“Yeah, great,” Kate said. “You’re not exactly making me feel better.”
“You were a good mother, Kate,” Seth said, turning serious. “You loved Amelia, and she loved you back. You did the best you could. You tried your ass off. How it ends up is a crapshoot. All you can do is be thankful for every minute the whole thing doesn’t fall to shit.”
“And when it does?”
“You find a good friend with a big shoulder to cry on. I can come over now, if you want. Maybe you shouldn’t be alone.”
“No, no,” Kate said, not wanting the pressure of having to act cheered up. “Thanks, but I think I’m going to take a bath.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” Seth said, even though it was only midmorning. “Just no maudlin music or candles or anything, okay? I don’t want you burning your house down, too.”
“Flame-free, peppy sound track. Yes, will do.”
As Kate headed upstairs toward the bathroom, her home phone rang. She turned and went downstairs to answer it, only because she thought it might be Lew. He’d had to go back to his office to file an update. He wanted all the T’s crossed and I’s dotted on the investigation this time. But the number on the caller ID wasn’t Lew’s. It was a New York 917 cell phone number that Kate didn’t recognize.
“Hello?” she answered. Her voice sounded rough, like she’d been asleep or crying or both.
“Mrs. Baron?” the man on the other end asked tentatively. “Am I calling at a bad time?”
“That depends, who are you?”
“Oh right, it would be helpful if I identified myself.” He sounded nervous. “This is Phillip Woodhouse, Grace Hall’s headmaster. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you came by. I’m at a private-school conference up in Boston.”
“Yes, that’s what Mrs. Pearl told us. Is it fun?”
Kate could hear herself sounding like a sarcastic bitch. But between his inappropriate e-mails and his role in covering up whatever sick club Amelia had been part of, Phillip Woodhouse wasn’t entitled to politeness. He should be counting himself lucky that Kate wasn’t screaming at him.
“Um, well, no, not exactly.” He sounded confused. “Anyway, I wanted to be sure you’d gotten everything you needed.”
“Well, let’s see, my daughter was a part of some club at Grace Hall that had her taking half-naked pictures of herself and posting them online. That same group ended up turning on her and sending her hate mail. And apparently, Grace Hall knew about all of this. But I can’t get anyone to tell me anything because of rules the school has put in place. Your school, Mr. Woodhouse.” Kate’s voice shook as it rose. “So no, I didn’t get everything I needed. But you must already know that. You’ve circled the wagons quite nicely, Mr. Woodhouse.”
There was a long silence, then the sound of Woodhouse exhaling. “I can imagine your frustration Mrs. Baron, but—”
“My frustration?” Kate shouted. “My daughter is dead, Mr. Woodhouse. You do realize that, right? Trust me, you don’t feel frustrated when your only child is killed.”
“Killed?”
“Yes, killed,” Kate said. “Because Amelia didn’t jump. We—and that’s the police and I, by the way—know that she didn’t. Now it’s just a matter of figuring out which of your students—or faculty—pushed her.”
“Well, that’s— I didn’t know there was new information.” He sounded genuinely sad or regretful or concerned. Or maybe he was just good at pretending that he was. “I wish that changed what I’m at liberty to discuss with you. Regardless of how I feel personally, I can’t tell you anything about that blog or anything in relation to it either. I’m contractually prohibited from doing so. But I assure you, no one is more upset about that than me.”
“Try me!” Kate yelled so loud that it burned her throat. She needed to calm down, though. She needed to pull herself together enough to get at least some of her questions answered. “But I guess you’re not contractually prohibited from pursuing a relationship with a student?”
“A relationship?” Woodhouse asked. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’ve seen the e-mails you sent Amelia, Mr. Woodhouse. All of them,” Kate said. “I don’t know what you think you were doing, but I know all about it. And if you don’t tell me what I want to know about this group of girls, I’m going to go public with the e-mails you sent my daughter as proof you were harassing her sexually.”
“Harassing her?” Woodhouse sounded stunned. “What are you talking about? I never harassed Amelia. Maybe I pushed too hard near the end and I regret that, but I was trying to help her.”
“Is that what you people are calling it these days? Some of that special, after-school guidance, the kind you tell a girl like Amelia to keep a secret.”
Kate wasn’t even sure she believed what she was saying, but she didn’t care. She was going to use whatever ammunition she had to get the answers she wanted.
“Mrs. Baron, you have every right to be upset, but I didn’t make any kind of inappropriate overtures toward Amelia.” He sounded heartbroken. “She was a promising student, an extraordinary one, and I was trying to keep her on the right track. I’d rather you didn’t take my e-mails out of context. I’m sure you’re right about how they will be perceived if you distribute them. I promise you that we are on the same side here. If you could just be patient. I’m working on getting—”
“I’m done being patient, Mr. Woodhouse,” Kate said calmly. “You have twenty-four hours to tell me everything about this club Amelia was in, or I will forward your e-mails to every single Grace Hall parent. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll pursue a civil action. Maybe even a criminal one. I’m a partner at a very large law firm with substantial resources and I have plenty of time on my hands. So that’s not a threat, Mr. Woodhouse, it’s a promise.”
Kate hung up before Woodhouse could say anything else and stared down breathlessly at the phone in her hand. She’d never threatened someone like that in her entire life. Certainly, she’d never leveraged her position at Slone, Thayer in that way. She really had no actual proof that Woodhouse had harassed Amelia either. The e-mails were suggestive of something, but they weren’t in and of themselves inappropriate. Kate had found no mention of Woodhouse anywhere else in the texts she’d gotten through either, not even in Amelia’s conversations with Ben. Lew had checked Woodhouse’s background, too, and it was pristine.
Of course, that didn’t prove he hadn’t done something this time. And there were still many more texts for Kate to go through. She hadn’t even read all of those between Amelia and Ben. Still, Kate had her doubts. She just had to hope that Woodhouse came around before she had to make good on her threat.
Kate was still holding the home phone in her hand when her cell phone rang. This had to be Lew, she thought as she rushed over. But it was Jeremy. He never called her on her cell phone unless there was some kind of work emergency.
“Is everything okay?” she answered, without saying hello.
“Yes, yes, absolutely,” Jeremy said, attempting his usual breeziness. But there was something tight in his voice.
“Is it Victor?” Kate asked. “You don’t have to protect me. I can handle it.” Not that she’d necessarily rush back to the office to help. Her days of compromising Amelia for her job were over. “Is he angry that I’m unavailable? I can’t say that I’m surprised. Maybe you really should have given the case to Daniel. Honestly, I think you—”
“No, I shouldn’t have,” Jeremy said matter-of-factly. “And I’m not calling about Associated anyway. Something’s come up, something personal.”
“Personal for whom?” Kate asked.
“For us,” Jeremy said.
“What do you mean for—” As the words were coming out of Kate’s mouth, a hole opened up in the bottom of her stomach. “Oh.”
She’d pushed the memory so far from her mind that there were times it ceased to exist. Almost. She and Jeremy had certainly never spoken of it again, and for years
that had been enough to erase what had happened. Until now.
“It’s terrible timing, I know,” Jeremy said, sounding uncharacteristically troubled. Disturbingly so. “But I just didn’t— I think you have to know.”
“Know what?” Kate felt sick.
“I think we should talk, in person,” Jeremy said. “Maybe we could meet somewhere for drinks in your neighborhood around six p.m.”
“Jeremy, I’d really rather if you told me now,” Kate said. “I’m not sure I can handle waiting for more bad news.”
“I know, Kate, and I’m sorry.” His voice was somber, almost unrecognizable. It was that tone more than anything that made Kate stop arguing. “But I really think it’s best.”
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s meet at the Thistle Tavern at six p.m.”
“Sounds good. I’ll see you there,” Jeremy said. “And Kate, I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For everything.”
It was late afternoon by the time Lew came back, after three p.m. when Lew and Kate were on the way up the steps to Dylan’s front door.
“You’re sure you’re going to be okay in here?” Lew asked, pausing halfway up. “Because the closer we get to the people who were actually involved in what happened to Amelia, the more worried they’re going to be about protecting themselves. No one’s going to be watching out for your feelings.”
Kate tried to hold her face perfectly still. “I know,” she said. “I’ll be okay. I promise.”
Of course, the real answer was no. No, Kate would not be okay. Was not okay. Because she’d already read through every text between Dylan and Amelia. She knew that her daughter had loved this girl and had been desperate to keep her. That Dylan had broken Amelia’s heart, though the bits and pieces she’d gathered hadn’t explained why.
Lew looked at Kate sternly, waiting for her to crack. When she didn’t, he took an exasperated breath and turned back to ring the bell.
An attractive woman with high cheekbones and long auburn hair answered. She was older than Kate, late forties maybe, but striking and meticulously maintained. She looked familiar, too, though Kate couldn’t place her.
“Can I help you?” she asked, with a large frozen smile.
Lew flashed his badge, which only served to stiffen her more.
“I’m Lieutenant Lew Thompson, and this is Kate Baron. We’d like to ask your daughter a few questions about the student who died at Grace Hall a few weeks ago. Amelia Baron? Kate is her mother.”
“Oh my goodness,” she said, with a big, dramatic sigh, then reached out two hands and clasped them around Kate’s forearms, pulling her closer. “What a horrific tragedy. Unspeakable, really. Come in, come in. I’m Celeste, Dylan’s mother.”
Inside, the brownstone was full of dark, polished woods, lots of ornate Victorian furniture, and heavy brocades. All of the original details of the home were intact, including pocket doors, stained glass windows, and a tin ceiling. There were lots of small decorative items, too—a collection of snuffboxes in a glass case, small vases, old pictures in heavy frames—covering every available surface. All of it was nicely arranged, but the sheer volume was overwhelming.
They were still standing in the foyer, which felt claustrophobic with an overweighted coatrack and a tall mirrored armoire. But Celeste—who’d dropped Kate’s arms just as suddenly as she’d grasped them—didn’t look like she had any intention of inviting them any farther inside.
“So you were saying, you came to speak to Dylan about Amelia?” Celeste’s voice was odd. Not an accent as much as overly precise diction. “I must say, such a exquisite girl. To be that bright and that beautiful. And with those unique eyes of hers? Just extraordinary. Truly. I told her that she should have been an actress. The camera would have loved her. And I would know, I’m an actress,” she said, with overplayed modesty. “Perhaps, you’ve seen me on Law & Order SVU. I’m a series regular. I play an attorney.”
“I don’t watch much TV,” Kate said, trying to process this stranger talking about her daughter as though the two had been good friends.
“Oh, I see, how unusual,” Celeste said, as though Kate had just confessed membership in some strange cult. She smiled forcefully once again. “Well, then, I guess you wouldn’t have seen me.”
“How did you know Amelia?” Kate asked, bracing to learn that Amelia had shared details of her sexual awakening with her girlfriend’s mother.
“She was a friend of Dylan’s, of course. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? But I wouldn’t say I knew her.” Celeste waved a hand. “I only met her once.”
“We think your daughter might have some information relevant to Amelia’s death,” Lew said, trying to steer the conversation back to the reason they were there.
Celeste put one hand to the back of her neck. “I thought— I didn’t realize there was anything to be investigating.”
“There are always more facts to confirm,” Lew said noncommittally. He was being careful, maybe because he suspected Dylan was more involved in what had happened than he had let on, even to Kate. “Is your daughter home, ma’am? I can promise it won’t take long.”
Celeste looked from Lew to Kate, then back to Lew, as if she were calculating the path of least resistance.
“Of course,” she said finally, with another fake smile. “I’ll go get her.”
When she came down the steps a minute later, Dylan was behind her. She was a beautiful girl, with a head of wild reddish curls like her mother’s and the kind of dramatic bone structure usually reserved for adults. She was tall and willowy, too, even in her ripped, boyish jeans and plain white T-shirt. And there she was: the girl who had broken Amelia’s heart. Who gave you the right? Kate thought. When there’s no way you deserved her. Kate was glad that she’d agreed to stay quiet. She couldn’t imagine the things she might say.
“Hi, Dylan, I’m Lieutenant Lew Thompson,” he said, then turned to Celeste as he motioned to the crowded living room. “Mind if we have a seat?”
“Please,” Celeste said with a grand gesture. “Make yourselves right at home.”
Dylan shuffled in behind them, setting herself down stiffly next to her mother on the edge of the hard tufted couch. She hadn’t made eye contact with anyone, and her body language was tight and closed. She was nervous, maybe, but it seemed to Kate like something more.
“Dylan, some of the things I have to ask you about may be sensitive,” Lew said. His manner was light, as though he was talking to a much younger girl. “Do you want to take a minute first and get your mom up to speed here about this Birds of a Feather group?”
Kate watched for worry to cloud Celeste’s face. Instead, she smiled easily.
“Oh, don’t worry. My daughter and I don’t have any secrets, Lieutenant,” Celeste said.
“As parents we’d all like to think that,” Lew began gently. “But in this particular situation—”
“I know about the pictures, if that’s what this is about,” Celeste said.
“You knew?” Kate asked in disbelief.
Celeste should have said something to the school, to the other parents, to somebody. For the sake of the other girls, if not her own. What kind of mother was she?
“I wouldn’t say I’m pleased Dylan participated, but I don’t believe in hovering. She has the right to make her own choices, which includes the right to make poor ones.”
Dylan leaned her head against her mother’s shoulder then, and Celeste wrapped an arm around her head. It might have been a sweet expression of mother-child affection, if it hadn’t been so disconcertingly childlike. As Celeste ran a hand over her daughter’s hair, it was as if she were comforting an overwhelmed toddler.
“In that case, we’ll just get down to it,” Lew said, his mouth pulled flat. “So you’re in this Birds of a Feather group, Dylan?”
Dylan looked to her mom, who nodded for her to continue.
“Yeah,” she said, numbly. “The Magpies—that’s what they’re called.”
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Magpies. Maggie #1, Maggie #2. They were definitely aliases for the girls in the Birds of a Feather group.
“It’s some kind of club?” Lew asked.
Dylan nodded. She was staring at the floor and pulling her sleeves down over her hands and popping them back out over and over again.
“A secret club,” she said, without looking up. Now she was threading her fingers together and pulling them apart, over and over. “With secret invitations and secret rules and secret secrets.”
“The clubs have a long history at Grace Hall, long before even my days as a student there,” Celeste said smoothly. “I was a Grace Hall lifer, just like Dylan. The idea of the clubs is actually quite charming. You know . . . the camaraderie, the sisterhood. They were abolished because of an incident right before I came to the Upper School. A tragedy, no doubt, but an isolated one. It was a shame for all the students who came afterward, myself included, that they issued such a blanket prohibition.”
Kate saw Lew’s face visibly tighten. Celeste was getting under his skin. It was her preening, maybe, or her utter obliviousness to what had been at stake for the girls. It was hard to say what was bothering him the most. There were so many options.
“And Amelia was in this Magpie club, too?” Lew asked, forcing his attention back to Dylan.
“For a little while.”
“Long enough to get her pictures posted.”
Dylan shrugged. “I guess.”
“And what was the point of the pictures?”
“It was a game,” Dylan said. Her voice was mechanical. “The person with the most ‘likes’ wins.”
“A game?” Kate asked in disbelief. She just couldn’t stay quiet any longer. “What could you girls possibly have been . . .”
But getting outraged certainly wasn’t going to make Dylan be any more forthcoming. It would offend Celeste, too, who’d already made clear she thought the whole thing was good fun.
“Whose idea was this game?” Lew asked.
Dylan gripped the couch on either side of her, then began tapping her fingers in a quick, almost playful rhythm that was completely at odds with the somber conversation they were having.
Reconstructing Amelia Page 24
