“Follow me,” Glenda said. “A roast chicken awaits.”
Glenda led Phoebe to the back of the house. The kitchen was a cavernous room with miles of countertop geared for entertaining, but there was also a small eating nook with a banquette in a corner. Phoebe shrugged off her coat and slid onto the banquette. The table was already set for two.
“So tell me what happened,” Glenda said, pulling a bottle of white wine from the huge, hulking refrigerator.
“First give me an update on Lily,” Phoebe said. “What did this detective have to say?”
“I don’t have much to report,” Glenda said. She uncorked the bottle, filled two wineglasses halfway to the top, and handed one to Phoebe. “According to Michelson, cause of death was definitely drowning. She had the equivalent of two alcoholic drinks in her system. That could have made her tipsy, but it’s hard to imagine she was so out of it that after getting partly up Bridge Street, she spun around, headed north along the river, and fell in. The only other thing he coughed up was that there was no sign of sexual assault.” She sighed. “Every time I ask him a question, he throws out the phrase ‘confidential police matter.’ ”
“They must have some theory about what happened to her. Could you read between the lines at all?”
“No, but Tom followed up with some of the students the cops talked to, and it looks like the police suspect that a guy might be involved. They kept asking if Lily was seeing someone or if she ever picked up guys in town. It’s possible she met a guy on her way home from Cat Tails or bumped into one she knew on the street. Then the two of them found a spot along the river for a grope session. When Lily decided not to go as far as the guy wanted, he flew into a rage, shoving her into the river. According to her parents, she was a good swimmer. But because it was dark and she’d had a couple of drinks, she may have been disoriented and panicked.”
“If there was no sign of sexual assault, I wonder why they think a guy was involved.”
“Madeline knows someone who knows someone in the coroner’s office, and she heard they found a bruise on Lily’s arm about the size of a thumbprint. As if she may have been forced into the water.”
Phoebe felt her stomach clench at the news.
“Has Stockton had a chance to share his serial killer theory with you?” Phoebe asked.
“Yup,” Glenda said. She set the chicken and salad on the table and slid onto the short end of the banquette. “And can you imagine what that rumor would do to enrollment? Of course, I can’t stick my head in the sand—not with kids’ lives at stake.”
“I know as much about serial killers as I know about the Andromeda strain,” Phoebe said, “but I do know they often move around so they don’t leave a trail. This could be someone who was operating in another area and has moved into this region.”
“Tom’s going to check in with the administration at Parker-Hyde and see what he can find out. But enough about that. Tell me about the damn apples.”
Phoebe relayed what had happened, as well as details of her conversation with Blair’s roommate and Jen Imbibio.
“Of course, we still don’t know for sure that the Sixes exist or if they left the apples,” Phoebe said, “but it seems like a fairly big coincidence that the apples appear at the same time I start asking questions.”
“You’re bringing them out of hiding at least, which is good,” Glenda said. “But I’m furious about what they did. You need to report this to Craig Ball, okay? And you need to get your lock changed.”
“I doubt that whoever snuck in took the trouble to make a copy of my key,” Phoebe said.
“But they might have.”
It could be categorized as overreacting, Phoebe thought, but she realized she would feel more comfortable doing as Glenda suggested.
“Okay, okay, I’ll get the lock changed. Did you tell the detective about the Sixes?”
“No—I didn’t think there was a reason to at this point. Like I said, the cops seem to be looking for a guy right now.”
“Let’s see how my research goes. If the Sixes turn out to be a real group with a vendetta against Lily, you’ll need to let the cops know.”
Glenda set her fork down and looked into Phoebe’s eyes.
“Fee, if for any reason you want to bail on the research, I’d totally understand. When I asked you to help, I never expected that someone would end up sneaking into your house.”
“I won’t lie,” Phoebe said. “Those apples rattled me a little. But they’re just apples. I’d be silly to let them get to me. Next on my list is visiting Alexis Grey to see if she might be willing to talk now. Can you dig up her contact information on file?”
“Of course,” Glenda said. As Phoebe took a sip of wine, she could feel her friend studying her.
“What?” Phoebe asked.
“There’s a question I never knew how to ask you at the time,” she said. “Your experience back in school. How much did it—you know, really affect you? You sounded so strong in your letters, I never knew for sure.”
Phoebe shrugged. She could feel her throat constricting a little.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, setting her wineglass down. “I suppose it’s why I hung back my first years at Wisconsin—because I couldn’t risk getting burned again. And I used to wonder what would have happened if I’d graduated with you and gotten a scholarship to some Ivy League college. How might my life be different? But something good came out of it. You and me. Maybe we wouldn’t have become lifelong friends if I hadn’t had that experience and counted on you for so much support.”
Glenda smiled sadly and raised her glass. “As my mother likes to say, thank God for small favors.”
When they finished eating, Phoebe started to pull on her jacket. In light of what had happened earlier, she was eager to arrive home on the early side.
“I’ve got an idea,” Glenda said. “Stay here tonight. We’ve got this big-ass, fancy guest suite for so-called visiting dignitaries.”
“You’re not serious,” Phoebe said, laughing.
“I’m dead serious. I lured you into this, and I don’t want you staying at your house until you change that lock. The bathroom is stocked with everything you need—even a toothbrush.”
Phoebe started to argue, but she could see Glenda wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
After Glenda showed her to the ground-floor guest room, decorated in yellow chintz, and said goodnight, Phoebe realized she’d never mentioned her dinner with Duncan. Tonight hadn’t been the right time anyway. She washed up in the adjoining bathroom and left the light on and the door just an inch ajar. As she tugged off her jeans a minute later, she heard a car pull into the driveway along the side of the house. Mark, she realized. Wearing just her T-shirt and panties, Phoebe climbed into the high antique bed.
She had just begun to drift off to sleep when she heard a man’s muffled shout from the floor above her. Her eyes shot open, and her muscles tensed. It was over so quickly she wondered for a second if she’d imagined it. But she knew she hadn’t. She waited, holding her breath, but nothing else came. For the second time in a week, she wondered if there was trouble in Glenda’s marriage.
The next morning, on her way to Ball’s office to report about the apples, she dropped by the café in the student union for coffee.
“We have to stop meeting at local eateries like this,” a male voice said behind her.
She spun around to find Duncan standing in line. She was surprised by the small rush of pleasure she felt at seeing him.
“Oh, hi,” she said, realizing that she must look grungy from not having showered. “How’s it going?”