The Sixes

by Kate White

  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.

  “What is it?” Phoebe whispered urgently. She froze and listened. The dog stopped and then started again almost instantly, this time her growl laced with threat. Somewhere nearby there was
something the dog didn’t like. Phoebe searched with her hand to make sure her phone was within reach on the trunk next to the couch.

  For a minute Phoebe detected nothing. But then, from outside a window along the side of the house, she thought she heard a sound. She strained to hear. It might have been nothing more than the creak of a tree branch in the wind. No other sound followed. For the next two hours Phoebe lay with her head against the armrest, listening. Around dawn she finally fell back to sleep. When the sun nudged her awake an hour later, Ginger crawled up toward her head and licked her face.

  “You’re such a good little doggie,” Phoebe said. “What if you stayed with me forever?” Her words surprised her—she hadn’t even sensed them in advance—but as soon as she spoke, she knew it was what she wanted to do.

  Ginger licked her face again.

  “I’ll take that as a yes, okay?” Phoebe said.

  She spent her morning reviewing the assignments that had begun to trickle in. But her mind kept returning to the appointment with Dr. Rossely that lay ahead. She wasn’t sure why she felt so agitated about it. It all means something, she told herself. I’m just not yet sure what.

  His office wasn’t far from her, just two blocks south and one west in an area that was part residential, part business. There were a few older clapboard houses still on the street, but others had been torn down to make way for two-story office buildings like the one Rossely was in.

  The space inside wasn’t at all what she’d been expecting. Rather than some fussy or run-down-at-the-heels reception area, there was a spare, modern space with posters on the wall from exhibits of the Barnes Foundation. The two patients in the reception area never gave her a second glance, but the receptionist, a middle-aged woman dressed attractively in a pink satin blouse and pearl stud earrings, seemed to study her with recognition. Of course, Phoebe thought as she filled out the necessary forms. I’m a celeb around here now. I can’t tell them I had a bad fall from a bike.

  A nurse popped into reception about ten minutes later, called out Phoebe’s name, and led her to an examining room. The doctor arrived shortly after that. He was around Phoebe’s age, six-one, and more urbane than she was expecting. He had on a pair of fancy-looking frameless glasses, and he’d had his thinning hair trimmed into a buzz cut, a hip look she rarely saw in Lyle.

  “Dr. Rossely,” he said, shaking her hand. He practically oozed bedside manner. “My, you’ve had a busy week.” So either he’d recognized her, too, or the receptionist had tipped him off.

  “Oh, so I’m busted, then?” Phoebe said, smiling.

  “I’d hardly say busted. You’re a local star. It must have been some ordeal to go through.”

  “Yes, unfortunately it was. I’m a bit battered and bruised.”

  Rossely glanced down. “I see from your records that you were treated at Cranberry Med. Aren’t you working with the doctors you had there?”

  “By and large, yes,” Phoebe said. “From what I can tell so far, they did a nice job repairing my elbow. But I’d like a second opinion on my right shoulder blade. It got whacked pretty bad and hurts like crazy. They told me it’s only a bruise, and there’s nothing they can do for it.”

  The words had sounded so forced and fake as she said them—it was as if she were doing a bad job performing in a high school play—and she wondered if he suspected that she was remolding the truth.

  “And they didn’t prescribe anything?”

  “Tylenol with codeine. I tried it just for a few days.”

  “Well, let’s take a look,” he said. “In my opinion, there’s always something that can be done. I don’t like seeing people suffer needlessly.”

  He edged around the side of the examining table and opened the back of her gown. With a firm but careful touch, he probed the area with his fingers. Twice, she winced in pain. The part about her shoulder hurting hadn’t been a lie.

  “Sorry about that,” Rossely said. “The area definitely seems inflamed. Let’s get an X-ray and see if there’s also swelling.”

  Rossely departed, and the nurse came back; she escorted Phoebe into another room for the X-ray. As Phoebe was led back to the examining room, she heard a buzz of activity coming from rooms up and down the corridor. Finally Rossely returned. He was holding an X-ray, and with one swift movement of his hand snapped it onto a light box mounted on the wall.

  “Well, the good news is that there’s no fracture,” he said, smiling. “But as I said, there’s definite inflammation, and that should be treated. Off the record, they should have paid more attention to this at Cranberry, but things get pretty crazy up there.”

  “Thank you,” Phoebe said. Rossely opened her folder on the counter and jotted a few words down. Out of the corner of her eye she studied him. Though she found him unctuous, he certainly didn’t look sinister in any way. Was this just some stupid wild goose chase on her part?

  He swung around slowly, smiling.

  “I also want to give you something for the pain,” he said. “Pain’s a funny thing. People often think they should tough it out and try to ignore it, but you can start a weird cycle that way. The pain almost feeds on itself, and then the cycle is hard to break. It’s better to nip it in the bud.”

  “Of course, I did try the Tylenol with codeine,” Phoebe said. “But I didn’t feel it helped.”

  “This is much better,” he said. “It’s OxyContin. You should take two every twenty-four hours.”

  Instinctively, Phoebe’s mouth parted in surprise. OxyContin, she knew, could be addictive. Hutch had even mentioned it going for $80 a pill on the black market.

  “Is something the matter?” Rossely said, obviously noting her reaction.

  “No, I was just wondering if it was safe. I’ve heard people sometimes have problems with it.”

  “It’s safe if used correctly,” Rossely said. He smiled tightly. “It’s essential with any drug to follow the directions to a T. No more than two a day, as I said.”

  “Of course,” Phoebe replied, realizing she’d ruffled his feathers a little. “And thank you. It’s actually wonderful to have someone take my situation seriously.”

  Rossely lightened up again. “Good,” he said. “That’s what we’re here for.” He turned toward the counter and began to scribble the prescription. “I should see you again in a week.”

  “Will do,” Phoebe said. As she slid down off the examining table, Rossely turned back around and handed her the prescription with long, slim fingers.

  “By the way, do you mind my asking who recommended you?” he said. “You didn’t note it on our form.”

  “A professor at the college who had heard your name. But I believe you treat several students from Lyle. Rachel Blunt?”

  She saw the muscles of Rossely’s face tighten.

  “Rachel, yes.” He seemed uncomfortable suddenly. Phoebe decided to go for broke.

  “And Blair Usher, too,” she said. “She had a sports injury as well.”

  “Forgive me, but I actually shouldn’t be discussing patients with you,” he said. Again, the tight smile, with lips as white as a clenched knuckle. “It’s not only inappropriate, it’s also against the law. I hope you understand.”

  “Of course,” Phoebe said. “I’m sorry.”

  But she saw that she had clearly hit a nerve.

  33

  P HOEBE WONDERED WHAT it could possibly mean. She considered whether Rossely might be routinely prescribing OxyContin to student athletes, particularly those in the Sixes. Some of them may have become addicted to the drug—and that could be affecting their actions.

  As soon as Phoebe was home, she called the campus health center. The person who answered the phone put her through to the nurse on duty.

  “Is Dr. Todd Rossely someone on your list of recommended orthopedic experts?” Phoebe asked after identifying herself. She wanted to find out if the center referred students to Rossely, or if some of the Sixes had stumbled onto him on their own.

  “Hmmm, I don’t see
him on the list,” the nurse said. “But you could double-check with the director tomorrow.”

  Something was definitely off, Phoebe realized. Why would students go to a doctor not on the school’s list?

  As soon as she hung up, she called Glenda. She didn’t answer her cell, and the automated message indicated she was out of range and a message couldn’t be taken. She was obviously in a place with spotty service, but Phoebe had no idea where it was. Glenda, Phoebe realized, had been oddly vague about the donor she was going to see.

  After dinner Phoebe tried again, with no luck. She then called Glenda’s home number, but only the answering machine picked up.

  “Glenda, call me the minute you get back, okay?” Phoebe said. “I’m taking Ginger for a walk, but I’ll have my cell. There’s a weird connection between a doctor in town and the Sixes, and I’ve got to figure out what it is. Is there anyone in health care services I can talk to?”

  After she hung up, Phoebe put Ginger on the leash and locked the house. It was crisp out, but not the biting cold that had taken hold during the past few days. She’d been walking to the college and back with the dog, but tonight, when she reached the edge of the campus and started to turn back, Ginger tugged on her leash. The dog seemed eager to keep going, perhaps because the night was warmer than usual.

  “Okay, okay,” Phoebe said.

  She wasn’t far from the west gate to the college, the one that offered easy access to the playing fields. Phoebe walked with the dog up to the gate and entered the campus. She realized that Ginger would probably love a chance to scamper around on a little grass for a change. She let the dog lead her to the southern end of the fields, just to the left of the athletic center. There was a big workout center inside, and as she meandered with the dog, the door opened intermittently as students strolled in and out.

  Phoebe tried to let her mind drift. She was eager for answers, but thinking so hard wasn’t helping at the moment. Ginger seemed to relish being on the campus. She was sniffing at every single bush, leaf, and scrap of paper they passed. After a few minutes Phoebe realized that they’d wandered fairly far and were now at the edge of the baseball diamond, away from the light cast from the big windows of the athletic center. She took her eyes off the dog and looked round. There was no one else in sight. Dumb, she thought. How the hell did I let myself get up here alone in the dark?