The Complete Private Collection: Private; Invitation Only; Untouchable; Confessions; Inner Circle; Legacy; Ambition; Revelation; Last Christmas; Paradise ... The Book of Spells; Ominous; Vengeance (73 page)

“It came up in the conversation,” Natasha said, lifting her shoulders. “What if it’s some kind of revenge thing? Like Mr. Pearson pissed somebody off somehow and now they’re, I don’t know, going after his kids. He’s a pretty powerful guy in business, you know. Guys like that have equally powerful enemies.”

“Sounds like you’re writing a
Law & Order
,” I told her.

“There’s a reason why their plots are always ‘ripped from the headlines,’” Natasha said, complete with air quotes. “When you think about it, it’s kind of a good thing—in a sick, really twisted way. If someone did take Blake, then that kind of clears Josh, doesn’t it? Since he’s in police custody and all.”

“Yeah. I guess it would.”

I plopped down in my desk chair, trying to digest all this information. Trying to make sense of any of it. Maybe it was because I didn’t grow up on the Upper East Side with all its alarm systems and bodyguards and whatever else they had, but I had a hard time believing that some pissed-off business associate of Mr. Pearson’s was picking off his children. Of course, maybe that was the type of thing that happened all the time in the lives of the rich and famous.

Still, I couldn’t shake the thought that Blake’s disappearance was somehow related to the meeting with him last night. It was too coincidental. He’d just been here, just been confronted with the truth. And he’d been so angry. So venomously angry. It couldn’t be a fluke. It had to mean something that he’d vanished so soon after he’d found out that his brother’s best friend and girlfriend knew he’d been on campus the night of Thomas’s murder. It had to mean something.

But what?

“Who cares? It’s just a couple of weeks and we were all going to be studying anyway. BFD,” Noelle said the next morning, tearing off a piece of her bagel.

I stared across the cafeteria at the faculty tables. Ms. Lewis-Hanneman sat like a statue in front of her untouched food, staring at nothing. A few pieces of hair had fallen out of her usually perfect bun and she wasn’t wearing any makeup. Her sweater was big and gray, the kind of thing you put on when you can’t be bothered, or when you need some comfort. She’d heard the news. Obviously. My heart went out to her. I knew exactly how she was feeling. Knew all the horrible things that were going through her mind. How she felt like she might never be able to move again. At that moment, I didn’t even care how awful she’d been to me in her office. I just felt for her.

Kiran sighed, looking down at the Sunday Style section of the
New York Times
. “Ever notice how much more appealing the outside world looks when you can’t go there?”

“Kiran, Noelle is trying to apologize,” Ariana scolded. She took a sip of her coffee and gazed over the cup at Kiran.

“I didn’t hear an ‘I’m sorry’ in there,” Natasha pointed out.

“She has her own way of apologizing,” Ariana replied.

“Excuse me! I don’t need anyone speaking for me, Ariana. Thanks,” Noelle snapped. Ariana lifted her eyebrows and went back to her breakfast.

Over at the faculty table, Mrs. Naylor, the guidance director, greeted Ms. Lewis-Hanneman with a “Good morning.” Ms. Lewis-Hanneman responded with a forced smile and nod, then went back to staring. She was so obviously desperate. I wondered if that was how I had looked when Thomas had gone missing.

But why didn’t she try harder to cover it up? Wasn’t her affair with Blake supposed to be a secret? I knew, God I knew, that it would be hard, but you’d think that she would at least try to act normal.

Cheyenne walked over with her tray of fruit salad and oatmeal and sat down at the far end of the next table, as always. Rose, London, and Vienna settled in around her. Apparently the Twin Cities had decided to defect back to their old locale. Noelle glared at them through narrowed eyes.

“Who the hell does Cheyenne think she is, anyway?” she said. “Her mother lives in Jersey, for God’s sake. She’s lucky she even got into Billings.”

“We’re all lucky we got into Billings,” Ariana said lightly.

“What is with you today? You sound like my mother,” Noelle said. “Even more so than usual.”

Ariana simply lifted her shoulders and stifled a smile. She did seem oddly chipper.

“I don’t know why you’re all so mad at me anyway,” Noelle continued. “I was just trying to help everyone have a little fun. Kiran set the whole thing up as much as I did. And you guys were all for it yesterday.”

“Uh, we weren’t,” Natasha pointed out, lifting her fork.

“Thanks for the update, Ann Curry. It’s duly noted,” Noelle snapped. She tore another chunk off her bagel and popped it in her mouth. “Well, at least I know Reed’s not mad at me.”

I yanked my gaze away from Ms. Lewis-Hanneman and looked at Noelle.

“Ah! So you
are
in there,” she said.

“I’m not mad at you?” I asked. Even though I wasn’t, not really. I couldn’t have cared less about groundings and thwarted outings just then. But I was curious as to why she thought so.

“Why would you be? You wanted to sit on your ass and do nothing, right?” Noelle said, her eyes sparkling. “Well, now you’ve got your wish!”

Just then the cafeteria door opened and Dash barreled in with Walt Whittaker at his heels. It had just started to snow when we arrived at the cafeteria, but now it must have been coming down. Their hair and shoulders were covered with snow, which Dash quickly brushed away, even as he made a beeline for our table. Walt, however, seemed content to let it melt and wet his hair.

“Did you hear?” Dash asked Noelle.

“Hear what?”

She leaned away from him, annoyed, as he pulled his scarf free and showered her with snow. Dash didn’t notice. He was too busy looking at me.

“Blake Pearson,” Dash said. “He disappeared.”

I told him with my eyes that I already knew. Wished he could tell me with his what he was thinking. But his glance in my direction was fleeting. Good move, probably, if he didn’t want his super-perceptive girlfriend asking questions.

“What? When?” Kiran asked.

Across the room, Ms. Lewis-Hanneman got up and grabbed her coat. I shoved my chair away from the table and quickly gathered my things as well.

“Ms. Brennan! Where do you think you’re going?” Mrs. Lattimer demanded. She was sitting at a nearby table today in order to keep an eye on us.

“To the library, Mrs. Lattimer,” I said as Ms. Lewis-Hanneman shoved through the far door. “I’m not hungry.”

“Ms. Brennan!” Lattimer called after me.

Utterly pointless. I had to talk to Ms. Lewis-Hanneman. If Lattimer wanted to stop me, she’d have to send Scat after me.

Outside, the campus was blanketed in white. The gray sky swirled with snow, dusting the benches and pathways and giving everything that peaceful, silent glow. It was like a photo out of the Easton catalog. Exactly the kind of picturesque scene that had made me salivate to attend this school. How could I have ever known how little opportunity I would have to appreciate such things? Instead of strolling through the grounds with my new friends, laughing on my way to some intriguing class to broaden my mind, I was chasing down the secret girlfriend of my dead boyfriend’s jerk brother. Put that in the catalog, Easton.

I shook my head and focused. There were more important things to do right now than dwell. Up ahead, Ms. Lewis-Hanneman speed-walked toward Hell Hall, her shoulders hunched, her hands tucked under her arms.

“Ms. Lewis-Hanneman!” I called out. She hesitated for a split second, then kept right on walking. “Wait up! Please?”

She ignored me. Nice try. I could run the forty in 5.75. I was by her side before she even made it to the steps.

“What do you want?” she asked. Her bare hand grasped the iron banister at the side of the stairs as she jogged up toward the door. Her fingers must have been like icicles. There were fresh tears on her face.

“I just wanted to see if you were okay,” I said.

“Thank you for your concern, Miss Brennan, but I’m fine,” she said flatly.

She yanked open the door to Hell Hall and I followed her into the lobby. The place was dark, quiet. Not much going on in these offices on a Sunday morning.

“Will you please stop following me?” Her voice was thick. She paused by the stairs to wipe under her eyes and bent slightly at the waist. I wanted to say something. Something to make her feel better. But I couldn’t think of a word. “God, this is ridiculous. I can’t stop crying,” she said to the ceiling, not to me.

“It’s okay.”

“No. It’s not. I don’t cry in front of people,” she said. “Especially not you.”

She shot me a glare and I realized how young she was. Maybe not high school young, but younger than most of the other adults around here. And she could have been a Billings Girl with that glare.

“What’s so bad about me?” I asked automatically.

“Do I really have to remind you that the last time we spoke you
were trying to blackmail me?” she asked sarcastically. “You don’t seriously think you’re going to, what, comfort me now?”

She crossed over to a bench near the wall and dropped down. Tears streamed silently down her face as she tipped her head back and breathed deliberately though her nose, trying to regain control. Her fists clenched and unclenched as she breathed, but still the tears came.

“I’m sorry. I forgot,” I said. “I didn’t know this was going to happen and I . . . was desperate.”

“Whatever.” She sniffled and wiped under her eyes again.

“So . . . you don’t have any idea where he is?” I asked.

“I’m not talking to you about this,” she protested.

“Why not? You have to talk to someone,” I said. “And I know exactly how you feel.”

She scoffed. “Please.”

I felt a white-hot surge of anger. How could she talk to me like that? Me of all people? “My boyfriend disappeared, too, remember?”

If possible, her face paled even further. I could only imagine she had no idea what to say. “I . . . that’s right, I—”

“Forgot,” I said. “I get it. Just don’t talk to me like I don’t know what’s going on.”

She stared at me for a long moment. I could see her reassessing me. Maybe respecting me.

“I just don’t understand this,” she said finally, shaking her head as fresh tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes. “Why is all this happening?”

I’ve asked myself that one ten billion times, lady.

“What do you think happened to him?” I asked.

“I have no idea,” she replied, pressing her fingertips into her forehead and closing her eyes. “I’ve tried everything. His e-mails, all the numbers he’s ever given me. It’s all voice mail.”

I took a deep breath. I knew I had to tell her. She had to know what I knew. Maybe it would help us figure this out. Maybe there was an answer in there somewhere. But I had a feeling it was not going to be pretty.

“I . . . um . . . I talked to him. To Blake,” I said.

Her head snapped up. “You did? When? Where—?”

“It was before he went missing,” I clarified.

She was on her feet again, practically trembling. “What did you say to him?” she asked, her eyes rimmed with red. She grasped the underside of my sleeves and held on. “Did you tell him the same thing you told me? Did you tell him you knew he was here that night?”

“Yeah, I did,” I replied.

“Oh God.” She buckled forward, like someone had kneed her in the gut, and sat down again. Her head hung between her knees and she rocked forward and back. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”

My throat was dry as sand. “What? What is it?”

She just kept shaking her head.

“Okay, you’re scaring me,” I said. “What is it?”

She looked up at me, pressing her hands into her thighs. The tears flowed freely as she continued to rock. I wondered if this
was what a psychotic break looked like. “I swear I have no idea where he is.”

“I’ve got that. What’s the matter?” I asked.

“It’s just . . . that night . . .”

My heart flipped up into my mouth as my knees lost all strength. I found myself, just like that, kneeling on the floor in front of her. My brain was so fogged through, I could barely see straight.

“What about that night?” I asked. “Ms. . . .
Cara
. What really happened that night?”

She took a deep breath through her nose, which was obviously clogged, and then it all came out with the air. “Josh walked in on us in the art cemetery. Blake got angry, of course. It was late. He thought we were safe. So he shouted at Josh. Asked him what the hell he was doing there so late. So Josh told him the truth. He said, ‘Your stupid brother’s on another one of his benders, so I had to come here to study.’ He said it with a laugh, poor kid. Like he was making some joke we were all in on. But Blake, he . . . he—”

“He didn’t think it was funny,” I stated.

“No.” She sniffed. “He basically lost it. He just shouted this stream of curses about Thomas and stormed out. He was so angry. . . .”

Oh my God. This was not happening.

“Where did he go?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she whimpered, tears filling her eyes. “I stayed there and did some work for the Boosters’ dinner, just hoping he’d come back. Josh stayed, too. I think he was worried about me being there alone. . . .”

That sounded like Josh. Ever the gentleman. Caring about everyone else. And now, because he’d cared about the wrong people that night, he was in jail.

“We left together a couple of hours later. Blake never came back,” Ms. Lewis-Hanneman said, a tear spilling over. I could feel her just aching to confess. “The truth is . . . the truth is . . .”

“What?” I asked, trying to keep my voice from sounding strained. “What’s the truth?”

She took a deep breath. Looked down at her hands. “The truth is, I have no idea where Blake was that night.”

I sat back, my butt hitting the cold marble floor. Before me, Ms. Lewis-Hanneman quietly wept into her hands. All the pieces started to fall together in my mind. How angry Blake was at Thomas. How that anger had been festering all his life. How Josh’s statement had clearly broken something inside of him. How he’d gone off in a rage. How there was no accounting for where he’d gone.