To Phoebe’s dismay, she felt uneasy as she mounted the steps. She knew that once she confronted Rachel, there would be a ripple effect, and she had no idea what it would entail. And yet she couldn’t let the Sixes paralyze her.
She knocked on the door and waited. There wasn’t a sound. She had picked four o’clock, figuring Rachel might be back from her classes by then, but not yet at dinner. She rapped two more times, and still nothing. Unable to resist, she twisted the doorknob, and to her surprise it gave way in her hand. She pushed the door open and stepped inside. What the hell am I doing? she asked herself. But something other than good judgment seemed to be guiding her.
She was standing in a combination kitchen, dining, and living area, not much different from a dorm lounge. There were a few dirty dishes scattered on the table, and an ironing board standing in the middle of the living space, with the iron flopped on one side.
From somewhere Phoebe thought she heard music playing, though she wasn’t sure if it was coming from upstairs or from the hall that shot off to the right of the living area.
“Anyone home?” she called out.
Without warning, a girl appeared from the downstairs corridor. She was Asian and striking looking, dressed in a T-shirt and sweatpants that read “Lyle College” in faded letters across the front.
“Yes?” the girl asked, advancing into the room. She seemed deadpan except for the small crease that had just formed between her brows.
“I was looking for Rachel,” Phoebe said. “Is she around?”
“She’s at soccer practice,” the girl said, as if anyone with a brain would know that.
That’s right, Phoebe realized. She should have remembered.
“They make you go even if you’re injured?”
“Oh, she was just out for a game.”
“That’s good. I’m Phoebe, by the way. You’re . . . ?”
“Molly,” she said after a split second. The girl clearly had her antennae up, wary of Phoebe’s presence. Phoebe bet this was the Molly that Jen Imbibio had exchanged the look with on Stockton’s committee.
“Rachel’s in one of my classes, and I wanted to stop by to give her a book to read,” Phoebe fudged. “I haven’t been in class this week.”
“You can just leave it there,” the girl said, pointing at the table with her chin. She scooped her long black hair distractedly into a ponytail and then immediately released it. As she raised her arms, Phoebe caught a glimpse of a ridged white brace around the girl’s lower torso.
“Did you hurt yourself too?” Phoebe asked.
“I just pulled a muscle,” the girl said, shrugging. “In gymnastics. The doctor said I have to stay out for a day or two.”
Phoebe thought suddenly of the knee brace she’d seen in Blair and Gwen’s hallway.
“Can they deal with injuries like that in the school infirmary?” Phoebe asked.
Molly scrunched her mouth up into a twisted pout. “No. You have to go off campus.”
Phoebe glanced down at her own arm in the sling.
“I need someone myself—someone close to the school,” she said. “I’d love the name of your doctor.”
There was another hesitation. “Dr. Rossely,” Molly finally said. “But he’s very backed up, I hear.”
“Okay,” Phoebe said. There was something odd happening, she sensed. “That’s Rachel’s doctor, too, isn’t it? I believe she mentioned him.” Phoebe had no idea where she was going with the lie. But something had set off an alarm in her head.
“I guess,” Molly said. Her eyes were wary now.
“Well, I’d better let you go,” Phoebe said. “Have a nice night.”
“You’re not going to leave the book?” the girl said. It sounded like a challenge.
“You know, I think I’ll wait and give it to her in person,” Phoebe said. Funny, she thought. I’ve been forced to use one of Val Porter’s old tricks.
The girl didn’t see her out, but Phoebe could feel her eyes boring into her as she walked to the door and struggled to open it.
So what the hell is going on? Phoebe wondered as she walked home through the falling darkness. It could be pure coincidence that three seniors in the Sixes had injuries. After all, Alexis had said that most of the members were jocks—though that was interesting in itself. And there also had been that odd hesitation when Molly said her doctor’s name, reluctance on her part, it seemed, to divulge the information.
Were they faking their injuries, Phoebe wondered, so that they’d be sidelined from games for some reason, maybe hurting the chances for victory the way athletes did in big-league sports where people waged bets on the outcome?
Phoebe found her phone, and after scoring a number for the only Dr. Rossely in Lyle—first name Todd—she called his office. She said she was recovering from an accident and wanted a second opinion. The receptionist said they would be able to squeeze her in at two tomorrow. So much for being all booked up. She felt a weird current pulsing through her: a mix of worry, anticipation, and recognition of something—but she didn’t know what.
At home, she heated up the leftover pasta from the night before and dragged her duvet and pillow down to the couch, much to Ginger’s confusion. But Phoebe had already decided that she would spend the night downstairs. She had stirred the pot with the Sixes again, and there was every chance they’d come calling once more. She needed to be where she could hear them if they tried to sneak in.
At ten Glenda called. “Sorry not to come by today,” Glenda said.
“Well, your housekeeper dropped off a chicken pot pie for lunch, which was very yummy. I’m going to need liposuction by the time this is over.”
“Dr. Carr mentioned you were doing some class work online. Don’t push yourself, Fee, if you’re not ready.”
“No, I’m ready. In fact, I’m going stir-crazy. I know you’re jammed up, but I’d love to see you some time. Don’t get me wrong—Ginger is great. She’s just not much of a conversationalist.”
“Maybe Thursday. I have to go out of town tomorrow for a good chunk of the day.”
“Where are you off to?”
“To see a donor who lives out of town. They need handholding through all of this mess.”
“Okay,” Phoebe said, though it seemed odd for Glenda to be leaving town for a day when the campus was in so much turmoil.
“There’s one thing I want to bring you up to speed on,” Glenda said. She let out a long, weary sigh. “It bugged me when you said that Trevor Harris had felt the campus cops were out to get him, and I decided to discreetly investigate. From what I can tell so far, it seems Ball’s been shaking down certain students—pressuring them to make payments to him in exchange for not slapping them with charges for things like drugs or vandalism. No wonder campus drug use seems to be down.”
“Oh, man,” Phoebe said. Though she’d never cottoned to Ball, she hadn’t seen this one coming. “I think I may have even spotted him in action. I came across him having a talk with the same male student twice, and he seemed sheepish about it.”
“The bodies just keep piling up, don’t they? I need you to go through the student handbooks and see if you can find that kid. But no one can know anything about this yet, okay? We’re going to try a sting operation. Of course, this could be the proverbial straw that breaks the camel’s back for me.”
“G, I’m sorry. Let me know if I can help in any way.”
She had planned to pick Glenda’s brain about what she’d heard today regarding the doctor, but changed her mind. She would wait until she had more information. There was no point in upsetting Glenda any more than necessary.
She fell asleep at about ten thirty, a book still on her lap and Ginger curled between her legs. Sometime during the night, something roused her—as forcefully as if she’d been shaken awake. She shot up straight, confused. Both her back and her elbow hurt like hell, probably from being scrunched up on the couch. Was it pain that had woken her? Or something else? At her feet, Ginger remained motionless but emitted a long, steady growl.