes from the computer screen. “Maybe Dr. Porter.”
“Pardon?”
“Dr. Val Porter. I don’t know if she was looking for you, but she was up here a few minutes ago. I saw her at the copy machine.”
Phoebe headed back down the hall and on her way glanced into Val’s office, which was on the other side of hers. But it was empty. She wondered if it had been Val outside her door. It wouldn’t surprise her. She sensed that Val kept a close eye on her, curious as to what Phoebe was up to.
Back in her office, Phoebe unwrapped a sandwich she’d brought from home and considered the conversation she’d had with Jen. She’d scored nothing of real note, but there’d been that one interesting slip on the girl’s part. She’d told Phoebe, “I can’t imagine the girls here doing something like that,” even though Phoebe had never said the Sixes was a secret society of girls. It was another clue that the group actually existed and that Jen might be a member.
For the next few hours Phoebe read through material in her office and mapped out plans for future classes. But she had trouble keeping her mind on her work. She kept coming back to Lily and the Sixes. So far she hadn’t made a lick of progress.
It was almost six and already dusk when Phoebe decided to call it a day. Before long the clocks would have to be set back, and it would be even darker by now. Something to look forward to, Phoebe thought grimly.
As she crossed the wind-swept quad, she caught a glimpse of Jen Imbibio, walking with another student from her eleven o’clock class—Rachel, a tall, very athletic-looking blonde. Jen’s face was pinched, and her tiny hands moved animatedly as she spoke. Phoebe wondered if Jen was filling Rachel in on the grilling she’d been subjected to earlier, which could mean Rachel was a member of the Sixes, too. It’s like that movie Invasion of the Body Snatchers, she thought. You know the bad people are in your midst, but you aren’t certain who they are.
As she continued down the path, she spotted Craig Ball, head of campus police security, coming from the opposite direction. With his silver hair and tanned, crinkly skin, he looked like he should be flying planes for Delta, Phoebe thought. When he was closer, he nodded at Phoebe and ran his eyes over her face but said nothing. She was pretty sure he recognized her from the park yesterday morning. For all she knew, she thought sardonically, he had her on a list of security risks because of the plagiarism charges.
“Mr. Ball?” Phoebe called out just as he started to pass her. “We haven’t met yet.” She gave him her name and explained she was a friend of Glenda’s.