by Cate Holahan
Nia stared straight at Battle. “I did not send Aubrey any messages. I believe she faked those texts to get me fired.”
Ms. V’s smirk bent into a frown that carved deep crevices on both sides of her mouth. She looked all of her scowling, sixty years. “That’s ridiculous. Why would our best student have it out for you? Jealousy?”
The world stopped swirling. For the first time, connections emerged. She could see Aubrey’s motivations clearly now.
There was a reason Aubrey would go to such great lengths to ruin her reputation, but jealousy wasn’t it. Neither was the fear that Nia would reveal the truth about Lydia. Aubrey had been after her long before that.
There was only one reason Aubrey would want Nia gone this badly: Lauren Turek.
Aubrey had killed Lauren and set up Theo for the murder as punishment for the sex tape. And Aubrey knew Nia could help prove it.
Ms. V’s face was the picture of disdain. Nia angled her body to face Battle and Stirk. The dean’s expression appeared disappointed and concerned but not repulsed. Perhaps she believed her. Maybe, over the years, RAs had reported Aubrey’s bad behavior.
“I swear to you that I never sent any messages to Aubrey.” Nia kept her voice steady, level. She spoke slowly, letting each word resonate. “I have never said anything to a student that could be construed in a sexual manner. If you have police look at these texts, I am sure they will tell you that my information was fabricated.”
Nia wanted to add, And that Aubrey did it. But doing so would only encourage Ms. V to bring up Aubrey’s prior lie about her behavior with her so-called male visitor. Nia needed evidence first.
She stood. Her legs shook beneath her.
“We will do our best to get to the bottom of this as soon as possible,” Stirk said. “You are suspended, with pay, until we determine whether there is basis to these allegations. You must leave campus by tomorrow evening at six o’clock p.m.”
Stirk motioned to the campus security officer. “We will need you to turn over your cell phone to police so that they may determine whether you committed any terminable offenses.”
“You need my phone?”
Nia pictured the device in her purse. It was her main connection to the world outside of Wallace. She knew her mother’s and Dimitri’s numbers by heart, but no one else’s. Without her cell, how would she even check the train schedule or call a cab to leave?
“When you took the job here, you agreed to abide by school policies, not just state laws. It is school policy to collect devices after an alleged breach of school or state rules governing digital communications for evaluation by proper authorities.”
The last word triggered Nia’s self-preservation instincts. She needed to talk to the authorities.
Nia leaned into her handbag and removed her cell. “May I please get a couple numbers off the phone? Just so I can tell my mother and boyfriend where I’ll be?”
Dean Stirk nodded. Battle opened a drawer. He pushed a pad of paper and pen across the desk to her.
Nia retrieved Detective Kelly’s number from her call log. She put the phone on the desk where her bosses could see that she hadn’t deleted anything before copying the number on the piece of paper.
“Okay. That’s enough.” The campus officer appeared by her side. His gloved hands took the device from the desk and dropped it into a plastic ziplock bag, as though it were evidence in a real crime. Of course, propositioning a minor was a real crime. If found guilty, she could do real jail time.
“I am sure you’ll see I didn’t do anything,” she said, before hurrying from the room. Tears burned behind her eyes. She wouldn’t cry in front of her colleagues. She couldn’t cry at all. There wasn’t time.
She had to talk to Detective Kelly.
42
Couru [koo-R EW]
Running. As, for example, in pas de bourrée couru. A term of the French School. Pas de bourrée couru is a progression on the points or demi-pointes by a series of small, even steps with the feet close together. It may be done in all directions or in a circle.
Nia sprinted up the hill from the dance building to the boys’ quad. Adrenaline, more than the past three weeks of therapy, kept her from feeling pain in her feet. She couldn’t even sense the cold battering her chest. She needed to get to Peter. He had to take her to the state police station.
She reached the boys’ quad. No one hovered outside the door. Lights shone into the dark courtyard from the slits in closed blinds. She approached the nearest lit window and rapped on the glass.
“Open the door, please?”
The blinds cracked open. Brown eyes stared at her. Nia could see from a nose to a forehead. The window slats hid the lower half of the student’s face.
She pointed frantically to the building’s entrance. “Please. I need to get in.”
The blinds retracted. A young man with a book in his hand and a confused expression stood at the window. “Can’t.” He mouthed the word. “Sorry.”
“Please?”
The boy again shook his head. He cracked the window so she could hear him. “Didn’t you see the e-mail that went out? After that girl who hurt herself at Senior Samhain, the dean is threatening expulsion for letting girls into the dorm.”
Nia’s eyes welled. She was struggling to maintain composure. One more setback and she might lose it. “Can you get Mr. Andersen, please? Tell him it’s Nia.”
The boy’s shoulders slumped. He placed the book on his desk, turned, and walked out his door.
Nia listened for some sign of Peter. She couldn’t hear anything. A moment later, the lock to the front door clicked, and he burst through the entrance.
“Nia?”
The sound of his voice broke through the dam of adrenaline blocking her tears. They poured down her cheeks. Her hands fell to her knees. She thought she might be sick.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” Peter’s arms wrapped around her shoulders. “I went backstage after the show. I couldn’t find you. What happened?”
She couldn’t get the words out through the sobs. He led her through the building to his room. She cried into his side. He felt like a flannel shirt: warm, familiar, safe.
“Whatever it is, it’ll be okay,” he said.
Peter brought her to his couch. The room looked neater than she’d remembered from that morning. The laundry had been put away. A citrusy, sanitized scent lingered in the air.
Nia tried to concentrate on her surroundings and not the emotions tearing through her body. Her torso shook from crying. She struggled to catch her breath.
“Aubrey accused me of sexting her.” The words bubbled out. “I just came back from a meeting with Dean Stirk, Battle, and Ms. V. They suspended me.”
Peter’s white skin turned a deep pink. His lowered brow shadowed his deep-set eyes. His lips pursed as though he didn’t like the taste of his own saliva. “Don’t worry.” He grabbed both her shoulders. “She won’t get away with this. I won’t let her.”
She’d seen Peter upset in the car last Saturday, but this was something else. This was rage.
Nia grasped his hand. Fury didn’t do her any good right now. She had a plan and she needed him to help her execute it.
“Listen, I think I know why she’s doing this to me.” Nia took a deep breath. “Aubrey killed Lauren and framed Theo. She wants to discredit me because she knows that I can prove it.”
The anger in Peter’s face morphed into something akin to fear, and he slumped onto the couch beside her. His pupils expanded like the room had suddenly gone dark. “What do you mean? You think she’s a m—”
Nia placed a hand on each of Peter’s cheeks. She needed him to look straight at her, to believe her. He couldn’t dismiss her theory as crazy talk from too much stress.
“Theo told us that he was meeting a girl off campus on the Saturday when Lauren was killed. He went to meet Aubrey. He made that tape with her.”
“The sex tape was with Aubrey?”
Peter pulled away. He move
d to his own cushion and stared at her, as if trying to gain perspective on her story.
“It’s all over campus. And Aubrey confirmed as much to me a few weeks ago. My students were talking in class about Lauren’s death and I let it slip that I found the body. Later, Aubrey pulled me aside to ask if I’d seen police take anything from the crime scene that might prove Theo had murdered Lauren. She’d acted upset by the possibility that she might’ve been in danger, too. Now I think she really wanted to know if I’d seen police take anything that could be traced to her.”
Peter pushed his hair out of his face. “Nia, I know you hate this girl right now. But her asking what cops took from the crime scene doesn’t prove anything. Maybe she did want know if Theo was a murderer. Maybe she was still seeing him.”
“No. If it was just that, then why wouldn’t she have confessed to police that she’d asked to meet him and stood him up? We know from Theo that she didn’t back up his story.”
Peter got up and walked in front of her. “Maybe she thought Theo did it and didn’t want to give him a possible alibi.”
From his standing position, Peter appeared to look down his nose at her. Nia rose from the couch to better meet his gaze. He still towered over her, but standing made her feel stronger. She had to convince him.
“Aubrey hates Theo. Since he sent out that tape, she’s been teased by students. She can’t eat in the cafeteria by herself. She wanted Theo to go to jail as punishment.”
Peter’s hands curled into fists by his sides. It must have made him furious to know that not only had Aubrey accused her, but she’d also plotted to destroy the life of his favorite student. He stretched out his fingers and took a deep breath.
“Okay. Fine. She wanted Theo punished. But why do you think she’d kill Lauren?”
“I don’t think killing Lauren was about Lauren. The important thing is that she knew Theo would be blamed for Lauren’s death if she got him off campus, where he wouldn’t have an alibi, and then she faked a text from him to Lauren asking to meet.”
Peter shook his head as though he couldn’t connect the dots. But Nia knew she had the right picture. Aubrey was a murderer.
“Aubrey knew Theo wouldn’t fight her denial because the press would have had a field day with the sex tape. They would have said it was evidence that Theo was the kind of guy who disrespected women and could kill his ex-girlfriend.”
Peter walked into the kitchen and opened a cabinet. Nia saw bottle of Scotch. Peter removed the cork and put the bottle to his mouth. He took a long swig.
Peter winced as he swallowed. “I’m not sure I follow everything. But, assuming you’re right, I still don’t see why she’s involving you in all this.”
“Aubrey knows that I know she lied to the police.”
“How?”
Nia walked into the kitchen, chasing Peter in his own apartment. He was always fidgeting. Of course he wouldn’t be able to sit still through this conversation.
“When I confronted Aubrey about spiking Lydia’s drink, I told her that all her lies would come out. I mentioned her denial of setting up the meeting with Theo.” Nia took a deep breath. “She also knows that I told police about Marta seeing Theo in Claremont.”
“So you’re the reason Theo is free?”
“That’s one reason Aubrey wants me as far away from campus and the authorities as possible. She knows that I’m the reason her plan didn’t work. And she wants me fired for sexting so that when I tell the police about Lauren’s real killer, they won’t believe me. They’ll think I’m a sex offender trying to blame the person pressing charges.”
Peter’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He put the Scotch bottle back on the counter and pressed the glass cork into the top. “It’s a lot to take in.”
“But I’m right. The spoofed messages from me to her only prove it more.”
She grasped Peter’s free hands. He had to believe her. “I know it’s difficult to imagine a sixteen-year-old could be so conniving, but she is. Look at what she did to Lydia. The toxicology report came back. Ms. V said that Lydia took sedatives. Lydia wouldn’t have done that. Aubrey had to have put it in her drink, knowing it would make her loopy and have an accident that could cost her the fall show.”
Peter looked longingly at the corked Scotch bottle.
“Aubrey is just the kind of person a doctor would prescribe sedatives for. She told me once that she doesn’t sleep much. She’s up and dressed by five o’clock a.m. most mornings, even after going out.”
Air expelled from Peter’s lungs like the contents of a popped balloon. His body deflated. Nia wasn’t sure he bought her logic, but he’d given up arguing with her.
“So what do you want to do?”
“Aubrey can’t have told the state police about the texts yet or they would have arrested me,” Nia said. “I need to tell the police my theory before Aubrey gets to them.”
43
Serré, serrée [seh-RAY]
Tight, close. As, for example, in petits battements serrés.
Peter sped down a curved road and blasted onto the highway. The three-lane interstate was as empty as the course in a car commercial. Claremont wasn’t known for its nightlife, and most of the commuters had already gone home.
The car smelled of body odor and adrenaline. The metallic scent added to the nausea threatening to send the scant contents of Nia’s stomach onto her lap. She cracked the window and filled her lungs with fresh air.
“What if Kelly doesn’t believe you?”
Peter shouted over the wind barreling into the car. Nia could hear the doubt in his voice. She knew he asked because he wasn’t convinced himself.
“He will.”
She couldn’t answer the question any other way. Detective Kelly had to believe her. Fortunately, given what happened with Marta, he already knew that she might have facts that the police didn’t. Kelly wouldn’t have agreed to meet on the promise of “more info about the Turek case” if he didn’t think she could help.
Peter pulled into the police station just ten minutes later. They parked in one of the many empty spaces and headed up the steps. Nia gave her name at the front desk. A policewoman said Detective Kelly was expecting them.
They followed the officer past the area with the detectives’ desks to a smaller room with stark, blank walls. Nia recognized the place from the background of too many prime-time police dramas: an interrogation room. Was that what was happening?
They each sat on aluminum chairs beside a large, blank desk. Peter grasped her hand. His palm felt moist—or hers did.
The door swung back. Detective Kelly and his partner marched inside. Detective Frank had a doughier physique than Kelly but a harder-looking face with heavy cheeks.
“So what do you have for us today, Ms. Washington?”
Kelly grabbed a metal chair from the opposite side of the desk. He placed a notepad in front of him. His partner stood nearby.
“I know that a student, Aubrey Byrne, is spoofing text messages.”
“And how do you know this?” The question came from Frank. There was an edge to his tone. Nia wasn’t sure if her nerves had made her imagine it.
“I was called into my bosses’ office earlier this evening. Aubrey accused me of sending sexual text messages that I did not send. I believe that she sent them to herself and fabricated my information in order to get me fired.”
Kelly’s bottom lip stuck out and curled. “You didn’t see her spoof the messages?”
“No. But she had to have. I didn’t send them.”
“Maybe someone else knows how to do it. You knew that messages could be spoofed . . .” Frank trailed off.
Nia understood the implication. Maybe she had committed the act, knowing she could blame it on someone else. She wondered whether the Wallace cops had already informed the state police of the allegations against her. Maybe Detective Kelly had planned to interrogate her all along.
The air felt humid. Sticky. She pulled at the sweater draped over her dress
, but didn’t dare remove it. As hot as she felt, the extra layer served as armor, protecting her from Detective Frank’s accusing glare.
“She didn’t do anything.” Peter squeezed her hand. He sounded firm, angry. His tone quelled Nia’s rising panic. At least one person in the room was on her side.
“The campus officer took my phone and is giving it to Wallace police, who I’m sure will give everything to you guys. When you look at it, you’ll see my phone didn’t send those texts. Or you can get my phone records from my carrier and verify it.”
Kelly tapped a finger against his chin stubble. “Okay, then. Why do you think this Aubrey sent the messages?”
“Because she has motive.” Nia looked only at Kelly. He was more likely to trust her than Frank. After all, he’d believed her before and she’d been right. “Aubrey wants to get me fired because I know she murdered Lauren Turek.”
Kelly blinked rapidly. “Whoa. That’s a big allegation.”
“She did it.”
“How would you know that?”
Nia took them through the same argument she’d made to Peter an hour before, adding the information about Lydia’s accident to show how Aubrey treated people who got in her way. She also explained about the photo as evidence of how carefully Aubrey planned her actions. The girl was intelligent, ruthless, calculating—and she had a motive.
“But she’s not violent,” Kelly said. “Even if she spiked this Lydia’s drink—rather than the girl, say, forgetting that she shouldn’t mix sleeping pills with alcohol—that only shows that Aubrey tried to get her to black out, maybe embarrass her. She didn’t push her down the stairs.”
Nia could imagine Aubrey doing just that. Thanks to the drugs, Lydia wouldn’t have remembered if Aubrey had led her to the staircase, perhaps under the guise of showing her the nearest bathroom, and given her a shove. But Nia could tell that neither Frank nor Kelly would buy a teen doing such a thing just to get a better part in a high school show. If they did any research on Aubrey, they would be even less likely to believe her. After paging through Aubrey’s accolades, Nia would be the one to look guilty.
