“No. We’d be delighted to have you.”
“Excellent. Now, there’s a little something I’ve been wanting to discuss with you. I’m sure you saw the new agenda item for the meeting tomorrow? A vast sum has been left to the endowment by Pearl George, class of ’42, who just passed away. But there’s a stipulation.”
“How vast a sum are we talking about?”
“One hundred and eighty million.”
“Holy cow. Seriously? That will push us over the billion-dollar mark. We’ll be at Exeter’s level. And how do you know about this?”
“Oh, you know how these things go. Little birds. I thought you’d want to know.”
“It’s fabulous news. What’s the stipulation?”
Jude sighs heavily. “The money is contingent on the school going coed.”
“You have to be kidding. An alum from that era wants a coed school?”
“Her husband inherited her estate, and he’s attached this condition.”
“Absolutely not. I will not bend on this matter. I will not allow Goode to go coed. It’s a shame, but we’ve turned down more before.”
She can hear the tick, tick, tick that signals her mother is flicking her nails against the table. “Here’s the thing, Ford. The alumni association wants the money. They want to surpass Exeter and Andover, you know that’s been on the ten-year plan.”
“The plan is to have an all-girls school at the top of the private school endowment list.”
“The goal, though, is to be first on the list. Goode could not only match but overtake Exeter with this bump.”
“No way, no how, Mother. I can’t believe they’ve sent you as their emissary on this. You, of all people, who drilled into me and anyone else who would listen the vital nature of an all-girls environment. You know we’ll lose more than we gain if we go coed. We’d lose every endowment that specified all-girls.”
“Actually, no, we won’t. There are ways to keep the system intact and still go coed. We’ve been—”
“‘We’? Who the hell is ‘we’?”
“Now, Ford, there’s no reason to get upset. The South needs a win. We must overtake the East Coast schools. This is our chance. The alumni—”
“You aren’t a part of the school anymore, Mother. And trust me, the board will not allow it. I’m shocked you’re even entertaining the thought.”
Jude sighs again. “The alumni association disagrees. Unlike the board, they haven’t cast me aside.”
The recrimination is clear.
“I just didn’t want you to be caught off guard, darling.”
“Thanks for the heads-up. I should go, I’ll need to prepare some numbers.”
“Do that. You’ll see how this can work. One more thing. I saw one of your girls in town today. She was talking to that boy. I trust you were informed?”
Oh, Mama, if you only knew. And fuck you, Rumi. You really could have given me a heads-up.
He’d met up with Ash? Neither of them had bothered to mention this.
“She’s already been disciplined. It won’t happen again.”
“If you don’t keep control of them, Ford, they will continue to walk all over you. I’ve told you time and again you’re much too loose with these girls.”
“No one is walking all over me. I handled it.”
“I see you still have that boy on staff. You would do well to get rid of him, Ford. No good will come of your charity.”
“Mother, this entire school was founded on charity for those who are in trouble. Rumi certainly counts. He wasn’t responsible for his father’s actions. He was only ten, for heaven’s sake. Why you’ve chosen him to blame when it was your negligence that got the girl killed astounds me. If you’d told the sheriff that Reynolds was harassing—”
Her mother’s voice is colder than ice. “How dare you? You listen to me, little girl. I most certainly did tell the sheriff. He chose not to do anything, which is why that idiot lost his job. Just like you took mine.”
Ford’s heard this all before. “It’s late. Do we have to do this now?”
“You started it, Ford. I suppose I’ll just go back to New York. You don’t want or need me. You’ve made that abundantly clear.”
“Wait, Mom,” but the call has ended, the phone is back to the home screen.
Since when does her mother speak for the alumni? There’s something bigger going on here.
Ford starts to dial Jude back, then changes her mind. She sends a text instead.
You could have warned me.
The reply comes almost immediately.
I gave you the strength to deal with her.
Strangely, she recognizes the truth in his statement. She’d gone into the call relaxed instead of tense and furious, her usual approach to her mother—and Jude to her. The bad blood between them is never going to be resolved. At least this argument has ended in passive-aggressive nonsense. No harm, no foul. What ridiculousness, to think of taking the money and going coed. It goes against everything Goode is.
Still, next time...a little heads-up would be nice. Also heard you met one of my girls today?
Three dots greet her. She waits. And waits. Then the screen clears, and there’s nothing. She shoots the rest of the whiskey.
“Thanks for nothing, Rumi.”
It takes ages to fall asleep, but she finally drifts off, only to be jerked awake by a scream, loud and piercing, over before her heart beats again.
The concussion carries, sounding for all the world like a cantaloupe dropped from a height. Whump. It is a sickening noise, and Ford, not knowing exactly what she’s heard but fearing the worst, is out the door and sprinting toward Main Hall before the glass she is holding crashes to the flagstone tiles.
38
THE STORIES
She fell.
She jumped.
She was thrown.
Boo. Hoo.
She was a bitch.
39
THE BODY
The body is small, broken. The nearest lamppost shows this, but nothing more, not the face, not the identity, not the cause of the fall.
Blood. So much blood.
Ford is shouting, she can hear herself, shocked at how together she sounds even when the voices inside her are wailing, gnashing, this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, but aloud, she’s giving instructions.
“Call 911, immediately!”
She realizes she’s screaming to the ether, to the air. No one is here but the dead girl and her headmistress. Ford looks up at the bell tower, assessing the drop. A hundred feet, more.
Wait.
A shadow, is that a shadow, lurking at the edge of the precipice?
It is gone as quickly as she thinks she’s seen it, and she turns her attention to the girl at her feet. Feels for a pulse. There is nothing.
Her phone. She has her phone. She dials, hands shaking. There is blood on the screen.
“911, what is your emergency?”
“This is Dean Westhaven at The Goode School. One of the girls has fallen, we need an ambulance.”
“Can you tell me the nature of the fall?”
Ford looks up again at the darkness above.
“From the bell tower. She fell from the bell tower.”
* * *
It doesn’t take long for the crowd to form. Girls are hanging out of the windows, rushing down the stairs, squealing in the dark.
Dr. Viridian, the chemistry teacher, hurries out of Old East Hall pulling a robe around her bony shoulders. She’s been at the school for decades, taught Ford herself.
“Dean? What’s happened? Oh, my God, who is that?”
“I don’t know yet. I don’t want to roll her. Keep the girls away.”
“Someone needs to open the gate.” This from Dr. Medea, who is on du
ty in Old West. He is kneeling next to the girl now.
“Yes. Don’t touch her, Dominic. I think... I think I saw someone up in the bell tower. There may be evidence.”
Ford calls Security. Erik Peters, the head guard, answers. “I’m on my rounds, Dean. What’s the matter?”
“Open the gates.”
“It’s late, I’m—”
“Open them! Right now.” The wail of the siren brings cold comfort to her.
“Is that a siren?” Erik asks.
“Erik. Open the gates. Meet the ambulance and guide them to the back of Main.”
“Holy shit. Okay, I’m doing it right now.”
Medea and Viridian are whispering to each other, and she sees them start corralling the girls, pushing them back, instructing them to return to their rooms.
Ford tries to shield the body from the prying eyes of the students and teachers who are figuring out what’s happened, arms wide like a falcon over her prey. Small screams and yells break the night air.
Asolo appears, blinking sleep from her eyes. She rushes to Ford’s side, peers down at the lump at her feet.
“What’s happened? What’s happened? Oh, my God, is that Camille Shannon?”
Ford realizes, yes, it is Camille. Sweet little Camille, sophomore.
Ash Carlisle’s roommate.
“Fuck!”
“Ford, I don’t think that sort of language—”
“Go help Dominic and Phyllis. Get all the girls inside, immediately. We need to clear this area. Do a head count. I want everyone accounted for.” Asolo nods and turns, but Ford catches her elbow. “And find Ash Carlisle. Now.”
Asolo is wiping away tears. She casts a last glance at the crumpled form on the ground. “I will.”
Two fire trucks pull into the grounds, their massive gears grinding. A moment later, an ambulance blows past Peters’s golf cart, and the scene is suddenly packed with people.
Ford is moved to the side as the first responders work on the girl. Queries and statements begin.
“Did you see her fall?”
“Did you touch anything?”
“I can’t get a BP here...”
The sheriff arrives, two deputies on his trail. Ford sees a woman in jeans and a leather jacket, short blond hair and piercing dark eyes, looking like she rolled out of bed, with them.
Who is this? The sheriff’s latest floozy?
The EMTs cease their ministrations. A yellow sheet is placed over the body of Camille Shannon, and Ford realizes she’s going to have to make a very difficult phone call.
This can’t be happening, and yet it is.
Ford’s phone rings. It’s Asolo.
“Ash is in her room. She was asleep, sound asleep. Smells like she’s been drinking, she’s a little giggly, too. I heard some goings-on earlier, I think there was a tap tonight.”
“Ivy Bound?”
“If I had to guess, yes. It’s the right time in the term.”
“Oh, just what we need. How many of our students were out of bed tonight? Damn it all,” Ford exclaims. “Sober her up. Fast. The sheriff is going to want to talk to her and we can hardly afford to have them questioning her if she’s drunk.”
“I wonder if Camille was a part of the tap and it went wrong?”
“Don’t even say it. Get Becca Curtis, too. I don’t know if she’s running Ivy Bound, but it stands to reason she’d inherit the title. She’s my bet. Get both of them to my attic office and keep them there until I arrive. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Dean. I’m on it.” The phone goes dead. Out of the corner of her eye, Ford sees Rumi, standing nearly behind a tree. The look on his face is one of horror, the blue-and-white flashing of the sheriff’s light bar washing him out. He looks like a ghost. A wraith. And then she blinks, and he is gone, disappearing back into the woods.
She feels disloyal even thinking it.
Where was he when Camille fell?
40
THE PIECES
“Dean Westhaven?”
Sheriff Anthony Wood is waving to her. Ford drags her eyes away from the blank spot where her young lover stood, straightens.
“Sheriff.” She can barely speak the word.
“Do you know what happened?”
“I don’t. I was in my cabin working when I heard the scream. By the time I got here, she was gone.”
“Have you been drinking, Dean?”
“Are there laws against it?”
“I suppose you know we’re going to have to have a chat.”
“We should, yes. My office? Right now? I need to wash my hands.”
Camille’s blood is on her hands, her phone. God knows where else. She can’t wait to get away from the body. She needs to get her shit together, stall the sheriff long enough to get Ash sober—Becca, too, probably.
The woman in plainclothes joins them, glances at the sheet-covered body dispassionately. “Who’s the deceased?”
Ford deliberately ignores her. “Sheriff, let’s go inside.”
“Dean, this is Kate Wood. My niece. She’s here visiting.”
“Oh. I thought—”
“I’m with Charlottesville PD. Homicide.”
“How are you enjoying Marchburg?” Ford sounds inane, and hiccups back a tiny sob. “I’m sorry. This is all so terrible. To lose a student like this... Truly, Sheriff, may we?” She points to the back door of Main Hall, and he nods, following her up the back steps.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” his niece says. Those dark eyes are cool, shrewd, and Ford squirms a bit under her attention. They’re probably the same age, but Ford has the distinct feeling she is being judged and found lacking. She draws herself up to her full five feet six, squares her shoulders. Their footsteps echo on the tiles.
Her office is quiet, and she gestures for the sheriff to enter. “Have a seat. I’ll be right in. I just need to wash.”
Her bathroom is attached to the office, and she shuts the door with a shaking hand, starts running the water immediately.
Holy shit. Holy shit. What is she going to do? How in the world did Camille end up in the bell tower, how did she fall, and who, or what, had Ford seen up there?
The water is too hot but she doesn’t care, she needs the blood off. She scrubs and scrubs and scrubs until her hands are raw.
Finally, knuckles stinging, she makes her way to her desk. The sheriff is on his phone but puts it away the moment he sees her approach.
“They’re going to take her to Charlottesville for autopsy. You say she’s a sophomore?”
“Autopsy? Is that entirely necessary? We’ll need to get the parents’ permission, and we haven’t even told them she’s dead. Oh, my God. This is a nightmare.”
“It’s necessary. We have to find out what happened, and we don’t have the capabilities here, you know that. We always send our bodies to Charlottesville. Now, this sophomore, Camille Shannon. Who’s her daddy?”
Ford bristles—though this is the truth of things, all the girls here are “someone’s” daughter.
“Her father is the US ambassador to Turkey. Her mother is a lawyer in DC. They’re divorced but it’s amicable. Her mother remarried recently.”
“Oh, great. Had to be a politico.”
“Tony, really. I have to call her parents. Her mother first, she’s custodial, but the father, too.”
“We usually like to have local police do the notification. Where is the mom exactly?”
“Northern Virginia. Falls Church.”
“I have a friend in Fairfax County. I can give him a ring. They’ll have a chaplain on call who can go to the house.”
“I really think she should hear it from me. I am responsible. Camille is my—”
Tony puts his hands on her desk, leans toward her. “Listen, Ford. There’s proto
col. Let us follow it.”
“She’s my student, and I want to be the one to tell her mother I’ve failed her.”
“You’re being noble, and I appreciate that. But it’s really something best left to the professionals. Once they’ve broken the news, they’ll let us know and we’ll get you on the phone with her. All right?”
Ford nods, rubs her temples. “I don’t know what happened, Tony. I heard a scream and heard her hit the ground... I rushed out of my cottage, found her lying on the concrete. She was dead before I got here.”
“Oh, yeah, she went splat all right.”
Ford feels her face flush, and the sheriff stammers out an apology.
“Sorry, Ford. That was inappropriate. Was she having problems? Fighting with anyone?”
“Not that I know of.”
“If you weren’t aware of anything, we should probably check with the nurse, too. See if she confided in her that she was feeling suicidal.”
“You think she jumped?”
“You think she was pushed?”
Ford settles deeper into her chair. “I hadn’t thought it through, to be honest. I haven’t gotten past the pool of blood. And the noise when she landed... Tony, she’s just a child.”
Her phone rings. A quick glance showed the very last number she could possibly want to see at the moment. She clicks Decline, feels the phone shimmy a moment later to let her know she’s received a message. Yes, Mother. I’ll get back to you.
A knock sounds and Ford looks up to see Tony’s niece standing in the door.
“Come in.”
“We’re just discussing whether she jumped or was pushed,” the sheriff says.
“She could have fallen, too,” Kate says. “It doesn’t always have to be diabolical, you know, Uncle Tony.” To Ford, “Do you have any idea what she was doing up there? Your security says it’s always locked.”
“I don’t know. Erik’s right, the bell tower is always locked. It’s too old to let people roam around up there, we’re very careful to keep it off-limits. The bells are controlled from the outer office here. It’s all computerized. There’s no reason for anyone to be up there.”
Good Girls Lie Page 16