“Is that bad?”
“Probably not. These kids who come to the academy,
they do need structure. No doubt about it. They need to understand and accept authority. And most of all, they have to be kept busy all the time.”
“Idle hands are the devil’s workshop?”
“At least,” he admitted. “A lot of these kids are smart. Most of ‘em basically good, just out of control.”
“And the rest?”
He thought. “I don’t necessarily think it’s the students, but I get a hint at the school, a feeling, of something darker going on, something …”
“Evil?”
He shook his head but said, “I don’t know. What happened last night wasn’t pretty.” He glanced over at her. “I found the kids. The boy in a crumpled heap, losing blood, barely alive, and the girl …” Trent stared at the road where the headlight’s beams lit up the snow. “She was strung up on the crossbeams of the stable, naked, bloody, and just hanging in the cold.”
Jules shivered inside. She’d known that Cooper Trent was a realist, a man who knew that death was just a natural part of life. Even so, he was bothered by what he’d seen last night. Seriously bothered.
“There’s talk of suicide, that she flipped out and rigged this noose over the beam and threw herself from the stacked bales or a ledge higher up, but I don’t see it.”
“You think she was murdered?”
“I’d bet my best horse on it.” He nodded. “Since the Prescott boy isn’t talking, there are no witnesses, so we can’t be sure. Yet. But once the ME takes a look at the body, does the autopsy, we’ll know more.” He slid her another glance, and this one cut to her soul. “Just for the record? My money’s on murder.”
CHAPTER 19
Maeve Mancuso reached under the wide bell sleeve of her black shirt and snapped the band against her skin, once, twice, three times. Over and over again until her flesh stung, until it felt real. Real pain. Real life.
Things were getting monstrously boring in the rec hall, waiting for the cop guys to do whatever they had to do out there. Nell yawned, suppressing a little peep.
They can’t make us read all day,
Maeve thought, though it had sort of been how the day had gone. Reading and waiting. Stuck in the rec room so long, some of the students had nodded off, and for once the teachers didn’t seem to care. But Maeve didn’t want to sleep, not with Ethan nearby. With her luck, she’d doze off and snore up a storm or drool on her books. She needed Ethan to see her in the best possible light if she was going to get him back. She snapped the bracelet again—a fat rubber band, really—and then let her fingertips smooth up toward her elbow, bumping along the ridges of scars that lined her arms. On bad days she used to pick and scratch, try to make them bleed,
but not anymore. Ever since the day she’d kissed Ethan after he’d helped her cart her kayak to the water, that fall day when diamonds danced on the lake and the sun still had the power to warm through her clothes, she had vowed to stop cutting. A guy like Ethan didn’t want a girl with bloody speed bumps covering her arms. She had promised herself never to cut again and actually started applying vitamin E to the scars, because her doctor said that would help them heal.
She dreamed of the day when she and Ethan would get out of here, when they would have the freedom to go to college together, maybe get their own place. Of course, she had to make him love her again, but it was going to happen. She was sure of it. Looking down at the stack of books in front of her, she picked up the fat Shakespeare volume she’d checked out of the library and opened it to
Romeo and Juliet.
Now, there was a love. Someday, Ethan would want her with the same passion and intensity. Someday, they’d be free of slutty girls like Shaylee Stillman. Girls who got off on stealing away other girls’ boyfriends.
Now that the fight was over and the three kids had been marched off, Maeve had a better view of Ethan, who sat across the way writing something in a notebook. His head was tipped down, light glinting off his dark hair. He wore a plaid flannel shirt that showed off his shoulders and broad chest, and she thought of the way his arms had felt when they’d kissed, his biceps rounded and tight. He was a solid guy, strong and caring, and she could lose herself in those dark eyes.
And at that moment, as if he sensed her, Ethan looked up, his gaze searching the room, locking on her.
Oh, God.
She gave a halfhearted smile, wishing she were close
enough to tell him how sad she felt about Nona, wishing she were close enough to lean on his shoulder and rest in his arms, even if it were only for a brief hug.
He nodded at her, his expression an enigma. Was there love and support in those dark brown eyes, or was she imagining that because she wanted it so, so much?
She broke the connection, staring down at the Shakespeare compilation, which was open to the page with a soliloquy she’d memorized for Dean Hammersley’s class. “But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?” Romeo said. “It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise fair sun, and kill the envious moon….” She curled her fingers around the edge of the book, letting the binding dig into her fingertips until it was painful.
Someday, Ethan would love her this way. She would be his sun, and he would kill off envious moons for her. Theirs would be a love like Nona’s and Drew’s—a love that would surpass death. Someday …
Jules was still trying to wrap her brain around the fact that she and Trent would be working together at the school. The snow was coming down hard now, tiny flakes coating the road, creating a curtain that the headlights had trouble permeating.
“Okay,” she said, breaking a silence that had lasted for the last two miles. “Since we’re in this thing together, how’re we going to play it?”
“So the deal is this: You don’t know me; this is the first time we’ve met.” His eyebrows drew together in concentration. “So far, Shaylee hasn’t put two and two together. She told me once that she thought she knew me, but that was a few days ago, and since then she’s dropped it.”
“I only hope she doesn’t panic in all this and call Edie.”
“Would she?”
“Normally no, but now, who knows?” Jules said, not elaborating. Shay was already on Trent’s suspect list; Jules wasn’t going to give him any more ammunition by admitting that her sister was using Nona Vickers’s cell phone. God only knew what conclusions he’d draw from that.
“I really think you should resign your position,” he said as he checked the rearview mirror.
“Resign? I haven’t even started yet.”
“Good. Then you’re not involved.”
“I want to be involved.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“Really?” she mocked. “Thanks for the big tip!”
“I’m serious, Jules.”
“So am I! And you’d better start calling me Julia or people will start to wonder.”
“Oh, for the love of God.” He found a wide spot in the road and pulled over, letting the Jeep idle near the trees. “Look, I don’t have time for games, and I don’t want to worry about you on top of everything else.”
“So don’t.”
“Have you heard a word I’ve been saying?”
“Yeah, I get it. But I’m not leaving.” The windows of the Jeep were fogging, the warm interior much too close. “Look, if I can find out and prove that Blue Rock isn’t what it claims to be, that the administration is covering up what happened to Lauren, that some of its practices border on barbaric, then I have a shot of convincing a judge to move Shay.”
“Where? To juvie? I’ve read her file. Shaylee’s lucky to be at Blue Rock.”
“You believe that?” she asked, noticing the wet strands
of his hair where the snow had melted. “I don’t think any kid is ‘lucky’ to be here.”
“Your sister isn’t exactly lily white.”
“Oh, please. Are any of the kids enrolled here completely innocent?” she demanded, angered by his attitude and the intimacy of this warm, tight Jeep.
“Of course not.”
“So these students are no angels. But I know Shaylee’s innocent; she told me about her cap. She told me she’ll be cleared because the school has cameras everywhere, including the dorm rooms, which, I think is damned illegal.”
Trent rubbed a hand around the back of his neck. “I’m not sure there are cameras. I sure as hell haven’t seen any tapes.”
“Would you?”
“Probably not. I’m not in what I think of as the inner circle.”
“Which is?”
“Reverend Lynch and his cohorts, the school deans. They’re all pretty tight—Hammersley, Williams, Burdette—and they’re all women. The second tier is Flannagan, Taggert, and DeMarco, all men, by the way; they don’t seem to be as tied in to the administration.”
“Where do you fit in?”
“That’s the trouble, I don’t.”
“I still can’t see you teaching girls how to shoot hoops.”
“It’s a challenge,” he admitted, “but, at the time, the PE job was the only one I was qualified for. I would have preferred working with the horses, but Bert Flannagan beat me to it. He’s a piece of work; haven’t figured him out yet. Retired military. DeMarco and Taggert seem to like him. I think they’re attracted to Lynch’s iron-fisted, by-the-rules policy.”
“And the women?”
“Burdette and Williams are definitely drinking the reverend’s Kool-Aid, but I can’t get a bead on Rhonda Hammersley; she doesn’t fawn all over Lynch like the others, but she seems earnest.”
Jules was listening. “You’re sure about the cameras? Shaylee seemed convinced that everything that happens at the school is filmed.”
“Well, there are some security cameras, of course. They’re mounted on the building entrances and on some of the paths, all pretty visible, but I think the cameras in the rooms might just be part of an urban legend.”
“Really? A rumor started by someone who wants to keep the kids in line?”
“Or a student who gets off scaring others.” He glanced into the rearview mirror and frowned. “Someone’s coming.”
“Who?”
“Don’t know, but there have been cops going up and down this road all day.” He didn’t have to say that neither of them would want to explain why they hadn’t driven directly back to the school. He shoved the Jeep into gear, the tires sliding a little as the tires spun over the crusted piles of ice and snow that had been pushed to the side of the road by a plow.
They hadn’t driven a mile when the headlights that were bearing down on them closed in, casting the interior of the Jeep in a harsh, white glow. “More police?” Jules asked, glancing over her shoulder at the low beams of the vehicle behind.
Trent squinted at the mirror. “Can’t tell, but probably. If they wanted to pass, they’d turn on their emergency lights.”
“Is it much farther?”
“We’re almost there.”
Jules’s stomach twisted. She’d passed the first unexpected hurdle with Trent, and they’d come to an uneasy truce. The past, a nasty demon, still haunted them, but at least for the moment it hid in the shadows.
Jules didn’t kid herself. Issues still hung in the air between them. This man beside her had abandoned her at the most painful time in her life.
But you threw him away, remember? You told him you never wanted to see him again. He just respected your decision.
Her right hand curled into a fist, gloved fingers scraping her thigh. That was her problem—always expecting too much of those she loved. Hadn’t she wanted her father to adore her, to remarry her mother and create a perfect little family, an idyllic existence? And what had happened there? Sheer disaster!
No, there were no happy endings. Parents did not remarry and suddenly parent their children. A man like Cooper Trent did not come charging back on his white horse, pledging his love, fighting for his woman against all odds.
No, Trent had simply followed her orders and left her.
For good.
Leaving her wounded, scarred from her father’s murder, lost in misery and pain.
She’d been nineteen at the time; she should have known better. She glanced at Trent and felt a pang of regret. She had loved him. With the foolhardy, crazy, enthusiasm of a teenager, she had loved him. She had thought him capable of transforming her life, when he only had the power to walk out of it.
The story of her life.
She slid a glance his way and wondered if his own thoughts had tracked hers, if he, too, had replayed their disaster
of a love affair and breakup. If so, he’d no doubt come to the same conclusion: They should never have gotten together in the first place and could never rekindle that shortlived flame again.
“Okay, brace yourself,” he said as the Jeep crested a hill, and suddenly, through the falling snow, Jules caught a glimpse of lights glowing boldly in the white night. “It’s showtime.”
CHAPTER 20
If there was chaos inside the compound, it was well suppressed by a blanket of falling snow. The only real sign that things were amiss on this beautiful campus were police vehicles parked at odd angles in front of buildings with lights blazing.
“Where are all the students?” Jules asked as Trent parked the Jeep near a garage.
“The students were herded into the rec hall, at the heart of the campus. The sheriff’s department is probably still interviewing people.” He cut the engine, and they both watched as the vehicle that had been following them, a Range Rover, slid to a stop near a large cottage on the fringe of campus.
With a broad front porch, lights burning in the windows, and dormers peeking from a sharp-sloped, snow-covered roof, the house looked like something out of a Currier and Ives lithograph. A man stepped out of the driver’s side, then hurried to the passenger door to help a bundled-up Cora Sue out of the vehicle.
“Let me guess, that’s where the reverend lives,” Jules said, eyeing the homey house.
Trent nodded. “When he’s here.”
“How often is that?”
“Most of the time. But wifey usually isn’t.”
“I bet. I saw her place on Lake Washington,” Jules said, thinking of the massive estate with its separate wings, grand staircase, marble floors, and manicured grounds. The boathouse in Seattle was fancier than Lynch’s home near Lake Superstition.
As more lights snapped on inside the house, a man came out of the house, and Jules recognized the pilot, Spurrier, half-jogging back to the Range Rover. He opened the rear door, and Jules half expected the black poodles to leap out and pee on the surrounding pines. Instead the pilot pulled two massive Louis Vuitton roller bags from inside the SUV. Without allowing either piece of luggage to touch the snowy ground, he carried them both inside.