“What’s up, chickadee?” he said without looking up from his paper.
“You’re into puzzles, right?”
He shook his head. “Into puzzles? No.”
“Come on. You’re always playing weird little games.”
“I’ll have a go at Settlers of Catan now and again. I enjoy a good RPG session, and I’ve been known to dabble in a brainteaser or two, but that does not make me into puzzles. That sounds like I’m ten.”
“Sorry. I just wanted to ask you something.”
“What?”
“Well, this is totally random, and you’re gonna think I’m weird.”
“I already think you’re weird. Go ahead. Speak your mind.”
“Okay, well, Iris Liang, do you know if she was into puzzles or games or anything?”
He nodded. “Sure, she was in puzzle club.”
“No way,” I gasped. “There really is a puzzle club?”
He groaned and put his head in his hands. “God, no, Wood. I’m messing with you. Why do you want to know this?”
“It’s complicated,” I said, opening my novel. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have bothered you. It’s stupid.”
“No it’s not,” he sighed. “Listen, I’ll come clean with you. I think I might be able to help you.”
“You’re not still messing with me?”
“No. Listen. Iris Liang wouldn’t have given me the time of day, but she used to come by Tanner’s room pretty often. I live next door to Tanner and spend a lot of time on the hammock on my balcony, so I am, as you might imagine, privy to a lot of pretty intense stuff that goes on at this school.”
“Okay, but does any of it involve puzzles?”
“It does, in fact.” He raised his eyebrows.
“Oh my God, really?”
“I think so. It might be nothing, but I did see her with something like a puzzle once—at least, I think it was a puzzle.”
“Seriously?” I said, turning to face him, hands on my knees.
“Yeah. One night when she was waiting for Tanner, she leaned over his balcony and a bunch of papers fell out of her notebook. I, of course, sprang to her assistance. She wasn’t the least bit grateful, I assure you, but one thing I can tell you is that the pages, at least the glimpse that I got, seemed to involve a really complicated crossword or something.”
“A crossword?”
“That’s what it looked like. And I remember thinking that was kind of weird, but then, Iris was a weird girl. Does that help?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I think it does. Thanks. What about anyone else? Is there anyone you think of as being into puzzles? Or someone you saw working with Iris on something that might have been a puzzle.”
He shook his head. “Now we are reaching into the realm of total speculation.”
“Hmm.” I tapped my finger against my lip. “Well, let me know if you hear anything.”
“Sure thing.” He nodded. “And if you ever want some truly juicy gossip on Tanner, I am your man.”
“Yeah, thanks,” I groaned as I thought about Freddy. “I think I’ll pass on that.”
“Suit yourself.” He snapped open his newspaper and resumed reading.
“Wait,” I said. “One more thing. You know much about the art teacher? What’s his story?”
“John? He’s a good guy, a really good guy. Don’t you take art?”
“No. I hate it.”
“You’re missing out. He’s the best teacher here. You should sit in on one of his classes. He lets me do that during my free periods.”
“Carlos,” I said, impressed. “I didn’t know you were an artist.”
He shook his head. “I’ve got no natural talent, but I love it.”
“Hmm, maybe I will go talk to him. Is he down at the art barn, do you think?”
“No. You’ve missed him, I’m afraid. Left early for break.”
“Like I said, I’ll talk to him when we get back from spring break. Have a good one, my friend.”
“You too,” he said, saluting. “See you back here a week from Sunday.”
I saluted him back and headed out.
CHAPTER TEN
IT WAS DURING THE CAR ride over to the Slaters’ that I first noticed that Noel had lost an alarming amount of weight. Bony concavities were visible on her wrists, and her fingers looked frail and gray as she gripped the steering wheel. I was almost sure she hadn’t been that thin a week earlier. Was she sick? Should I say something? But when I thought about it, I realized that I hadn’t seen her eat anything for quite a while. Suddenly, I felt ill.
We’d been at the house fewer than ten minutes and had barely unloaded the car when Chelsea Vetiver appeared, lank and dissolute, spindly digits crisscrossed over a white unfiltered cigarette. She wore a slip the color of mayonnaise and an alarming number of silver bangle bracelets. Her eyes were heavy with charcoal liner.
“What’s for dinner?” she asked Helen, sweeping her eyes over me once, letting them linger just long enough to make an appraisal, then moving on to Helen. “You need a new look, Helen. This whole classic beauty thing is getting old. I’m thinking massive body mods, transdermal implants, the works.”
“Thanks,” Helen said, rolling her eyes at me. “I’ll take it under advisement.”
Chelsea’s gaze slipped back to me, a smile playing on her lips.
“Columbo,” she croaked, falling into a low chair and tossing her legs over the rattan arm. “I heard about Alex Reese. Good on you. He was a little, um—how should I put this?—short-lived for my tastes, but I’m glad you’re making it work.”
“How’s truancy treating you, Chelsea?” Noel asked, poking her head out of the kitchen.
“Holy Christ, Noel, what the hell happened to you?” Chelsea asked, her lips curled into a snarl.
“What do you mean?” Noel asked, looking away.
“What do you think I mean? Are you auditioning for Dachau: The Musical, or what?”
Helen choked on a piece of bread and scowled at Chelsea. “Chelsea, do you think you can try not to be offensive for just a few minutes? Why don’t we talk about subjects you can manage, like, say, your art? How’s the big project going?” She turned to me. “Chelsea decided not to go back to Exeter this semester. A mental-health break. She’s using it to work on some amazing art project that’s going to transform all of us, society as a whole, in fact. Am I right, Chelsea?”
“See, Wood, I told you I was an art star.” She cackled and blew little rings with her smoke.
“Hey, Chelsea, do you know how to French inhale?” Helen asked.
“No,” she drawled. “Because it’s disgusting. And it makes you look like a fucking whore.”
“I think it’s sexy,” Noel said, laughing.
“Yeah, well, I think eating is sexy.” Chelsea laughed, then popped up from the chair into perfect yoga posture. “What’s for fucking dinner? Don’t you guys have a fucking cook?” And with that she was gone. I expected her to show up as soon as Noel finished with the chicken curry, but it was just the three of us eating—well, two, really, though I did see Noel suck on a few strands of red pepper.
“Where’s Chelsea?” I asked during a quiet moment. “I thought she wanted dinner.”
“Who cares?” Helen said. “Pass me the wine. Oooh, Margaux. Nummy choice, Miss Slater.”
“Why, thank you, Miss Slater. Here, Wood, you want some?”
I shook my head. “No. No thank you.”
The next morning, Chelsea Vetiver came bearing doughnuts. I was immediately suspicious, and rightly so, because as soon as I bit into my first maple bar, she explained that she wanted me to model for her … out in the woods … immediately after finishing my maple bar. Weakened by my sugar daze, I acquiesced, and she led me out a fair way from the Slaters’ place to a spot where the leaves were an otherworldly kind of green. Chelsea’s monstrous black Nikon hung pendulous from her neck.
I wondered if it was safe, walking in those woods, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask Chelsea what she t
hought. I was sure she’d laugh at me, so I tried to forget about Iris. I tried to act cool.
“Um, can you hang upside down in a tree for me?” she asked, genuflecting before a giant oak and fiddling with her camera lens.
I wrapped my sweatshirt around my waist. “You want me to hang from a tree?”
She looked up and squinted at me. “Yeah,” she said in that languorous monotone.
So I climbed trees, hung upside down, performed a few impromptu cherry drops, and finally, after about three-quarters of an hour, Chelsea shook her head.
“Come on, we need to change location. The pond, I think.”
“We’re close to the pond?”
“Yeah, it’s right through those trees a bit. I like it there. I like to think there. My thoughts are clearer. If you want, I’ll even let you watch me think while we’re shooting.”
“Um, thanks.”
“No problem. Come on.”
After a short walk, we emerged into the clearing, the pond sparkling with early-morning sun. It was strange to see it there. Conceptually, Helen and Noel’s place seemed a million miles from school, and it was a vaguely unpleasant reminder to see how close we actually were, separated only by these haunted little woods, and that fey pond.
“Okay,” she said, rummaging around in her bag. “So you’re gonna be pissed, but I need you to put on this dress and wade out into the water.”
“No.”
“Come on,” she groaned. “Don’t be a pussy. Do you hate art or something?”
“Chelsea, you’re serious?”
She nodded and tossed me the dress, a gossamer white thing.
“Here, take your hair down. There, I want it to be kind of wild. Good. Right, now, get your ass out there. Waist deep.”
I pulled off my jeans and T-shirt and slipped the dress over my head. It made me feel strange, like a doomed fairy princess. I walked to the pond and paused at the edge of the water. My breath caught, and I found myself inexplicably excited and frightened. It was just a pond, so why did it feel like something else? I had the distinct impression that once I stepped in, in a way, there would be no turning back.
I set a toe in. Crisp, cold, nipping at the base of my spine.
“For fuck’s sake, get in there, Inspector Wood. I don’t have all day.”
I stepped in and began wading—the water rising, my skin tingling—and something inside me changed. A shot of electricity bolted up my spine to the base of my skull and suddenly my vision seemed more lucid. I started to laugh.
“No laughter,” she called. “This is serious business.”
I turned to see that she had the camera trained on me and was already taking pictures.
“So you really just didn’t go back to school this semester?”
“No. I’m right here. I can’t be in two places at once, now can I?”
“I don’t know,” I said, sinking my hips in, the water licking at my waist. “Quantum mechanics might say different.”
“Oh, shut up, wondergeek. Now turn around.”
“So why didn’t you go back?”
“I told you. Psychological problems. I’m taking some personal time.”
“And your parents don’t care?”
“I don’t have parents; I have guardians.”
“Guardians?”
“Yeah. My grandparents. Lift your hair up above your head and then drop it. There you go. Good.”
“My dad died too,” I said, then bit down on my lip.
“Christ, Wood, my parents aren’t dead. They’re just not here. Turn around. Dip your head over and spread out your arms. Sorry about your dad, though. That blows.”
“Yeah. Sorry about your craziness. I hope you get better.”
“Yeah, thanks. Turn around and start walking away from me.”
I did, the trees rising before me, the water drifting through my fingers. High in nests, birds rustled and peeped.
“Hey, Wood. What would you say if I told you I was fucking Richard Slater?”
My heart jolted and I spun to face her, unable to keep the disgust and horror from my face.
“There we go. That’s the shot I wanted. You can come out now.”
I waded toward the shore, watching Chelsea pack up her gear. Had that been just a stunt? Something to shock me? When I got to the shore, she grinned at me.
“That was brilliant.”
“You were joking, right?” I said, changing out of the wet dress.
“God, Wood, you’re unbelievable.”
“You were, right?”
She sighed. “Yes, Wood. I was joking.” But then she laughed, and something in my gut told me she was lying.
She let the camera fall from her neck and gathered her things. We were weaving our way through a shining sea of yellow sour grass flowers when she brought up Iris.
“Pretty creepy,” she said, eyeing me to watch for my reaction.
“It’s horrible,” I sighed. “Did you know her at all?”
She shook her head. “Not really, no. I knew of her.”
“Yeah, I guess she and Helen weren’t exactly friends.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Or so Helen would have us believe.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, trying to seem nonchalant.
“Oh, you know,” she drawled, sweeping her arm down to pick a flower without breaking stride. She bit into the stem. “Mmm. So good. When I was little, I thought the stems were sour because dogs peed on them. I ate them anyway, though. Want one?” Again, she raised an eyebrow at me.
I shook my head.
“You should just know that Helen doesn’t always tell the truth.”
“What are you saying?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
She stopped and rolled her eyes at me. “For fuck’s sake, I’m not saying that. It’s not like I think Helen killed her or anything. Christ, Detective Wood, get a hold of yourself. I’m just saying that there was something going on between them.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I saw Iris here more than once.”
“Yeah, I heard they used to be friends a long time ago.”
“No,” she said. “I saw Iris up here last spring, which seemed sort of strange, since Helen was always saying, ‘Iris is such a liar, she’s such a stalker, requesting me for a roommate,’ that kind of thing, but I think she’s covering her tracks or something.”
“Last spring?”
She nodded, pleased with herself. “Mmmhmm. How you like them apples?”
We were at the path to the Slaters’ place now, and it was clear she was dropping me off.
“Thanks,” she said, patting me on the head. “And shhh. Don’t tell Helen you heard it from me, ’kay?”
I nodded.
“See you around, Columbo.” She laughed. And then she turned and headed back out into the woods, the verdant morning light seeming to close in around her and swallow her up.
Inside, the house was empty. I had no idea when the twins would be back from wherever they’d gone, so I grabbed my notebook and climbed into a lake-view window seat. From my perch, the water looked still as glass. If only I could stay in that seat, staring at that lake forever. But I would need to go back eventually, and when I did, I would need a plan. I opened my notebook and got to work. I decided to devise a two-pronged attack. First I would talk to John, the art instructor. I hadn’t tried to grill a teacher yet, and I thought it best to be prepared. I even went so far as to write out a list of questions to ask him. It made me feel a bit like Lois Lane.
Next—and I felt this was a particularly ingenious plan—I would go to the library and make a list of anyone who had checked out books pertaining to woodworking, in case our killer happened to be an autodidact. I would then narrow down that list and continue my investigation. I closed my notebook and stared out across the lake, satisfied I’d done all I could for the time being. Now, I decided, I would enjoy my vacation.
The break turned out to be phenomenally pleasant. Mor
nings were spent lounging at the lake, afternoons reading in the woods, evenings eating, talking, watching movies or listening to music. Noel had a tremendous jazz collection on vinyl, and she did her best to fill in what she deemed the formidable holes in my music vocabulary. Helen was more relaxed than she ever was at school, and that in turn chilled me out. Chelsea would show up every once in a while to cadge a meal, standing over Noel while she cooked, picking bits and pieces out of the saucepan, or to coerce the twins into ordering pizza. She liked it with pineapple, she would remind them. And sometimes we’d see her down at the lake, stretched out on a rock in an uncharacteristically modest navy one-piece. I wondered if she was being completely honest with me about Iris and Helen. I didn’t see why she would lie, but then, she was Chelsea Vetiver, and I never really knew what to make of her. The last night of break, she showed up in a faux-fur coat, demanding that Helen go into town with her to see a movie.
“It’s about scorpions, Helen. Scorpions. You know how I feel about scorpions.”
I couldn’t disguise my disappointment when Helen went with her.
“Don’t worry, Droopy Dog,” Noel said. “We don’t need my stupid sister to have fun.”
It was still early, so we grabbed a bottle of red wine and went out to the gazebo. It was a beautiful night—clear and light, warm enough that we didn’t have to wear sweaters, but with a slight crispness to the air that paired nicely with the cherrywood warmth of the wine. We drank out of her mother’s crystal goblets, though I noticed that Noel barely touched the cup to her lips. Since I didn’t really drink either, the whole thing seemed like a bizarre but necessary custom.
We talked for a while about school, about boys, about whether we were going to fail the eleventh grade because we’d basically made up a sport, and then Noel looked sick and exhausted, and I felt I finally needed to say something.
“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” I said. “But are you okay? I mean, about the eating thing.”
She smiled and looked at my hairline. “I’m fine, silly. Don’t worry. I just lose weight when I’m stressed, and things lately have been a little stressful.”
“Are you sure? I just want you to be okay.”
She took an actual sip of her wine and closed her eyes. She smiled, and for the first time since we’d found the body, Noel looked at peace.
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