“I don’t tolerate lateness, sloppiness, or weakness.”
Gee, and here I thought she’d be the most accommodating of teachers.
“I’ll be on time next class.”
“See that you are.” She eyed me suspiciously, as if I’d busted out my surliest James Dean impression instead of pledging to be an ideal student. “Emptor Academy isn’t for everyone, Noodle. I don’t think you fit here.”
The nickname somehow stung more in private than it had in front of the class.
“I can work on that, too.” I didn’t wait for her to issue a dismissal. If she had any other warnings to deliver, I certainly didn’t want to hear them. There was also no point in obsessing over yet another failed attempt at a good first impression. Not unless I wanted to be late for my Criminal Law class. Unfortunately my locker didn’t seem to have gotten the memo that I was not to be messed with, because twenty attempts at the combination later and the damn thing still refused to open. Swearing under my breath, I decided to deal with it later and rushed out of the gymnasium.
Ms. Pierce, aka the brunette woman with the pixie cut I’d seen President Gilcrest wave to in the cafeteria, smiled without comment, as I slid into a vacant seat in her classroom. Instead of making me introduce myself to everyone, or any of that other first day crap, Ms. Pierce turned her attention to my former dance partner Colin and asked him to explain the Ruth Snyder case.
The lanky boy who had seemed so sweet when he’d joked with me earlier, grinned wickedly now. “Ruth Snyder convinced her husband to take out a blank life insurance policy so that she could cash in on his murder.”
“And can you explain how the double indemnity clause works, Kayla?”
I whipped my head around, spotting my roommate at the back of the room only when she spoke up. “Mr. Snyder’s life insurance policy said that if he died in a certain way they would pay twice the normal amount.”
“Peyton, why don’t you list some of those ways for us?”
I hadn’t missed the presence of my arch-nemesis in the room. Even silent, she wasn’t easily overlooked. Her eyes were also shooting daggers in my direction.
“It has to be an accident. Or at least appear accidental.”
I felt my pulse start pounding. There was a creepy light in her eyes as she continued glaring at me. It began to sink in that there was no escaping Peyton’s very real hostility. That Peyton might want me dead almost as much as the baseball cap killer.
Sebastian, as he stretched lazily in his seat next to Peyton, said, “Mrs. Snyder could have pulled it off if she had taken her time.” I searched for some hidden jab underlying his words, only to feel like a total narcissist when I came up empty.
“Would you like to expand on that, Sebastian?” Ms. Pierce asked.
He shrugged indulgently. “She was so focused on killing her husband, she forgot to cover her tracks. The police figured it out fast. Some people can’t hold up under interrogation.”
I bet he was dying to tell the whole class that yesterday I’d nearly cracked during a police interrogation of my own. I wasn’t sure if it would be harder or easier to make friends here if that became public knowledge. At least it would distract them from the fact that our income brackets didn’t belong in the same sentence, or the same paragraph, for that matter. There should be an entire set of encyclopedias separating the two.
“So what gave Ruth Snyder away? Why wasn’t this a perfect murder?” Ms. Pierce opened the conversation up to the whole class as her gaze slid across her students. “What did she get wrong?”
It was a chilling question. I half hoped that somebody would say that there was no such thing as a perfect murder. That taking a life—no matter the justification—was a brutal, twisted, ugly act. That at the end of the day, regardless of the method, murder was still, well, murder.
I kept that to myself, unwilling to let Sebastian and Peyton mock me for it.
“She said her husband died during a break-in, but the room didn’t look right.”
“Excellent, Kasdan.” Ms. Pierce walked over to the white board and wrote, The scene must match the story in dark red marker. “What else?”
“The cops asked her about a pin with the initials J.G. on them, and she demanded to know why they were dragging Judd Gray into it.”
Ms. Pierce nodded with satisfaction. “And why was that a mistake?”
“Because Judd Gray was her lover and he helped her plan the whole thing.” Peyton didn’t bother raising her hand. “You never mention an accomplice.”
Ms. Pierce wrote those exact words on the board.
“Anything else, Peyton?”
The popular girl didn’t hesitate. “You take your time and do it right. Ruth attempted to kill her husband half a dozen times before she actually succeeded. Clearly, she should have chosen one method and seen it through instead of rushing the job.”
Ms. Pierce began scribbling again. Don’t rush was soon followed by, stick with the plan.
I glanced around the classroom. Nobody seemed remotely surprised that we were being given killer advice—quite literally. Thinking about murder was making my stomach twist, maybe because without my Slate my Potential Hostile could be anywhere. How much space separated us now? Thirty feet? Twenty? Ten?
It could be the girl chewing on the ends of her dirty blond hair when she thought nobody was looking. It could be anyone. So the last thing I wanted was for my classmates to become more skilled at masking their own murderous intentions.
“Does anyone want to tell us how this case turned out?” Ms. Pierce asked, letting an expectant pause grow until she filled in the silence herself. “Ruth Snyder and her lover, Judd Gray, were electrocuted minutes apart from each other. Her ten-year-old daughter Lorraine was left an orphan without so much as an insurance check to keep her company.”
Ms. Pierce turned back to the whiteboard and at the bottom of the list she wrote, There is always fallout. Then she circled it. The teasing note in her voice disappeared. “Even the best laid plans often involve sacrifice. When confronted by a problem, consider what you have to lose. Your pride? Your finances? Your independence? Your family? Your physical or emotional well-being? Sometimes the reward comes at too heavy a cost.”
It was a good speech, but an unsettling one. I glanced over at Sebastian, wanting to gauge his reaction, but his aristocratic face revealed nothing. His stormy blue eyes remained focused on Ms. Pierce, as if he were intent on discovering any weakness within her.
It was the same expression he’d successfully unnerved me with more than once.
“Your assignment is to write an essay about a crime that you’ve witnessed.” Ms. Pierce raised one inky black eyebrow to silence the unanimous groan. “You’ve all seen something. This can mean an item stolen from your dorm room or an illegal financial transaction that was splashed across the front-page news. Describe the event and then,” she smiled as she let the pause build suspense, “suggest refinements.”
I stared at her in disbelief. My classmates didn’t need any practice getting away with crime. They could already afford to pay off anyone who got in their way. Peyton’s essay would probably read like something out of a femme fatale handbook. I’d flirt with the security guards, distracting them with my, ahem, assets, while my team carried the painting out the side door.
Scratch that. Peyton probably wouldn’t consider a measly painting worth the trouble of plotting a heist. She’d want something wearable. Designer dresses, maybe. Better yet, diamonds. That way she could prove to her daddy that she didn’t need his support to get her hands on the family merchandise.
“Class dismissed! Emmy, could you please stay after?”
I braced myself for yet another lecture as everyone else filtered out of the room. Kayla shot me a supportive smile that I was coming to realize was her default expression.
This class isn’t to be taken lightly. You’ve a lot of work ahead. I doubt you belong here.
I could’ve saved Ms. Pierce some time by delivering
her speech for her.
“How are you holding up?”
Well, that was unexpected.
“Fine,” I said automatically. It was the only answer I could give in a place like this. Anything else would be seen as a sign of weakness.
“I know this school can be a bit overwhelming.” Ms. Pierce tucked a strand of jet black hair behind one slender ear. “I remember my first week here like it was yesterday. I couldn’t bring myself to unpack my suitcase for four days because I was convinced they’d realize their mistake and fire me. I was a mess.”
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who hadn’t instantly fallen in love with Emptor Academy. Although it was hard to believe that someone who was so at ease in front of the classroom had ever felt insecure about her position. My shoulders relaxed a fraction, and I was no longer in such a rush for her to let me leave.
“What happened on the fifth day?”
Ms. Pierce pulled on the navy coat I hadn’t noticed hanging on the back of her chair. “The dean invited me to lunch. He said that I was in charge of molding the most influential minds of the next generation. That my lessons would create a legacy that would outlive the both of us, as long as I stopped trembling in front of my students.” She laughed self-consciously. “I thought he was full of it. But the next day I looked at the kids—really looked at them—and I realized he was right.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I crossed my arms and braced myself for an insult. “It’s pretty obvious I don’t fit in here. You’ll have to advance your legacy with someone else. Try Peyton. She has the trust fund for it.”
Her mouth quirked into an elfish smile. “This place isn’t special because the kids are rich. Don’t get me wrong; money opens plenty of doors. But the truly successful students don’t rely on their bank accounts to get ahead. They find something they can do better than everyone else and they act on it. Does that make sense, Emmy?”
I nodded, even though I didn’t follow her logic. I hadn’t so much as spoken once during her class. Unless sitting mutely in class counted as a talent, I didn’t see why she would consider me special.
“I’m sure you’ll find your bearings. Give it time, okay? This place is full of opportunities. In the meantime, I’m always here if you need to talk. My office hours are posted on the door.”
Do you know anyone who might want to kill me? Apparently somebody wants me dead, and I’m not sure if Peyton is involved. Wait a sec, can paranoia be considered a special skill? Because I’m getting good at bracing myself for the worst.
It was probably best to keep all of that to myself.
“Um, thanks. I should go. Don’t want to be late for my next class.”
I’d nearly slipped out the door when Ms. Pierce said, “This is your last class, Emmy. Tuesday is an early release day.”
I nodded like a bobblehead. “Right. I guess that means I’ll go, um, release myself.”
The musical sound of Ms. Pierce’s low chuckle trailed me out into the hall.
Oh yeah, I was special alright.
A special kind of idiot.
Chapter 21
I swore at my locker after another failed attempt to open it.
The damn thing wouldn’t budge, despite the fact that I’d tried the combination roughly fifteen billion times. I had even tested numbers that rhymed with the code I had been given, in case I’d somehow misremembered it.
My locker remained shut.
“What have we here?” It was funny how quickly a voice could be identified and detested. I glanced up to see Peyton and her sidekicks smirking at me from the locker room door. “Did someone forget their combination?”
The girl with an asymmetrical bob that looked like her hairdresser had been startled mid-snip snickered at me. “Sucks to be you.”
My back stiffened. “You mean because I’m stuck here? Yeah, it does suck. Good thing this is only a temporary glitch.”
Peyton scowled. The expression should have scrunched her face, like a peeved orangutan throwing a hissy fit over a banana. Instead, she looked regal in her haughtiness.
“Sebastian’s grandfather warned me about you.”
I hadn’t seen that coming. Still, I pretended like this wasn’t groundbreaking news, like I chatted about dead guys all the time, which wasn’t all that far from the truth anymore.
“Oh yeah? What did my pal Freddie have to say?” I hoped like hell that the nickname sounded flip and sarcastic. If Peyton knew just how badly I wanted her to fill me in, she’d probably turn on the pointy tips of her designer heels and saunter away.
“He said that I shouldn’t let you out of my sight.”
I waited for her to continue, but she appeared satisfied leaving me with that cryptic comment. I was starting to wonder if it was against the student code of conduct to give a straightforward answer.
“That’s it? He just said, ‘Hey Peyton, give the New Girl my worst, will ya?’”
“He didn’t trust you and neither do I.” Her glare transformed into a smile that was so sugary it could put a diabetic into a coma. “He didn’t have to spell out every little detail for me. We understood each other perfectly. So watch yourself, Noodle. Because. I. Am. Better. Than. You.” Peyton signaled the other girls to follow her out before letting the door swing shut behind her.
I wasn’t so sure about the “better than me” part, but I didn’t doubt that she was fully capable of messing with my locker combination. My pulse quickened as I realized Peyton could’ve done a whole lot more than alter my locker code: She could have stolen my bag.
And taken my Slates with her in the process.
I didn’t have the faintest idea how to go about reclaiming my personal property from her either.
Hey President Gilcrest. I’d like to report a theft. Peyton McSomething-or-other hijacked my Slate. Well, technically, it belonged to our dead mutual friend. At this point, I think that’s mostly a technicality. So can you make her give it back? Oh, and who comes to mind when you hear, “Potential Hostile”? Anyone? Think it over, okay? Thanks.
Yeah, that wouldn’t raise too many red flags.
I sucked in a deep breath and focused on my best course of action. The stupid combination wasn’t magically going to open if I kept yelling at it. Not unless, “you inanimate bastard!” was a preprogrammed option. There was nothing to be gained by standing in front of it like an idiot. I had to track down someone with the authorization to remove the lock before I could analyze whatever damage Peyton had done during my one-on-one chat with Ms. Helsenberg. The dance instructor’s tirade may have felt like it lasted an eternity, but it couldn’t have been much longer than ten minutes. Fifteen at the most.
How much damage could one spoiled debutante manage in that short a timespan?
More than I wanted to consider.
Leaving the gym behind, I went in search of Kayla. If anyone knew the inner working of the girls’ locker room, it was my new roommate. There also wasn’t anyone else I could ask for help. Colin had smiled at me twice. That was it. And he probably would have grinned at the devil himself if the two of them were forced to waltz under the watchful eyes of Ms. Helsenberg. I hadn't exactly won over the student body. Nobody would be rushing to help the New Girl who had alienated the elite school’s most influential students in less than a day.
I ached to hear Audrey and Ben tell me it would be okay. That I was letting my imagination get the best of me again. That my Slate was still safely tucked away inside my locker, making this nothing more than a minor setback. No big deal.
Except one good hard stomp was all it would take for Peyton to destroy my Slate and officially demolish any trail that could lead to my dad. And yeah, I was fully aware how pathetic that sounded. A dead man’s password-protected tablet was my best shot at finding the guy who’d done nothing but fail as a parent. A man who had disappeared on my mom without bothering to scribble his goodbye on a napkin.
But I still couldn’t walk away, not without wondering every day if everything woul
d’ve been better if I’d only been willing to fight a little bit harder.
Trudging outside I focused on putting one foot in front of the other. The ache in my legs had only increased after being motionless for the entire duration of Ms. Pierce’s class. A long soak in a bathtub began to sound like my definition of heaven. I was daydreaming about scented bubbles all the way to the girls’ dormitory before I realized that no bag also meant no swipe card.
Leaving me stuck haunting the steps outside the door like a creepy lurker.
“Waiting for someone, Emmy?”
I twisted around to see Sebastian and Nasir lounging on a nearby bench, neither of them showing any hint of the fatigue weighing on me. They would both probably love the opportunity to turn up their noses at doing me a favor.
Still, desperate times called for really, really desperate measures.
That had to be written on a bumper sticker somewhere.
“Have either of you seen Kayla?”
Nasir shook his head. “No.”
A smirk slowly spread across Sebastian’s face. “Are you locked out already? That’s got to be a record.”
“That’s me. Total record-setter.” I straightened my spine, bracing myself for another confrontation. This part was going to be hard to admit. “Can I borrow a Slate?”
Nasir instinctively reached into his pocket to hand me his tablet and I steeled myself against the temptation of checking his outgoing call log. I wanted to know if he’d taken my advice about Audrey. If he’d called her. How long their conversation might have lasted. Except that would be a complete violation of his privacy, and I refused to give up the moral high ground in order to satisfy my curiosity, especially when I could always interrogate Audrey later.
Unfortunately, Sebastian chose that particular moment to interfere.
“Where’s the Slate I gave you?” Sebastian asked. “You can’t have sold it for extra cash. Nobody here needs one.”
Dial Em for Murder Page 14
