by Lisa Jackson
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.
“What do you think of Lynch?” she asked.
“Pompous and self-serving come to mind.”
“Then we’re on the same page.”
“That,” he said with a half-grin, “might be a first. Come on, let’s not arouse any suspicion. There’s enough of that to go around as it is.”
He helped Jules haul her things into an office in the administration building, where a sheriff’s deputy and Dean Hammersley searched through Jules’s bags.
Rhonda Hammersley’s strength was apparent as she hoisted a heavy bag to the table. Brown corduroy slacks and a hand-knit sweater did not soften her sinewy runner’s frame. Her short, streaked hair was meticulous, every fingernail perfectly manicured, but there were smudges beneath her eyes, dark circles of worry that no amount of makeup could hide. She didn’t even bother trying to smile as she apologized, “You understand we can’t be too careful. Especially now.”
Jules didn’t buy it. She had the distinct feeling that Rhonda Hammersley enjoyed going through other people’s belongings. Maybe she just liked having that right, being superior in some small way.
Hammersley found Jules’s cell phone and computer, and told her that they should be locked in Jules’s private quarters at all times. Once both she and the deputy were satisfied, the dean directed Trent to show the newest member of Blue Rock Academy’s staff to Stanton House and the studio apartment that would be Jules’s home. Located on the uppermost floor, the unit was spacious yet rustic, with pine walls, warm sconces, and a bank of windows that overlooked the campus.
“Not bad, eh?” Trent said as he left her luggage near a small walk-in closet.
“All the comforts of home,” she said, eyeing the kitchen area, which consisted of a microwave oven, a sink, a few cupboards, and a small refrigerator. “Except for my cat.” She thought of Diablo, wondering how he was doing under the watchful eye of Mrs. Dixon. “Not that he would want a change of venue. Agnes Dixon, my neighbor who’s watching him, will spoil him rotten. And he’ll lap it up.”
Standing near the door as if he wanted to make a hasty retreat, Trent checked his watch again and frowned. But before he could say anything, footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Trent glanced over at Jules, his gaze connecting with hers. “Nice meeting you, Ms. Farentino,” he said, loud enough so that whoever was ascending the stairs would be sure to hear him.
“I go by Julia.”
“Everyone here calls me Trent,” he said as Rhonda Hammersley clipped through the open door, wearing a dark jacket with the school’s logo emblazoned on it. “Dean,” he said, tipping his head. Then he clambered noisily down the wooden stairs.
“Settled in?” Hammersley asked as Trent’s footsteps faded.
“Just getting there.” Now what did the dean want? “I have some unpacking in my future.”
Hammersley folded her arms across her chest, defensive. “I have to apologize again,” she said. Twice in half an hour; Jules guessed that might have been a record. “Things here, as you can see, aren’t normal. Until the sheriff’s department has concluded their investigation, I’m not at liberty to discuss the events of last night.” She gave Jules the cleaned-up sound bite for the “tragic situation,” even mentioning that one student, Nona Vickers, had died, but she didn’t elaborate. Just that no one really knew what happened in the stable last night, and the school was doing everything possible to “get to the bottom” of the tragedy while ensuring the safety of all its students and staff. “Some of the students are really upset, as you can guess. We already had an altercation, one of the TAs and a new student,” she admitted.
Jules’s fears crystallized. Shay had to be the newest kid enrolled in the school.
“An altercation?”
“It’s all sorted out now. No one was seriously hurt, thank goodness. One of the TAs got out of line, and the new girl, Shaylee Stillman, took care of it with some martial-arts moves.”
“But no one was hurt,”
Jules repeated.
“Just Eric Rolfe’s bruised male ego. Man, she did a number on that.” Hammersley seemed amused. “Shaylee got hit, a deflecting blow, but Nurse Ayres said both of them will live. Another girl was involved. Two girls landing blows in one day. I’ve never seen that in my tenure here. The three students will have to be written up, of course, but we’re giving them more latitude with all the anxiety over Nona’s death.”
Jules breathed a little easier. At least Shay wasn’t hurt. Nor, it seemed, was she in serious trouble.
Hammersley went on to say, “Reverend Lynch has called for a vigil tonight, in the gazebo. He sent apologies; he usually greets new faculty personally, but under the circumstances …” She shrugged. “Anyway, the reverend would like you to stop by his cottage before dinner so that he can escort you to the dining hall. You’ll have a few minutes to talk with students after dinner, before the prayer vigil.” She pointed out the gazebo on a map that was framed and hung on the wall of the living area, then explained about meal procedures, common areas, and ground rules. “Tomorrow morning, Charla King will give you a complete tour of the school and curriculum guidelines, notes, and student rosters for your classes. You’ll have the weekend to prepare a few lesson plans.”
“I’m eager to get started,” Jules said, steeling herself for the coming weeks. On Monday, she was expected to hit the ground running.
“So, what else? Oh, yes!” Hammersley walked to a chair where some items had been placed. “Here’s the schoolissued book bag, backpack, and jacket. It’s a medium. If it doesn’t fit, just talk to Charla King about getting a different size. It seems a little over the top, I know, all the mugs and toothpaste holders and flashlights with the school logo, but it’s just one more way to solidify our sense of community here. We like to show school support as much as possible.” The dean checked her watch and informed Jules that dinner would be served in the cafeteria in forty-five minutes, later than usual, due to the disruption, and that she shouldn’t keep the reverend waiting.
Hammersley hurried away, the heels of her leather boots clicking on the hardwood as Jules closed the door behind her. Disruption, Jules thought. That was the academy’s code word for the death of one student, the near-fatal injury of another? Disruption? Walking to the cathedral window, she stared out at the night. She was willing to bet that last night’s events were more than a disruption to the victims’ families.
Jules washed up, dabbed on another coat of lipstick, and touched up her mascara. Good enough. Throwing on her long coat, she gave herself a mental pep talk; then, after grabbing her Blue Rock monogrammed flashlight, she left her new suite and hurried down the stairs.
She nearly slipped on the icy walkway to the reverend’s cottage, where smoke was curling from the chimney. From a distance, the cottage was quaint, but close up, the building showed its age. The gutters were stained black with mold, and as she climbed the porch steps, she noticed that one of the sidelights was cracked.
“I don’t care, Tobias,” Cora Sue said, her voice escaping through a window that wasn’t quite latched. “It was humiliating. Not even first class. Me, the wife of a revered reverend and doctor. It just wasn’t right.”
Jules paused, her hand raised to knock on the door.
“They were the only seats available, and there aren’t any first-class tickets into Medford. That’s not how it works. The commercial planes are all small. I would have had Kirk fly you in the private plane, but it’s not safe in this—”
“The private plane. The seaplane isn’t exactly a Lear, now, is it? I don’t know why you insisted I come down here; the weather’s supposed to only get worse.”
“Cora Sue, please …”
Jules hesitated, then eased away from the glass so that no one could see her from the inside, though anyone passing would see her lingering on the porch as she eavesdropped.
“Please what? Pretend that everything’s fine?”
“I can’t have this conversation now, not on top of everything else. The staff is nervous, and the students are a mess. We caught some students in a fistfight today.”
“And you’ll probably have more. You know it, Tobias! You’re the one who accepts the students. It’s your decision. Just like it is with all the staff members!”
Jules leaned over, as if retying her bootlaces, just in case anyone could see her.
“It’s my Christian duty to help those who need it most. Try to understand.”
“I’m trying, Tobias, but you just keep punishing me, don’t you?”
“Never.”
Punishing her? For what?
“I would never,” he repeated.
“It’s the look in your eyes. I see you try to disguise it, but I know you, Tobias Lynch, and I see how you watch me. Do you know what it feels like to be treated like a leashed pet, a tethered dog? You trust Esau and Jacob more than you do your own wife!”
“The dogs? Oh, Cora, I can’t do this right now,” he said, his voice stronger.
“You seem to gain some perverse pleasure in persecuting and torturing me,” she said softly. “And you do it under the guise of executing God’s will. That’s sick, Tobias. And you, with your damned degree in psychology, should know it!”
“Cora, you misunderstand.”
“Do I? Do I?” she demanded, her voice rising. Jules imagined the woman was blinking back tears of frustration. “I’ve tried, Tobias. Lord knows I’ve tried. Just remember that Jesus forgave those who sinned. You need to take a lesson!”
“Stop. We can’t have this discussion. Not here. Not now!” His voice, too, was filled with fury. “The school is already reeling. I’ve got parents threatening to pull out their kids and reporters on me like vultures on a dying sheep. The weather service is saying we’re in for a blizzard, which at least will keep visitors away for a while. On the other hand, our campus will be isolated by the storm. But any minute I’m expecting Julia Farentino, so please, let’s attempt to look like we’re getting along. You know, sometimes God gives us challenges that really try us.”
“Every day,” she agreed. “Every damned day.”
Jules wanted to listen further, but a flurry of sound just a few feet down the lane caught her attention. Her heart nearly stopped as she thought she’d been found out. Stepping back from the door, she saw a flash of navy blue as two boys raced by, hurrying toward the chapel.
They didn’t so much as glance in her direction as they passed.
Julia caught her breath, slowed her rapidly beating heart.
So much for her sleuthing skills.
As she stomped on the porch loudly and rapped on the door, she turned her head to see who was behind her. From the corner of her eye, she caught a dark figure darting into the shadows, disappearing under the low-hanging bough of a spruce tree. What?!
Her heartbeat went wild again.
Had someone been watching her as she eavesdropped?
A man?
Woman?
She thought of Shay’s concerns that a killer was on the loose, of Trent’s convictions that Nona had been murdered. Fear skittered down Jules’s spine as she swept her gaze over thickets of fir, hemlock, and spruce that sheltered the cottage from the rest of the campus.
Did she hear footsteps?
The faint sound of snow crunching beneath boots?
Calm down, nothing is wrong. You’re jumping at shadows. All because of Shay. Pull yourself to—
The door to the cottage swung open. “Ms. Farentino,” Reverend Lynch said, his voice booming into the night. Cora Sue, on her invisible string, stood next to him.
“Call me Julia.”
“Come in, come in,” he said. “I apologize for how hectic things are down here … such a tragedy.”
“I heard. Yes.”
“You’ve met my wife, Cora Sue.”
More than once, Jules thought, “Yes. In Seattle. Hello.”
The other woman’s eyes were cold, her mouth tight, the remnants of the argument with her husband still
hanging in the air. “Welcome,” the reverend’s wife said without inflection as she stepped out of the doorway, allowing Jules to pass. “I’m sorry that you’ve come under such horrendous circumstances.”
“Me too. I only hope I can help.”
Cora Sue looked at her as if she was certifiable, but the reverend bought it. “That’s the kind of can-do attitude that makes Blue Rock Academy the elite institution it is,” Lynch said, and for the life of her, it seemed he really believed it.
Even with Lauren Conway missing, Nona Vickers dead, and Drew Prescott’s life hanging by a thread.
CHAPTER 21
“So you didn’t leave the filly out in the cold the other night.” Trent pushed away from his desk and fixed Bernsen with a look that said the kid would not squirm out of this one.
“No.” Zach Bernsen shook his head as if the idea was ridiculous. He stood in front of Trent’s desk, his blond hair mussed, his jaw set in defiance.
“You were in charge.”
“All of the horses were penned when I closed the stables. I counted twice. Rolfe was with me. He can vouch for me.”
“I’ll get to him.” Eric Rolfe was currently cooling his jets on one of the plastic folding chairs outside Trent’s office in the short hallway that branched to the gym and locker rooms. “But you’re the senior TA.”
“All the animals were accounted for.” Zach wasn’t about to budge.
“The horse got out somehow.”
“That’s just it—she got out on her own or someone let her out.”
“Who?”
“How the hell should I know?” Bernsen’s face, usually so calm, was flushed. “What is this, anyway? Doesn’t the school have bigger problems? I mean, Nona Vickers is dead and Drew … Oh, hell, who knows?” His mouth clamped into a firm, angry line, and his cool blue eyes flashed with a silent rage.
“Okay, so you didn’t do it. You won’t say or don’t know who did.” Trent tented his fingers, considering the next move. Though he didn’t admit it, he agreed with Bernsen. The filly was left out, but she survived. Nona Vickers had not. Could the two incidents be tied together? “Let’s say I believe you. The filly was locked up before curfew. That means someone came by later and let her out, or else she got out when someone else came to the stable. I’m thinking that the hayloft has been used before Drew and Nona went up there. I can’t believe that Drew Prescott had the time, energy, or foresight to pull it together by himself.”
