Phoebe dug out a business card from her purse and offered it to Hutch.
Hutch smiled as he accepted it and gave her a small salute with his large hand. Phoebe sensed he’d enjoyed the exchange.
As she watched him walk off, she heard someone approach her too closely from behind. She spun around. Standing smack in front of her was the man she considered the incarnation of the devil on earth.
9
“WELL, HELLO, PHOEBE,” Pete Tobias said smarmily. She half expected him to drop to the ground and begin to slither around her ankles on his belly. “Fancy meeting you here.”
The last line was a total lie. It was suddenly clear to Phoebe that he’d been the guy who had asked Craig Ball about her. Tobias worked for the New York Post and was one of the reporters who’d treated her most viciously in print following the plagiarism charges. His distaste for her had seeped through every word, and she’d wondered if she’d once done something indirectly to enrage him, leading to a grudge against her. He’d obviously figured out where she’d fled in exile and driven out here so he could file an update for readers who craved the rush of schadenfreude her saga could provide.
“Oh, really?” Phoebe said, trying not to reveal how much his sudden presence disturbed her. “That’s funny, because weren’t you asking for me on campus yesterday?”
Though there was still a smug tug to his mouth, his too-small eyes flickered. She’d caught him in a lie, and it had thrown him off his game a little. “What I meant was that I’m surprised to see you in front of campus security,” he said. “Everything okay, I hope?”
“What exactly do you want from me?” she asked. She could hear an edge in her voice and she warned herself to take it down a notch.
Tobias’s lips curled into a full smile. With a start she wondered if there was a dreadful new development in her situation—someone else claiming she’d stolen his words and threatening to sue her ass off.
“I hate to disappoint you, Phoebe, but I’m actually here covering the death of Lily Mack.”
“Why would a death in Pennsylvania interest the New York Post?”
“There’s a very good reason. Lily’s a New York City girl—from Cobble Hill, Brooklyn. Then someone told me that you were working here. What a coincidence! I’d love to buy you a cup of coffee and hear what you’ve been up to.”
Sure, Phoebe thought, but you’ll have to drag me back to hell with you to do it. “I’m sorry, but this is a very busy time for me,” she said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
She strode briskly away, headed to Glenda’s house to pick up her car. Because she knew Tobias was probably following her with his eyes, or might even be tailing her from a distance, she kept her posture confident. But once she was in the car, she let her shoulders sag in dismay. She couldn’t believe that prick had surfaced in her life again.
Phoebe drove directly home without bothering to stop by the locksmith’s. She felt discombobulated by her encounter with Tobias, and right now she craved the sanctuary of her house. As soon as she entered, she made a sweep through the rooms, checking for any sign of disturbance. But everything appeared to be fine.
She was desperate for a shower, but that was trumped by her need to know what Tobias was really up to. She clicked on the New York Post Web site and searched under his name. Bless his evil heart, Phoebe thought. He’d been telling the truth. There were several reports with his byline on the disappearance of Lily and the discovery of her body, including a few details from anonymous sources about the drowning and some breathless quotes from kids on campus.
And then, to her chagrin, she discovered a reference to herself at the end of Tobias’s most recent story. “Lyle happens to be the college where disgraced celebrity biographer Phoebe Hall now teaches,” he’d written. Next, she thought, the jerk would be insinuating that she was linked to Lily’s death somehow. She imagined the headline: “Plagiarist Eyed in Death of Pretty Coed.”
Enough about him, Phoebe told herself. She needed a game plan for tackling the Sixes. If only I knew more about them, she thought. Was membership simply about feeling important and superior—and the thrill that came from excluding other girls? Or was there something far more sinister at work?
Somehow she had to find a way to make direct contact with Blair Usher. The girl wasn’t returning her calls, and it was pointless to keep trudging over to the house on Ash Street, where Gwen and Blair could just ignore her knocks on the door. She decided to ask Glenda for both a photo of Blair and the girl’s class schedule. Then Phoebe would basically stalk the girl until she caught up with her.
Also, as she’d told Glenda, she needed to talk to Alexis Grey. Phoebe had no classes on Thursday and she decided to drive to the Baltimore area then.
Only in learning more about the Sixes would she have a chance of understanding what Lily had been referring to. Was there something awful she’d discovered about the group only after she’d joined?
Of course, Phoebe realized, Lily’s need for a fresh start might have nothing to do with the Sixes. Maybe the mess was a romantic one—she’d hooked up with the wrong guy, for instance, after her boyfriend Trevor disappeared. It might be the guy she’d hinted to her roommate Amanda about. And her death might be linked to the romance.
She felt unsettled suddenly, almost claustrophobic. I’m letting those stupid apples still get to me, she thought. She headed upstairs, hoping a shower would relax her.
Later Phoebe returned to her study and gladly diverted her attention to grading the last few reports for class the next day. At one point her eyes drifted over to the folder at the back of the table, the one stuffed with clippings that were supposed to inspire her next book idea. The sight of it triggered a brief wave of anxiety. I’ve got to come up with something, she told herself. But not today. There was just too much going on.
As the day continued, Phoebe still couldn’t shake her unease. She decided she would go back to Berta’s before the seven o’clock memorial service and treat herself to a light dinner there. Before leaving the house, she remembered to call the locksmith Hutch had recommended and arranged for her lock to be changed after her second class tomorrow.
She cut through campus on her way to Berta’s. The sun was already low in the sky, mostly hidden by swaths of sooty gray clouds. Students hurried down pathways and across the grass, shouting to each other in order to be heard over the wind. Halfway across the quad, Phoebe decided on a detour. She headed over toward the plaza in front of the student union, where the memorial would be held. She was curious to see what the setup was.
When she arrived, she saw that a platform and podium were already in place, as well as a hundred or so folding chairs. Nearby, a few boys tossed a small football back and forth, though the wind played havoc with their fun. A huge gust suddenly tore through campus, making the podium rock back and forth. Phoebe caught sight of the pathway that ran from the plaza toward Arthur Hall, the one whose puddles she had leaped over with Lily that day.
“Professor Hall?”
Phoebe didn’t use “Professor” as a title because she wasn’t one, but occasionally students made the mistake. She turned around.
She’d never met the girl who was standing before her. Phoebe would have remembered. She had long brown hair, which was glossy and smooth, even in the wind. Her eyes were a striking khaki color, set slightly far apart, and they glistened now, as if she had just blinked back tears. There was a pretty flush to her cheeks, and her full lips were naturally outlined in a rosy shade just a bit darker than the rest. Not a classic beauty in any way, Phoebe thought, but the kind of face you couldn’t take your eyes off.