“What about Mark? How is this affecting things?”
“I once thought I had a good marriage, but instead of having my back, Mark seems even more distant these days. I’ve asked him to help with Brandon, to spend more time with him, and all he says is that he’s too busy with work. But enough about me. How are you?”
From the casual tone of the question, Phoebe realized that her friend wasn’t in the loop about the latest incident.
“Well, there’s been a little development on my end, which Ball was supposed to tell you about.” She relayed the dishwasher story to Glenda.
“Oh, my God,” Glenda said. “Why the hell didn’t he inform me? And you had to stay there alone last night?”
“It’s not a problem,” Phoebe answered vaguely. “I’ve beefed up my locks.” As she spoke, she felt the guilt surge back. She still hadn’t told Glenda about Duncan, and the longer she waited, the more awkward it would be. She started to say something, but Glenda cut in.
“Fee, look, I appreciate all you’ve done,” Glenda said. “But this is now totally out of hand. I want you to stop your investigation. I can’t put you in danger.”
“Oh, come on,” Phoebe said. “They’ve played a few dreadful pranks, but there’s no sign I’m in any real danger.”
“But you said yourself that we don’t really know what these girls might be capable of.”
“Are you thinking that as part of the fifth or sixth circle of membership, the Sixes will now demand the head of a tarnished celebrity biographer?” Phoebe tried to joke.
“I’m not kidding. I want you to stop. Why don’t you stay here tonight, and we’ll talk about it.”
“I’ll be okay, really.”
“At least come over for lunch tomorrow. I need to discuss this with you in person.”
Though Phoebe had no intention of letting Glenda force her off the hunt, she knew it would be good to hash out everything that had transpired in person. And she could finally tell her about Duncan. She agreed to stop by just after noon.
As the day quickly turned to twilight, she could feel dread begin to nudge her again. All of the ease and contentment she’d felt at Duncan’s last night was gone. Her perturbed mood, she realized, stemmed not only from having to face a night alone in her house, but also from the abrupt end to her afternoon with Duncan. Now that she had a few hours’ distance on the experience, she was sure that the shape-shifting his mood had undergone was due to something other than a phone call about work.
Keeping her gaze off the dishwasher, Phoebe made a cup of tea. She’d just sat down when her cell phone rang. Hutch, she thought. But she didn’t recognize the number on the screen.
“Professor Hall?” the voice asked. It sounded like a student. Don’t tell me someone’s pleading for a grade change during the weekend, she thought.
“Yes?”
“It’s Wesley Hines. You gave me your number, and said I could call you.”
“Oh, of course,” she said. Something was up. “How can I help?”
Wesley blew a gust of breath loudly into the receiver. “Wow, it’s been a weird two days since I saw you last,” he confessed.
“How so?” she asked. He’d been to the police, she suspected.
“Well, I did what you told me to do. I went to see the cops and told them my story.”
“That’s good. How did they react when you told them?”
“They took it seriously, real seriously. Let me tell you, it’s been a relief to have people finally pay attention—and you were the first one, so I appreciate that.”
“I’m sure it was frustrating when you talked to the campus cops last year, but I hope you can see it from their perspective. They had no reason to suspect it was anything more than an accident.”
“Yeah, well, I take it you heard about the drowned guy they found?”
“Yes, Trevor Harris. Did you know him?”
“Nope—though I knew the name. I guess Lily Mack must have mentioned him at some point, and then people were buzzing about him last spring, when they thought he just took off.”
“Are you thinking that the same thing happened to him that happened to you—but he didn’t make it out alive?”
“I’m no expert, but hey, I’ve watched enough crime shows to know that you’re supposed to put two and two together, and this sure looks like two and two together. It gives me the creeps when I think how close I came to dying myself.”
“Well, I’m just so happy you’re okay. And I appreciate your calling me to let me know you saw the cops.”
“Actually, that’s not the only reason I’m calling. You told me to get in touch if I thought of anything else—and I did. It may not mean much, but I don’t know, I guess I thought I should share it.”
Instinctively Phoebe sat up straighter, her curiosity fully engaged. She was sure the police wouldn’t want her getting involved in the investigation, but she wasn’t about to let that discourage her.
“Go ahead,” she said. “I’m anxious to hear.”
“Oh shoot, two people just walked into the store. Is there a chance we could meet after we close today? Then there won’t be any interruptions.”
“Today’s complicated, unfortunately,” Phoebe said. She was eager to hear what he had to say, but she needed to leave the evening open for Hutch. “How about tomorrow morning—at around ten?”
“Yeah, we’re closed on Sundays, so that should be fine. There’s a diner on Route 412 called Sammy’s. Ever hear of it?”
“No, but I’ll look it up. I’ll see you there at ten then.”
As soon as she hung up, Phoebe began to pace the living room. Hutch had something interesting to share, and now so did Wesley. Maybe, just maybe, the truth would begin to emerge this weekend.
She stopped pacing and massaged her temples. She could feel a headache coming on, partly from hunger, but there was no way she was going to cook anything in her kitchen. It had been a week since she’d been to Tony’s, and she realized that the quiet back room and a glass of Montepulciano might help her take the edge off. Before she locked up, leaving several lights on, she tried Hutch again. No answer. She left another message saying that she was anxious to talk to him.
She drove to Tony’s this time, and parked the car along Bridge Street. Stepping inside the restaurant, she wondered if she might see Duncan there, lingering again over a bowl of pasta. But the only people at the bar were two middle-aged guys watching a hockey game with the sound barely audible. Tony wasn’t even there tonight. The hostess led her to a table in the back room, past about a dozen diners. Phoebe started to order her usual chicken with rosemary, but then realized that she suddenly had little appetite. She asked instead for a Caprese salad and a glass of wine.
She could feel a funk begin to descend, blending weirdly with her anxiety, as if she’d taken two medications that shouldn’t be mixed. She closed her eyes and thought of Lily once again. She pictured the pretty girl she’d met that day, her blond hair wet with rain. You wanted out of the Sixes, didn’t you? she thought. So what did Blair do to you when she found out?
Later, when the waitress cleared away her unfinished salad, Phoebe started to order an espresso and then changed her mind. She suddenly felt as eager to hightail it out of Tony’s as she’d been to get down here. She paid the bill and stepped outside the restaurant. The air was crisp and clear, and Phoebe could hear the thump of rock music farther down Bridge Street. Cat Tails, she realized. And then an idea grabbed her. It’s time I finally check out this place, she thought.
She left her car where she’d parked it and descended the hill, forced to bend her knees because of the steep incline. The music grew louder with each step she took, and was soon mixed with shouts and laughter. She’d planned to slip into the side entrance of Cat Tails, but there was a snarl of obnoxious-looking guys by the door there, so she continued down the street, turned right, and used the main door of the building. I’m going to feel like a fool in here, she thought as she entered, especially if I run into any students I know. But her curiosity was on fire now, and there was no turning back.