“Oh, what was her name? The girl from those movies, where she was an heiress. Remember?”
“No.” Absolutely yes. One didn’t forget making five horrible films in as many equally horrible months.
“I watched those all the time as a kid. My mom thought they were so gauche.”
So had Orchid. Cecily had decorated their first house in a ham-handed replica of the mansion set, though. The gossip rags had a field day with that one.
“If your hair was red, you’d look just like her.”
The red was a dye, too. Her hair had never been red. The dye had irritated her scalp every week when they touched up her roots. “I thought we were done suggesting changes to my appearance.”
Scarlett held up her hands. “Okay. Okay. But you do look like her. Ugh, what was her name?”
Maybe it was the storm, or the fact that she’d tripped over a dead body that morning. Or maybe she was just tired of lying. “Emily Pryce.”
Thunderbolts didn’t fall from the sky. The earth didn’t crack open and swallow her whole.
“Yes! Emily Pryce!” Scarlett looked at her. “I take it you’ve heard that before.”
“Yes.”
“Must be nice. I always get one of, like, three desi actresses. And I don’t look anything like at least two of them.”
Had Scarlett always been this funny? It was tough to notice, in between all the scheming and gossip and shirking of the Tudor House chore chart. “I guess that just proves we need more Indian American celebrities.”
“Now there’s a thought.”
There was something in the way she said it that made Orchid wonder if Scarlett already had plans drawn up to create a Bollywood West. She wouldn’t put it past her, honestly. Scarlett had the soul of a producer, and Orchid didn’t mean that as a compliment.
“But first we need to survive the weekend,” said Scarlett. “If the murderer isn’t Blackbrook’s favorite tennis star, and it’s not you or me—”
“Just to be clear,” said Orchid, “it’s not you?”
Scarlett ignored the dig. “Then who does that leave? It’s not the wonder twins. It’s not the new kid.”
“Maybe it’s your boyfriend.”
“Finn’s not my boyfriend,” said Scarlett. “Right now, I’m not even sure he’s my friend, either.”
That did surprise Orchid, though she had always figured the alliance would crumble eventually. It was hard to trust that your friend would have your back when all you’d ever seen them do was stab other people in theirs.
Except maybe now was not the time to think about stabbings. “So you’re saying he could be a killer.”
Scarlett gave her a deadpan look. “No, of course not.”
“Then, who?”
“The townie.”
Vaughn. Orchid hugged her knees more tightly. Of all the people in the house, Vaughn was the one she couldn’t wrap her head around. Was he the know-it-all jerk from history class, or the charming folk singer who had flirted with her as the fire burned down to embers?
That moment, alone in the lounge after she’d lost her glasses, she thought maybe she’d never known the real Vaughn any better than he’d known her. And when she’d stumbled over the headmaster’s corpse this morning, it had been Vaughn who had kept her from having a complete panic attack.
But this afternoon, during their search of the house, he’d reverted to form. All those creepy accusations at lunch, and then stomping around the attic, kicking boxes and scoffing at the idea that anyone—murderer, looter, or entity other than a bat or a mouse—was hiding among old dress forms and spare bed frames. What was it he’d said? Something about not being able to imagine anyone wanting to hang around Blackbrook kids longer than absolutely necessary. Orchid couldn’t wait to finish looking around the attic and get out of his presence.
She hadn’t been thrilled when he’d showed up at the study door looking for Mrs. White, either, but he’d turned on the charm again, and not just when Mrs. White was watching. Orchid didn’t get it. She thought maybe it was him showing off—the local kid trying to prove his mettle in class or with his music or offering to row to Rocky Point with Rusty. Perhaps that was why he’d been in such a bad mood when he’d come back without reaching Rocky Point. He’d failed in his quest.
Vaughn was a mystery, for sure, but Orchid wasn’t ready to give Scarlett any ammunition against him. Instead, she asked, “What possible reason would Vaughn have to kill Headmaster Boddy?”
“What possible reason would any of us have?” Scarlett replied.
“Vaughn was the one who brought up the idea that it was one of us!”
“Bragging about his crime,” mused Scarlett. “What a sociopath.”
Orchid shook her head in disgust. “Next you’ll tell me it was Mrs. White. Or Rusty.” She affected a theatrical voice. “The janitor did it!”
“Maybe he did,” said Scarlett. “Maybe they all got together. Rocky Point’s revenge on the school that ruined their town.”
Orchid stopped. She didn’t want to admit how plausible that sounded. It would make a good headline, too. “Except Blackbrook didn’t ruin the town,” she pointed out. “If anything, it saved it, after the mill shut down. All that glue money allowing them to buy the land and keep all these historical buildings in such good shape. You should listen to Mrs. White—this place is her life.”
“Then Vaughn did it on his own.”
Oh, Orchid, when I really want to show off, you’ll know it.
Which Vaughn was the real one? He could go from sweet and flirtatious to sullen and macabre and then back again, all in the course of a day. But that didn’t make him a killer.
Then, she realized. “You have it in for him.”
“Do not.” Scarlett hesitated for a moment. “Okay, yes, he’s not my favorite person in the whole world.”
“Why? Are his humanities grades too good?”
Bingo. Scarlett may think the other students didn’t have her number, but she was wrong. Orchid had never been the subject of one of Scarlett’s sabotage campaigns, but she’d seen the girl in action before. It wasn’t pretty.
“That’s not it,” Scarlett said peevishly, in a tone that meant it was exactly it. “Do you remember the Campus Beautification Committee I helmed sophomore year?”
Orchid honestly had no idea that such a thing had ever existed.
“Remember? I wanted to tear down the old boat shed?”
Vague memories returned to Orchid of announcements and email chains. “The one by the bridge into campus?”
“Yes! It’s the first thing people see when they come to Blackbrook, and it’s a total eyesore. I basically had the senior class committee on board to making their graduation gift a new school sign.”
As much as Orchid loved Blackbrook, she couldn’t imagine getting involved in something like that. The very idea of fighting with her classmates over what color to paint the trash bins made her tired. It appeared to energize Scarlett, though, as getting her own way on matters always did.
“But then,” Scarlett went on, and her tone turned ominous, “the Rocky Point Historical Society stopped us.”
“The Rocky Point Historical Society?” She wondered if they were like the consultants you hired when you were on location to make sure nothing you razed or painted or hung lights from would result in a lawsuit against the studio. “Vaughn is in the Rocky Point Historical Society? How does he have time with all this work-study?”
“I don’t know how that guy has time for any of his activities or classes,” Scarlett admitted. “Time machine, maybe? But he was definitely the one who tipped them off. Apparently it’s some kind of historically significant shack. So we couldn’t tear it down.”
“Pity.” But it didn’t make him a murderer. “Cheer up, Scarlett. Maybe the flood will wash it away for you. Act of God.”
Scarlett sniffed. “You don’t care about any of this.”
“No,” Orchid agreed. “It’s not what I came here for.”
<
br /> “Then what did you come here for?”
“Uh, school?”
Scarlett was nonplussed. “You didn’t need to come all the way from California for school, and you know it.”
Orchid turned her face to the window, to the bleak, gray disaster beyond the glass. “When it started, I guess I just wanted to get away. A different life. It doesn’t get much different from Los Angeles than rural Maine.” A boarding school in rural Maine, where the popular kids were the ones who knew the most mathematical proofs. The whole idea had been stranger than fiction.
But what she’d really cherished—as weeks turned into months, and then years; as she watched the seasons change and her mind expand, even in her new, contracted identity—was how safe she felt. No more feeling like the walls were collapsing on her as she slept, or like eyes were staring at her every time she turned around.
No one knew her at Blackbrook. Orchid McKee was the role of a lifetime, and she loved it, mostly because not a single soul was watching.
At least, not until a few days ago. Not until the letter she’d gotten, right before the storm hit.
She thought she’d been safe when she’d heard that the bridge was closed, that the town was being evacuated. Her fortress remained, even abandoned.
But what if the person who was coming for her had already arrived? He’d said he’d see her soon. As the storm had gotten worse, and everyone around her despaired, Orchid had only breathed a sigh of relief. That was, until she’d found the headmaster stabbed to death, and everyone else in the house had spent hours arguing over whether it was a looter or, inexplicably, one of their own.
Every time Orchid contemplated the likelihood that it was neither, the sensation came back. The topsy-turvy one she thought had vanished along with her previous life. And beside it, all the enmity she’d felt for the girl across the window seat seemed petty and small. Scarlett, who she knew quite well could spot an enemy at fifty paces. Scarlett, who held a grudge like a battle-ax. Scarlett, who Orchid had thought she had pegged—but maybe she didn’t know her housemate any better than she knew Vaughn, or herself.
If anyone in the house was determined and ambitious enough to out-stalk a stalker, it was Scarlett. And all Orchid would have to do was tell the biggest gossip at Blackbrook her deepest, darkest secret.
“Here’s my fear,” Orchid said softly. “What if it was an intruder, but not a looter? What if they were here looking to do harm to Headmaster Boddy . . . or someone else?”
“Like who?”
Orchid took a deep breath. Her mouth fought opening, but she forced the matter. It was time.
“Like me.”
20
Scarlett
Scarlett was still speechless when Mrs. White came to call them for dinner.
Scarlett Mistry was never speechless. She was quick on her feet, with a sharp brain and a sharper tongue. She sent lesser mean girls packing, made queen bees shake in their hives, and ensured that not a single thing ever happened on this campus without her knowing about it.
At least, that’s what she’d always thought.
Today had been very confusing.
First there was Finn—her sweet, sneaky, spirited scientist—who, it turned out, had even been sneaking around on her. She’d never have expected it. Possibly she had trained him too well.
But she didn’t have time to think about that now. For no sooner had she been rocked by the realization that her best friend was lying to her, that she discovered that there were even deeper deceptions occurring right under her nose.
Like how her housemate was secretly a missing Hollywood movie star.
Honestly, was she losing her touch?
Scarlett had grilled Orchid—Emily?—Orchily?—for details about her life before she’d decided to change her name and move to Maine, but the girl was as frustratingly tight-lipped about that as she’d been about . . . well, anything. Ever. It wasn’t like they’d been close before the storm had stranded them all in Tudor House with no power and no distractions. And Scarlett had the distinct impression that Orchid was only coming to her now out of sheer desperation.
Honestly, her story was no wilder than the idea that one of their classmates had murdered the headmaster. Scarlett’s mousy, unassuming neighbor was really a movie star, and she had a stalker who had been writing her menacing letters, and now there was a dead body in the conservatory. Scarlett didn’t even need a calculator to do that math.
“Coming?” Orchid asked as she stood to leave the study.
“Yeah,” Scarlett said, still distracted by the notion that anyone would willingly relinquish their hard-earned fame. Well, stalker aside. Like, hire some bodyguards, you know? Why give up being a celebrity?
“Scarlett, you know you can’t tell anyone. It’ll only cause more problems.”
“Right. Right.”
“I’m serious. No one.”
Scarlett fixed her with a look. “Orchid McKee, I am known throughout Blackbrook for my exquisite sense of discretion.”
But she was clearly not as good an actress as the girl across from her. “If you mean that you always know what items of gossip to keep until they are the most personally profitable, then yes, you are.”
Scarlett considered this. “That’s actually the perfect way to put it, thank you.”
“You’re only welcome if you agree with me that this is not fodder for your whisper campaigns.”
Oh, no. Definitely not. She was going to allow Orchid to pay her back in a way that was far more personally profitable than that.
She just had to find some other way to convince everyone else in the house that the “looter” theory was still a go. That there was some intruder, either in the house or stuck with them on campus, who might cause them harm if they didn’t stick together.
Of course, if this stalker of Orchid’s was willing to stab Headmaster Boddy to get to his target, why didn’t he just finish the job last night, when Orchid was alone in her room? Scarlett would have to figure that out, too, but meanwhile, she was going to stay as close as possible to her new bestie.
Darling, lost, desperate Orchily McPryce.
How delicious.
“I swear to you,” Scarlett said in the most earnest tone she could muster, “I will never reveal your true identity to anyone without your permission.”
Orchid looked taken aback. “You know, I almost believe you.”
Scarlett smiled. “High praise indeed.”
On the way into the dining room, they saw Finn and Mustard crossing the hall from the billiards room, and Scarlett did her best to ignore them.
“Scarlett,” said Finn. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Go ahead,” said Orchid. “I’m going to see if Vaughn wants dinner.” She lifted her lantern and headed toward the library.
“I’ll save you a seat!” Scarlett called to Orchid’s back. She even walked like a movie star. How had Scarlett never noticed it before? She might be seriously losing her touch.
Or maybe it was just being so disconnected from everything these past two days. No phone, no internet, no video game consoles or texts or checking the latest stats. It was beyond boring, but perhaps also it had recalibrated her observational skills. No, most human beings did not walk like that. At least not ones who weren’t gunning to make top social media influencer status.
“Scarlett,” Finn said again.
“I heard you,” she replied with a scowl. Mustard, already halfway to the dining room, paused and turned back, a curious expression on his face. Finn waved him on. “I’m not in the mood to talk to you right now.”
“What did you get out of Beth?”
“What did I get?” Scarlett asked, affronted. “You tell me, Finn. You seem to know a lot more about what’s going on here than I do.” Or, rather, than he used to. Now she had the scoop of the school.
“Don’t be like that,” he coaxed. He batted his eyelashes. “I already told you that I’m sorry. And I’ll tell you anything you want to
know.”
Too little too late. “How could I possibly trust you right now?”
“I’ve been working on Mustard.”
Scarlett frowned. Well, that was just unfair to tease her. But no, she wouldn’t be swayed by his obvious temptations. He’d lied to her. And he still hadn’t come clean. She crossed her arms and lifted her chin.
“You can start by telling me everything, including everything you found out about the new kid. Then I’ll see whether I’m ready to forgive you or not.”
“That’s hardly fair.”
“Who is hardly fair?”
“What if I tell you everything and you decide to take it and run? I know you, Scarlett. I know what you’re like.”
“Huh,” she said flatly. “At least that makes one of us who knows the other.” And then she turned, marched into the candlelit dining room, and took a seat next to Peacock. That would show him.
“I’m starving,” said Peacock. “I really hope there’s real food tonight.”
Finn trailed in. Peacock bared her teeth and he found a chair in the farthest corner. Karlee and Kayla were seated on either side of Mustard already. Orchid came in alongside Vaughn, chatting softly.
“Orchid!” Scarlett called, waving. She motioned to the empty seat next to her.
Orchid cast a quick—possibly regretful—glance at Vaughn and sat down beside her. She’d been defending him earlier, too. Scarlett would have to keep an eye on that. Vaughn took the final seat, beside Finn. Good riddance to both of them.
Mrs. White entered with dinner, which was ham, baked beans, and the last of the vegetable soup. “Don’t worry, Scarlett,” she said as she passed the crock over. “The beans, potatoes, and salad are vegetarian.”
“Thank you, Mrs. White,” Scarlett replied sweetly. She helped herself to beans. Mrs. White had been very accommodating of her diet since she’d moved into Tudor House and had related that several of her own friends had been vegan back in the seventies, so she was more than happy to cook with that in mind.
There was a murmur of thank-yous around the table.
“I know this has not been an easy day for you kids,” Mrs. White said. “And I can’t imagine it’ll be an easy night, either. I want to thank you for keeping calm in the face of these overwhelming odds. With any luck, by tomorrow morning the authorities will be here and this whole nightmare will be over.”
In the Hall with the Knife Page 15
