“I’ll fill you in more when I see you.”
“Okay. How are you feeling, anyway?”
“Achy, but on the mend.”
After she’d signed off the call, Phoebe sat quietly for a moment and replayed the conversation with Glenda. There’d definitely been a weird undercurrent, but she didn’t know what it sprang from. She’d have to wait until she was face-to-face with Glenda and force it out of her.
Phoebe slid off the kitchen stool, retrieved her laptop, and checked the local paper on line for their latest coverage of the crime. This time it was a big story, prominent on the home page—though once again it contained no mention of her. For a brief moment it felt as if she had simply read about the crime and then envisioned the whole awful thing in her mind. But she had been there, and the terror she’d felt seemed to be hovering just over her shoulder.
Well, don’t just sit there, she told herself. She found Hutch’s notes in her purse and laid them out on the kitchen island. For the next thirty minutes she went over them again meticulously, even saying out loud the parts Hutch had underlined—in case the sound of the words triggered a revelation. But she got nothing. Frustrated, she dug out her own notes and went over the parts Hutch had underlined there. But they were virtually identical to what he’d marked in his. Still no insight.
I need a shower, she thought suddenly, something to help defog this damn brain of mine. It had been two full days since she’d had one. It proved to be slightly tricky showering with her injured elbow in a bathroom she was barely familiar with.
As the hot water streamed over her, soothing her aching muscles, Phoebe let her mind find its way back to the Sixes. Though she’d been fixated on Hutch’s murder since Sunday night, she knew she also had to stay focused on exposing the group, since there was still a chance that they were tied to Lily’s death—and even to Hutch’s. I need to find out who else is a member, she told herself—and what the fifth and sixth circles are.
Maybe it’s time for another chat with Jen Imbibio, she thought. Though Phoebe had been undecided about whether Jen might be a member, she sensed the girl knew something.
With just a towel wrapped around her, Phoebe typed an e-mail message to Jen on her laptop. She told her that there was a small matter she needed to chat with her about and asked that she get in touch by phone.
As she tramped back to the bedroom to dress, Phoebe could feel her energy starting to wane a little. She couldn’t let that happen. There was plenty she needed to do today, including making a trip to campus. She planned to give Ball a debriefing, per his request, and also because she was eager to learn if he knew anything about Hutch’s murder.
She dug out a fresh pair of jeans and a top from her overnight bag and struggled into them. She’d just run a brush through her wet hair when a sharp buzzer sound tore through the house, startling her. It wasn’t until it had rung a second time that Phoebe realized it was the doorbell. Who could it possibly be? she wondered. An alarm bell went off in her head. Had the killer tracked her to Duncan’s? Well, he sure as hell wouldn’t be ringing the doorbell, she chided herself.
She slipped into the great room and made her way to the front door. It was solid wood, but there was a tall, narrow window on each side of it. She was going to have to look outside and see who was there. But before she could move toward the window, the person on the other side of the door took a step to the right on the stoop, and leaned forward, peering in through the glass.
Phoebe caught her breath. Val Porter was standing there, staring right at her.
24
PHOEBE’S FIRST URGE was to duck and scuttle back into the bedroom, but it was clear Val had seen her, and so she had no choice but to go to the door. What the hell was Val doing here, anyway? Phoebe wondered. Was this part of her plan to win Duncan over—just popping by in the morning to say hello?
Phoebe crossed the room and swung the door open.
“Good morning, Val,” she said. “If you’re looking for Duncan, I’m afraid he’s already headed over to campus.”
Val ran her eyes over Phoebe—her bruised face, her bare feet, and back up to her wet hair. Then Val smiled slyly, as if the two of them were in on the most wicked little secret.
“I was just dropping off something for him. Do you mind if I come in for a second?”
She’s got to be kidding, Phoebe thought. She wants to prolong this awkward little moment?
“Sure,” Phoebe said, not knowing how she could refuse.
“Looks like you’ve had an accident of some kind,” Val said, as Phoebe closed the door behind her. Val was wearing a long plum-colored coat today, with brown stiletto boots, and her hair was pinned up on the top of her head again, showcasing those silvery tendrils around her face. “What in the world happened?”
“I took a bad fall off my bike,” Phoebe replied. She’d already worked out this explanation as she lay in her hospital bed.
“Oh, dear. I’m so sorry. I bet it hurts.”
“A bit, yes.”
“But it appears that Duncan’s taking good care of you. I didn’t realize you two were seeing each other.”
“I guess even at a school as small as Lyle, news doesn’t always travel fast. How can I help you, Val? You said you wanted to drop something off?”
“Oh, right, I’m sorry,” she said, with a trace of condescension. She dug into the brown leather tote bag she was carrying, withdrew a book from the bag, and then hesitated.
“Actually,” she said, “I should really give this to him in person. Why don’t I just catch up with him another time.”
“Sure,” Phoebe said.
Val smiled slyly again and tucked the book back in her tote. She gazed around the room appreciatively.
“He’s created a wonderful space, hasn’t he?” she said to Phoebe with a familiarity that suggested she’d been there before.
“Yes, very nice,” Phoebe said. A code blue alert went off in her mind.
Val looked back at Phoebe and gripped her eyes with her own. “It’s tragic about his wife, isn’t it?” she said. “But at least she left him the money to do all the things he really wanted to, like this house.”
Against her will, Phoebe could feel her face begin to form an expression—of perplexity, of surprise—but she fought it and tried to simply stare back at Val.
“Is there anything else I can help you with, Val?” she asked. “I need to get ready to go over to campus myself.”
“No, no, I’m going now,” Val said, heading back to the door. “Feel better.”
After closing the door behind Val, Phoebe collapsed on the sofa and swung her legs onto the coffee table. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Her head was starting to ache again, not the agonizing hurt she’d experienced in the hours after the fall, but an odd sensation of someone gripping her head in their hands and squeezing.
She blamed Val for the headache. The zinger she’d delivered—the comment about Duncan and the money—had managed to get under Phoebe’s skin. Had Duncan really inherited a bundle from his wife? she wondered. Had that had something to do with his decision to stay with her through her illness? He seemed like a good guy to Phoebe, not someone capable of using his wife. Val had probably deliberately misstated the situation because she’d been so pissed to find Phoebe at Duncan’s. It was crazy to dwell on it, Phoebe realized. She needed to get moving.