“His computer was in his office?” Mustard asked. So it had never been stolen at all.
Wait, of course not. Mrs. White was the person who’d said they’d been robbed. She was the origin of the whole looter theory. Mustard looked at the little old woman, sitting primly in the chair, her hands folded over the folds of her broomstick skirt.
They’d better double-check those knots.
“What were you doing on Boddy’s computer, anyway?” Scarlett asked. “I never got a chance to ask before.”
Plum averted his eyes. “We were trying to connect to the internet.”
But Scarlett could pinpoint her friend’s evasions as well as Mustard now could. “Yeah, right.”
Plum groaned. “I’ll tell you later, okay?”
“You’d better.”
Those two seemed to have buried the hatchet, though Mustard wasn’t entirely sure that was a good thing, for the school or the world.
“Peacock wants to talk to you,” Scarlett said to Mustard. “I think she’s waiting to apologize.”
“Let her wait,” Mustard replied coldly. He’d let Plum convince him that Peacock wasn’t violent. Maybe she hadn’t murdered Boddy, but she’d almost killed Mustard. He’d clearly underestimated the women at Blackbrook, to his detriment. They weren’t gentle or helpless, or even very cunning.
But they did pack one hell of a punch. Whatever he’d been taught at Farthing, it was all wrong.
Scarlett turned to their prisoner. “Mrs. White, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about your house. I love it here, too, and I think what the administration is trying to do sucks.”
“Thank you, dear. It hardly matters now.” Mrs. White’s clasped hands got even tighter.
“Well, it’s not gone yet. I don’t know how Boddy thought he was just going to do this without an outcry from the student body . . .”
“That’s probably why he kept the plans a secret,” Plum broke in.
Scarlett clucked her tongue. “I wish you’d told me, Mrs. White, rather than resort to such drastic measures. I do know a little about this field. I could have helped.”
“I wish that, too,” said Mrs. White. “And I should probably stop talking now, for . . . evidence reasons.”
“I’m not a cop,” said Mustard.
“No,” Scarlett pointed out. “You’re a witness.”
Mustard didn’t deign to respond to that. Scarlett could comfort the killer as much as she wanted. Didn’t make Mrs. White any less of a murderer.
Mrs. White was more talkative when Vaughn came in the room half an hour later with a shawl he’d rescued from Mrs. White’s bedroom and a bag of chocolate-covered espresso beans from Orchid, for Mustard.
“In case you were getting sick of coffee,” he said, handing Mustard the bag. “I’m happy to take over for an hour or two. If you want to sleep.”
“That’s all right,” said Mustard. It would not be his first all-night watch duty. Though it might be the first he’d attempted under the effects of sleeping drugs and a head injury. “Although, if you could watch her for a minute while I go to the bathroom?”
“Careful, Mr. Maestor,” Mrs. White drawled. “I bet you aren’t aware I’ve known Vaughn since he was born. I was his mother’s godmother. He might assist me in becoming a fugitive from justice.”
Mustard looked at Vaughn.
Vaughn rolled his eyes. “I’m not the criminal in the family. Trust me.”
Mustard didn’t entirely, but he also thought it would be a risky move for the other kid to take, since, if Vaughn did let Mrs. White go, everyone would know who was to blame. He limped down the hall to the toilet, and when he got back, it was to find Vaughn situating some more cushions around their prisoner’s thin frame and wrapping her shawl around her shoulders.
“I don’t understand,” he was saying softly. Neither of them noticed Mustard standing at the door. He leaned against the jamb and listened.
“Neither do I, Vaughny,” she replied. “It all happened so fast. I don’t think— I don’t think I meant to hurt anyone, really. I had the knife—just in case. And then when Brian told me about the house . . . ” she trailed off. “I just panicked. Everything today was me panicking. Olivia would be so disappointed in me.”
Vaughn looked down at her and sighed. “Gemma wouldn’t judge you.”
“She would so! My temper, getting me into trouble again. Getting me into the worst trouble of all. She never lost her temper like that. Always said revenge was a dish best served cold.”
“Yeah,” Vaughn scoffed. “Cold as ice. She never did get around to that revenge of hers.”
“That’s okay,” said Mrs. White. She patted Vaughn’s hand. “Someone else will. And they’ll do it right. Not like me.”
Vaughn suddenly noticed Mustard’s presence and stiffened. “The offer still stands, you know,” Vaughn told him, as Mustard entered the room. “You look like you’re about to pass out. We can take shifts.”
“I don’t think so,” replied Mustard. Not after that little exchange. Bad enough the two were old friends from Rocky Point.
“Suit yourself.” Vaughn leaned over and kissed Mrs. White on the cheek. “I’ll find a way to help you with your defense, Linda. I promise.”
“Don’t you dare,” Mrs. White responded. “You graduate Blackbrook and you get out of this town, Vaughn Green. Get out before it swallows you whole.”
Vaughn didn’t respond.
When they were alone again, Mustard couldn’t help but bring it up. “So you killed him in the heat of the moment?”
Mrs. White lifted her chin. “You’re neither a cop nor my lawyer, young man. And I’d be interested to know if this trick you’ve pulled with the rope might count as kidnapping.”
“Well, you’d know best about kidnapping,” he replied.
Silence reigned in the study for several minutes.
Finally, Mrs. White spoke again. “I suppose the others won’t be by to see me.”
“What others?” Mustard responded. “The ones you tied up and hit over the head or the one you pulled a knife on?”
“Orchid and I got on famously,” Mrs. White said. “Just this afternoon we were going through my photo albums and talking about the good old days at Tudor House.”
And then the old woman had pulled a knife on her and confessed to a murder. Tended to put a damper on even the most promising of relationships.
“I thought she might understand how important this place has been to me. It’s been my refuge.”
“Where did you get the knives from?” Mustard asked.
She shrugged. “I’ve had them forever. My friend and I found them down here when we were young. I had one on me last night for protection. I was worried about looters, you see.” Her eyes filled with tears that glistened in the dying light of the fire. “I was only trying to protect my charges.”
And then she bowed her head and wept. Mustard, too, felt an oddly powerful desire to comfort her, but what kind of comfort could he offer? She was a murderer, a criminal, and she knew what was coming for her.
In a similar way, Mustard knew what it was like to spend the night alone, waiting for the authorities to come and decide your fate. Not even kind words from a stranger made a difference in those moments. Tears were a sort of release.
So he sat in silence and let her cry. It went on and on as the fire burned down to embers, and not even Orchid’s chocolate-covered espresso beans could make a difference.
When next he jerked awake, the grate was cold, Mrs. White was asleep, her head nodded forward in her chair, and there was the gray, dead light of dawn pushing through the corners of the drapes.
More than that, he heard the sound of voices coming from outside.
He leaped from the chair, ignoring the pounding in his head, and ran for the front door. He undid the lock and opened it wide.
Two police officers stood on the front porch in foul-weather gear and waders. They introduced themselves, and then the female one said, “We got a report fro
m a Blackbrook staff member that there’s been a death in this house. Are there any adults in the house we can speak to?”
Mustard heard the others coming up behind him. “There’s one adult in the house, Officer, but I feel I should warn you, she’s confessed to the murder.”
“Murder!” exclaimed the officer. She looked disbelievingly at her partner.
Mustard cast a quick glance behind him. Plum stood there, and Scarlett and Orchid and Peacock and Vaughn Green. Karlee and Kayla must still be asleep.
But it was over.
“Yes,” said Mustard. “Headmaster Boddy was murdered by Mrs. White. In the hall, with a knife.”
28
Peacock
— EP WORKOUT LOG—
DATE: December 8
TIME WOKE: 6:00 a.m.
MORNING WEIGH-IN: 144 lbs
BREAKFAST: Oatmeal with strawberries, bananas, almond butter (450 calories, 10g protein), matcha green tea
LUNCH: Grilled chicken salad with 1 cup brown rice with hemp and chia seeds (700 calories, 35g protein), lemon water
AFTERNOON SNACK: Apple (100 calories), 4 dried figs (84 calories), 1 serving salted almonds (160 calories, 6g protein)
DINNER: Zucchini noodle lasagna with ground turkey and a fresh salad (750 calories, 40g protein), small dish of lemon sorbet (60 calories)
MORNING WORKOUT: Cardio (Zumba), and 2 miles on treadmill
AFTERNOON WORKOUT: 2 hours court time
EVENING WORKOUT: 1/2 hr Pilates and 1/2 hr strength training
NOTES: It’s so nice to be back to a normal schedule. Mom and Dad made sure we didn’t have to stay in that crummy police station any longer than absolutely necessary. And Finn made sure I have nothing else to worry about, either.
I guess I can forgive him.
My backhand has suffered, probably due to muscle mass lost during the storm. I need to up my court time over break.
29
Green
Vaughn wasn’t sure why they couldn’t just stay in Tudor House. Sure, it was a crime scene, and the power was still out across the entire penninsula of Rocky Point, but the crowded, cold police station back on the mainland was no nicer. Especially after the ride across the frozen, choppy bay in the police boats, which was the equivalent of getting slapped in the face with icicles for half an hour.
The police were rather stunned by the story the students had to tell about the previous day, but as Mrs. White readily confessed to the entire thing, the cops quickly gathered that it was best to shunt the children out of the way before the minor scandal turned into something major.
Karlee, Kayla, and Mustard were briefly taken to the hospital to get treated for their injuries, and then they came back to the police station as the cops questioned all of them about the events in the house. Pretty cursory questioning, too, in Vaughn’s opinion, but he supposed they had a willing confessor and not much reason for serious digging.
Thank goodness for small favors. He shuddered to think what would happen if they started comparing notes about his behavior over the weekend.
After that, before Vaughn even realized what was happening, everyone’s parents showed up to whisk their kids away in town cars and—in Scarlett and Finn’s case—a Mistry Hotels helicopter. Local law enforcement didn’t seem particularly interested in making them stick around, especially given the weather disaster they were also dealing with, as well as the prestigious positions held by most of the students’ parents.
Blackbrook kids could bend even murder to fit into their schedules.
The last to go was Orchid, who was the only one, out of all the kids—besides himself, of course—who didn’t have either a parent or a lawyer—or both—to meet her at the police station.
“Where are your folks?” he asked her.
“On safari in Africa,” she replied smoothly, then stopped, biting her lip. She took off her crooked glasses and folded the lenses, giving them a rueful look. “Actually, I don’t know who my father is, and I don’t really speak to my mom about anything other than money. So . . .” She lifted her shoulders. “They might actually be in Africa. Or maybe on a trip to the moon. Who knows?”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Families are complicated, right?”
“Yeah,” she replied. “And I’ve been lying about mine for so long it’s second nature.”
Vaughn caught his breath. His heart pounded in rhythm: Me too. Me too.
She hesitated for a moment, then looked up at him, her bright blue eyes shining fiercely. “The truth is, I’ve been emancipated since I was twelve. I’ve got no one looking out for me.”
Vaughn was struck with two equally powerful sensations: sympathy and envy. “I—I don’t know what to say.”
She laughed mirthlessly. “Neither do I, Vaughn. Sometimes I think all I ever do is lie about who I am, and where I’m from. But I’m beginning to think that’s no way to become the person I really want to be. I think I need to start telling the truth.”
Vaughn could definitely see the benefits of that. Only, he had no idea where to start.
He walked her out to her waiting town car. “I guess I won’t be seeing you next semester, huh?”
“Why?”
“You’re joking. You’re not coming back to Blackbrook!” He was astonished. “After all that’s happened? The murder and everything?”
“Blackbrook is my school!” she protested. “‘To make men of knowledge and integrity,’ remember?!”
Yeah, but Orchid could transfer to anywhere. Vaughn had no other option. “I just figured . . .”
“You figured wrong. As bad as everything was, I was actually kind of relieved at how it turned out.”
Vaughn didn’t follow. “You mean how you have been living with a”—he stumbled over the word—“murderer all year?” He still had a hard time imagining that Linda White could kill anyone.
Even though you were all too quick to believe it of Oliver.
But Oliver had been threatening revenge on Blackbrook since the beginning. There’d been a corpse. There’d been that knife.
He’s still your brother.
The thought did not do anything to put him at ease. Not after learning what Linda White was apparently capable of. Vaughn hadn’t slept at all last night. Wasn’t sure he ever could again.
“Yes,” she admitted. “Because at least this death didn’t have anything to do with me.”
He remembered the story she’d told him about her uncle, who had died protecting her from a speeding car. How lucky she was, to be able to think there was nothing you could have done to prevent this tragedy. Vaughn wasn’t quite there yet.
She went on. “I just have to get a few things sorted in my life and then I’ll be back. You can count on it.”
Her words hit him hard, and when he looked up at her face it was to see the hint of a smile. Vaughn had spent his life not counting on anything. At least, not on anything good.
“Besides,” she added, “I can’t run away every time something horrible happens. How many do-overs can a girl get?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “How many have you had already?”
Orchid just smiled, leaned in, and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Stay cool, Vaughn.”
No one had ever called him cool in his life.
“I’ll see you in history class.”
All the warmth fled, but he waited until the door shut behind her to mumble, “No, you won’t.”
History wasn’t Vaughn’s subject. It was Oliver’s.
After Orchid was gone, Vaughn sat around the police station on the mainland for hours, until someone realized he was there and arranged to have him sent back to Rocky Point on a patrol boat. More icicles stinging his face. He hadn’t changed his clothes since yesterday. He didn’t want to think too hard about what he must have smelled like when Orchid kissed his cheek.
Which was too bad, because that’s basically the only thing he was capable of thinking about the whole ride back.
Things at home
were about as awful as he’d expected. No power, no heat, and no water. His neighbors were all begging one another for spare firewood and canned food. He emptied out the pantry for them and then wondered where Oliver was hiding out.
He had a pretty good guess.
The bridge to the Blackbrook campus was still out, but Vaughn knew he could still get across the ravine at his secret place. He’d managed it yesterday. After crossing, he followed the edge of the ravine back to the road until he found what he was looking for.
The boat shed still clung to the side of the cliff, right by the entrance to campus. It must have flooded in the storm surge, but now it just stood there, as dingy and dilapidated as ever.
Scarlett had been right. It was an eyesore.
But Oliver would have killed before he let anyone tear it down.
Vaughn peeked through a crack. The inside was lined with spoils—from ages ago, and some new acquisitions his brother must have claimed after the storm. Oliver was in there smiling smugly and calculating the worth of his hoard, looking for all the world like a particularly sociopathic dragon.
Vaughn didn’t bother knocking on the ragged scrap of tin that served for a door.
“Ah,” he said, entering. “So there was a looter, after all.”
His brother looked up, and grunted. “Yeah. Too bad there wasn’t really a lockbox with thousands of dollars in it.” He tapped the corner of his bad eye in recognition of Vaughn’s handiwork.
The black eye hadn’t been Vaughn’s finest moment, but he was just a tiny bit pleased to see how swollen it had gotten since the previous day. Peacock wasn’t the only one who could throw a punch.
Plus, Oliver had hit him first. But Vaughn escaped with nothing more than a bloody nose, a small price to pay to ensure that Oliver wouldn’t be able to take his place in the house again.
“Look at all the trouble you caused,” Vaughn said.
Oliver looked affronted. “Me? You’re joking. I didn’t kill anyone.”
“You know very well what you did.” They’d almost torn each other apart, thanks to Oliver’s manipulations.
In the Hall with the Knife Page 21
