“Yes, apparently,” he said, forced to move a little closer to Phoebe as more people entered the room. “Miles said he had her in a few classes, but I never did. Any news about the police investigation?”
“I’m not privy to much. I did hear that the cause of death was drowning.”
She cringed as soon as the comment escaped her lips. She wondered if hearing the word drowning was troubling for Duncan.
“How’s your situation, by the way?” Duncan asked. If the topic was tough for him, his tone gave no indication. “Any more problems?”
“I had a weird chat today with someone I suspect is in the Sixes,” she said. She offered him a few highlights of her conversation with Blair. “She was very cagey. And I can absolutely imagine her sneaking into my house.”
“It’s ironic, isn’t it?” he said. “You leave New York, only to have someone break into your house here.”
“I know. The worst thing that ever happened to me in Manhattan was having my car keyed.”
Just then, someone jostled her from behind, and she was shoved forward, her breasts pressing into Duncan’s arm. She righted herself, trying to look nonchalant, but she felt her cheeks redden.
“You aren’t going to throw in the towel and head back to New York, are you?” he asked.
“Why?” she asked. “Are you afraid of the blow to the English department?”
The expression in his eyes shifted, no longer solemn.
“Actually, I’m not thinking of the English department.”
Oh, please, she thought. If he was seeing Val, why make flirty little comments to her?
Before she could think of a response, she felt a long, thin arm brush against her own. She knew who it was before she heard the deep voice.
“Hello, Phoebe,” Val said. She was wearing flowy black pants and a black jersey top, cut low. Around her neck were half a dozen silver chains, each dangling a different object—an antique cross, a burnished silver vial, a shark tooth—into her cleavage. If I gave her five dollars, Phoebe thought, she would probably tell me my fortune.
Phoebe nodded in greeting.
“What a surprise,” Val said. “I’ve never seen you at a faculty get-together before.” Then she laid her long, slim fingers on Duncan’s arm.
“I’ve got an eight o’clock, so we should go now,” Val said, turning to Duncan. “Ready?”
“Um, yeah, I guess,” he said. “Do you need a lift home, Phoebe?”
“No, thank you,” she said. “I’m all set.”
She said good night and set down her mostly full glass, thanked Jan for the invitation, and snaked through the crowd, hoping to beat Duncan and Val to the door.
She didn’t mind the walk home. The crisp October air was energizing. She’d left lights on in the house, and when she reached it, she saw that it seemed cozy and inviting from the sidewalk.
Phoebe let herself in the front door, and after peering around to make sure nothing was disturbed, she tossed her coat on a chair in the living room. She peeled off her boots, plopped on the couch, and laid her feet on the wooden trunk that she used as a coffee table.
Let Val have Duncan, she thought, allowing her body to sink into the sofa. There was no denying she found Duncan attractive, but no romantic entanglement here meant no chance for regret. Plus, she had other things to concentrate on right now—like figuring out what the Sixes were up to and staying out of Tobias’s way.
Outside a car approached, its engine a dull hum, and then seemed to slow as it reached her house. She felt her body tense, on alert, but the car kept going. Don’t be paranoid, she chided herself.
But then there was another sound, this one much closer. She bolted upright and strained to hear. It was a scratching sound—almost like branches blown by the wind back and forth across a window. It’s coming from the kitchen, she realized with a start, or immediately outside the back door. Was someone trying to get in?
From where she sat on the couch, she could see part of the kitchen, including the back door. Frozen in suspense, she stared at the handle of the door. It wasn’t turning, and she couldn’t see anyone in the glass above it. The scratching stopped, but five seconds later, as she finally took a breath, it started again. Maybe it’s a mouse, she thought. She’d seen a package of traps on a shelf in the pantry off the kitchen, so it was clear Herb had once been plagued by them. She forced herself from the couch.
By the time she reached the kitchen door, the scratching sound had stopped again. Her eyes flew over the room, searching, but she had no clue what had made the noise. If there was a mouse, it might be inside the walls or in one of the cabinets.
And then the noise was back. It was more of a knocking now, and as she turned in its direction, she realized it was coming from the refrigerator—from the freezer part on top. Was something wrong with the motor? she wondered, now completely baffled.
She moved across the room and closed her hand around the freezer door. She yanked, pulling it open.
She saw that there was something dark and clumpy at the back, like a wet wig, and then suddenly something sprang at her, hitting her in the chest. She stepped back as the thing fell to the floor with a hard thud. Her eyes shot to the ground. It was a rat, a brown one with a hideously long, hard tail. She gasped, watching as it writhed by her feet. After only a second or two, it collapsed, dead or dying. Her eyes were drawn back into the dark mass at the back of the freezer. To her horror she saw that there were more rats, huddled together and motionless. She started to scream, but all that came out of her mouth was a ragged groan.
She stumbled from the kitchen, her pulse pounding in her ears. Moving frantically around the living room, she searched for her purse. Finally she found it on the table by the door and groped for her phone. She needed to call the police, to get them here now. But then she stopped. Her thinking seemed muddled and slow, like someone trying to run through water, but she knew that she should call Glenda first. Because she knew the Sixes had left the rats, just as they’d left the apples.
Glenda answered her cell phone on the second ring, her voice low, as if she was in the midst of something. In the background was the murmur of voices.
“Can you talk?” Phoebe pleaded.
“What if I call you back in fifteen minutes? I’m just finishing up something.”
“Um—okay. No, it can’t wait. Something awful’s happened. You have to tell me what to do.”
“What is it?” Glenda urged, her voice barely above a whisper. Phoebe could sense her friend moving, walking away from the people she was with. “Are you okay?”
“I think the Sixes broke into my house again. Someone put rats in my freezer!”
“Oh, my God. Where are you now?”
“At home.”
“Are the rats running around?”
“No, they’re all dead, I think. It’s horrible. And I bet there’s six of them.” She had to fight to keep her voice from breaking out into a wail. “Should I call the police now? I didn’t want to do anything without checking with you.”
“Um, let me think for a sec. Maybe we should have Craig take a look first. I’ll call him, and we’ll head right over. Will you be okay till we get there?”
“Yes. But hurry, please.’
As she hung up, Phoebe could feel her pulse still racing—from both nerves and fury. This had to be payback for her conversation with Blair, she guessed. She’d provoked the girl by bringing up the Sixes, and Blair had decided to exact revenge. But where had she and her cohorts found a bunch of rats? They certainly hadn’t gone off to the city dump and rounded them up with a net.
And then she knew. They must be rats from one of the labs at school. The girls could have broken in and taken them. All that work just to send her a message. Phoebe squeezed her head in her hands. Everything was accelerating, just like years ago. They weren’t going to let up.