With Unnamed Heir
Becca watches me, waiting to see how I will respond. If I hadn’t just spent half an hour with the solicitor from my father’s estate, I would have reacted, but now, I’m numb.
I crumple the paper into a ball and throw it on the ground. “I’m aware. I appreciate your concern, Becca, I do.”
A flash of stormy green. “Mistress.”
“I appreciate your concern. Mistress.”
“That’s better.” She picks up the printout, smooths the wrinkles, puts it back in the folder. Smiles and hangs an arm around my shoulder. Whispers in my ear, fire in her hissing, fingers digging into my bones: “Don’t think this changes anything, Swallow. Your little melodrama means nothing to me. Now go get my mail and have it back to my room within five minutes or you’ll regret you were ever born and never get to meet the other Carr baby.”
She saunters off. So silly of me to think she actually cares. Becca is cruelty personified. She is the paper’s edge that slices open unsuspecting fingers, the pin buried in a shirt’s collar, the tiny triangle of glass you step on crossing the kitchen floor.
Cruel. Bloodthirsty. But an annoyance.
I have bigger issues.
* * *
The mail room is actually a place I like. It’s in the basement of Old East, and there’s a small, private courtyard outside the glass doors with a bronze sundial in the middle of a circular garden. It’s a pleasant spot. Many of the girls read their mail there, complain about the grades they’ve received. The teachers also put their graded papers and homework in the slots, folded lengthwise so they’ll fit the narrow berths. They have no locks on the front—this school runs on the honor system, there’s no reason to try to keep the mail under lock and key.
My box is always empty outside of schoolwork. The other girls get things all the time—care packages from their parents, boxes shipped with cookies and sweatshirts and new shoes. I only receive school-related material. I haven’t received any mail from the outside since I arrived. I rarely check it, only when I’m expecting graded work.
But after I grab Becca’s mail, something compels me to move to the other side of the room, to my own box.
The note is folded lengthwise, like a paper.
I pull it out, open it. There is only one sentence, in the middle of the page. The words are typed, all caps. I read it. Sweat breaks out on my forehead, and my vision goes spotty.
Six words. Six words and my entire world unravels.
SHE IS GOING TO EXPOSE YOU
64
THE INVESTIGATION
Kate and Tony are sharing a pizza and a couple of beers. Kate has been running him through everything she’s managed to dig up, the photo, the case file from New Scotland Yard.
“Who do you think this girl is?” Tony asks.
“Everything about Ashlyn Carr, aka Ash Carlisle, feels odd to me. It could be my imagination. I’m going off a single photograph of a painting that’s who knows how old. I can’t find any other pictures of the whole family online, not of Ash herself. You always told me not to ignore my instincts. Well, they’re on fire.”
“She’s a kid. Could a kid pull off a scam of this magnitude?”
“I don’t know. I may be totally off base. But I think there is more to this story than we’re seeing. A known teetotaler suddenly overdoses, and the wife, who has been publicly humiliated by the recent exposure of an affair, is so grief stricken upon finding him dead that she shoots herself? I’m not knocking the Met’s investigation. The circumstances would raise red flags for me regardless. At the very least, it looks like a murder-suicide. At worst...”
“You think their daughter did it? Kate. Maybe this suspension is the vacation you didn’t know you needed.”
She laughs. “It’s seriously screwed up, I know.”
“No kidding. Okay. Let me play devil’s advocate. Say you’re right. Say the girl’s an impostor. That she has a dark past. How could she fool all these people? And more important, if she’s an impostor, what happened to the real Ashlyn Carlisle?”
“After Scotland Yard talked to her, and the funerals? That’s one hell of a good question. Everything we have says she came to America, enrolled at The Goode School, and is living quietly in Marchburg under the watchful eye of Dean Westhaven.”
“Except she’s not living so quietly.”
“Right. Her roommate is dead, and things are hinky with that. A teacher died, too. Westhaven hasn’t brought it up, has she?”
Tony sets down his beer. “I knew a teacher died the first week of classes. Anaphylaxis. She had a tree nut allergy. How is that relevant?”
“She was supposed to be Ashlyn Carr’s piano teacher. The girl is apparently a prodigy.”
“All right, you have my attention,” Tony says, and Kate tips her bottle his direction in a toast.
“Now what?”
She grins. “Now we talk to the dean. She’s the one who interviewed Ash originally, correct? Let’s see if she noticed any differences between the girl she talked to and the one in this photo. I’ll have my guy in Scotland Yard start looking at passports and identification, plane tickets, credit cards, any activity we can find there. I’ve asked for the full files on the parents’ deaths. Not sure if they’ll let me see them, the coroner’s inquest ruled them ‘misadventure,’ which essentially means they agree that the father died from an overdose and the mother shot herself in her grief. The case is closed.”
“Convenient.”
“Now you see where my head’s at.”
“Kate, I gotta ask...is Scotland Yard all good with you looking over their shoulder on this? The family is well-known, and from what you’re telling me, private. The estate might not think kindly of you poking the bear.”
“Oliver is totally on board with me doing some extraneous digging. I’m not concerned with the estate. There’s no family left to piss off. The son and titular heir died young. The parents are dead. Ashlyn is the only one left.”
“So, you think this girl we talked to is not only an impostor, she murdered this very respectable family to take the place of their daughter?”
“When you say it aloud... I know it sounds far-fetched, but I can’t shake the feeling, Uncle Tony. Something is rotten in Marchburg. If it’s not the same girl, someone in England will surely be able to confirm that for us.”
He takes a long swig, a few bites of his pizza. “First, let’s drop in on Ford, have a chat with her. She’s the one who interviewed Ashlyn, she knows the girl’s background. There will be official paperwork. We can figure this out pretty quick.”
“Thank you for listening, for believing me.”
He finishes the beer in one last huge gulp. “Oh, I believe you, Kate. I’m just preparing myself for the shit storm that’s going to be unleashed if you’re right.”
65
THE DUPLICITY
The drive to campus is only ten minutes. Tony says nothing on the way, which is fine with Kate. She’s lost in her own thoughts, too. But when they enter Marchburg’s heart, he points to a well-kept Victorian house done up in grays and whites with a matching side garage.
“That’s the old Westhaven place. You should see it inside. Chock-full of antiques, decorated to the hilt. There’s a Bentley in the garage, too, a perfectly preserved 1934. Belonged to one of the earlier headmistresses. Ford doesn’t live there, she stays on campus, but her mother stays when she comes to town. It’s a shame, big gorgeous old house like that standing empty most of the time. Makes me sad. But that’s what this town’s like. It’s all about the students. Most of the folks who grew up here have moved off to bigger towns and better lives.”
“Yeah, they’ve crowded into Charlottesville and are busy wreaking havoc for me instead of you. Uncle Tony, this is none of my business, but is there something up with you and the dean?”
He glan
ces over, though his eyes are obscured by sunglasses. “If you’re asking if I’m compromised here, no. Ford and I saw each other for a while, off and on. Broke it off for good this summer.”
“May I ask why?”
He is silent for a few moments, then sighs. “She’s ambitious. Wants to get out of Marchburg, go to New York, be a big shot author. I’m almost twenty years her senior and not about to uproot my life. Timing’s wrong.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Wasn’t in the cards.”
The school looms on the horizon. Kate knows it’s beautiful, but there is something about it that unnerves her. All those windows, perfectly in line, the dormers watching the quad, jealously guarding the girls inside. The expansive grounds, the cottages, the arboretum. The rumors of tunnels, the very real specter of murder. She wouldn’t have enjoyed going here. The very air feels wrong, like a veil drifts between the school and the street, unseen and menacing.
They stop at the gates, which open inward with a deep, metallic shriek after Tony presses the intercom button and announces them. It’s a bit like entering a prison, only here, the inmates are upstanding teens with daddy issues. She’s shocked there aren’t cameras on every corner. Is that to protect the privacy of the daughters of the rich and famous? You’d think someplace like Goode would be running the most expensive, elaborate security money can buy. But they don’t. They use the gates, the redbrick wall, and a few security guards in golf carts to keep outsiders from ravaging their world.
What if they’ve let in someone who will ravage them from the inside?
Main Hall looks much like she’s seen it before: multicolor banners declare Odds and Evens weekend is coming, students scurry about without a care outside of getting to their next class on time. That’s another thing Kate would have hated, the uniforms, the robes. It’s all so formal, so fussy. So entirely unnecessary.
She follows Tony to the dean’s office. After a few small flirty greetings with the assistant stationed outside, he asks for her boss.
“She just finished up with a meeting. Hold on and I’ll let her know you’re here.”
It takes five, but Ford finally comes to the door, color high, a little breathless. “Tony? Anything new on Camille?”
“Hi, Ford. We need to have a quick talk. Alone.”
Is it Kate’s imagination, or does the dean pale when she hears Tony’s serious tone? What is this woman hiding? Kate hasn’t been able to shake the feeling that the dean isn’t sharing all she knows about the night Camille Shannon died.
Face it, Wood. You’re looking for a disaster. Morbid much?
“Come on in. Can we get you some tea or coffee?”
“Not necessary,” Tony says. When the door is shut and they’re all arranged, he jumps in. “We’ve come across something of interest about one of your students. Ash Carlisle—Ashlyn Carr—specifically. Show her,” he says to Kate, and she pulls up the photo of the painting on her phone.
“This is from the Carrs’ estate. When the crime scene techs from Scotland Yard were combing the place, one took this shot. It’s an official portrait of the family. Do you see anything odd?”
Ford takes Kate’s phone and looks at the picture, squinting a bit. “That’s Ash.”
“Is it?”
“Well, it certainly looks like her. She’s younger, obviously. Why?”
“I don’t think it’s her. The shape of her face is off, her chin, her nose. They could be sisters, but I—”
“Wait. Let me see it again.” She stares at the photo.
“You interviewed Ash before she was admitted to the school, correct?”
“I did. But her admission was a foregone conclusion, which is not the usual. This was a bit of a unique situation. Her parents got in touch with my mother, who asked me to admit her as a personal favor. I was happy to do it—we had a transfer slot open, so the timing was good. And the Carrs were a very special family.” To Kate, “You probably don’t know this, but Goode has a waiting list. It’s rather extensive.”
“I assume that’s an understatement.”
“Well, yes. This situation... I’m bound by privacy here, Tony. She’s a student, and I’m her guardian. Where are you going with this?”
“If Ash isn’t who she says she is...”
“Then we’d have a much bigger issue. I hardly believe that’s the case, though. Girls change dramatically in their teen years.”
“Did you fly her here, or did you go there for the interview?” Tony asks.
“Neither. We talked on Skype. She came across as a very well-bred, articulate girl—for a sixteen-year-old. Half of their utterances are noncommittal grunts.”
“Do you have a tape of this interview?”
“No, actually. I don’t. There was no need, it was pro forma, more to make sure she understood the Honor Code than anything else. And soon after our conversation, her parents passed away. We worked with the estate and arranged for a scholarship because the money for her schooling was going to be tied up for a while. It’s something we’ve never revealed, another little Goode secret.”
“Why did her parents want to send her here? You said it was a favor?”
Ford taps a thumb on her desk. “Again, privacy. What happened before Ash arrived on our shores isn’t something I can discuss.”
“If you won’t tell us, then we’ll need to talk with Ash directly, let her tell us the story,” Kate says.
“Not without representation. I’ll call Alan and we can set up a time. But if you’re questioning her, I won’t let her do it without a lawyer. You understand, I’m sure.”
Tony stands. “Call Alan. We’ll be back tomorrow. Say, 10:00 a.m.?”
The dean looks startled that Tony has called her bluff. “I will make the arrangements.”
“One last thing. You lost a teacher earlier in term?”
“Dr. Muriel Grassley. Poor thing. Her heart finally gave out. We had incidents with her allergies over and over again.”
“This wasn’t a one-time thing?” Kate asks.
“Oh, no. Not to lay blame, but if I had an allergy that could kill me, I’d be a bit more careful with my intake. She rarely checked ingredients. Yes,” she says, looking out the window, “what a terrible term. Two deaths.”
“And a new student whose family has just died, as well.”
Westhaven shakes her head. “You’re programmed to see the sinister in every situation. I have a very hard time believing that Ash is capable of any sort of deceit. You talked to her. She’s a kid. A teenage girl. They’re like wolves, untamed, unruly, and for the most part, unremarkable.”
“But she’s a Goode girl,” Tony replies. “You always tell me Goode girls are special.”
The smile is swift and fleeting. “You have to say something on the brochures.”
66
THE IMPOSTOR
Ford buzzes Melanie the second she sees Tony’s cruiser pull away.
“Get me Medea, right now.”
Tony has Ford rattled, there’s no denying it. Intimating Ash is some sort of impostor—impossible. The solicitor... No. Simply impossible.
Five minutes later, the handsome teacher appears, his forehead creased in worry. “What’s the matter? Melanie said it was urgent.”
“I need your computer services.”
“On?”
“Can you bring up a Skype chat that I didn’t record? I need to revisit an entrance interview.”
He doesn’t miss a beat, though she can see him visibly relax. “Depends on your settings. You might have recorded it without meaning to. Let me see.”
She opens the program, lets him sit at her desk. Damn Tony and his niece’s prying, now she’s doubting herself, doubting Ash, doubting everything.
“Which interview do you need?”
She flips through her desk calen
dar looking for the exact date of her first meeting with Ash. “July 17.”
He taps away, then sits back. “Sure, here it is. You want me to play it?”
“Wonderful. No, thank you, I’ll do it. But let me ask, how was it taped?”
“You have auto-record on in your settings. Every Skype chat you’ve had is in the system. You have to dig a little to find them, but they’re here.”
“Oh, wow. I had no idea. I can delete them, right? There’s an expectation of privacy, I had no idea I was recording everything.”
God, Ford, could you sound any guiltier?
“Sure. Easy. But in this case, it sounds like you’re lucky to have them all right at your fingertips. Want me to delete them? You just click up here, select All, then Delete.”
“Good to know. I’ll take care of it once I take a quick look at this old chat. Thanks so much, Dominic.”
Her tone is meant to be dismissive but he doesn’t leave. “While I’m here, a moment of your time?”
She doesn’t have time, but she can’t seem too anxious. “Sure, what is it?”
“I hate to bring this up, but considering the circumstances... A few of my students are falling behind. Jordan and Ash, specifically. Something’s up with them. I think they’re being bullied.”
Oh, boy, are they.
Ford smiles and gestures to the chair, which he takes, looking anxious.
“It’s tap season. They’re being initiated by their secret societies. The tasks can be a little over the top, but no one’s being hazed, I assure you. That’s against the rules, and the societies always comply with the rules. They’ll be back to normal soon.”
“I see. Ford, far be it from me to comment on how you run things here—”
“But you’re going to anyway?” She leans back in her chair, tapping a pencil on the desk.
He clears his throat. “Yes, I am. This term has been quite challenging, for me, for all the teachers. It feels like the students are running the show, instead of the other way around. I know you told me this elite program works differently than the usual private school curriculum, and I’m supposed to cut them some slack. But I fear I’m not as effective as I could be if the girls were, say, a bit more dedicated to their studies instead of partying.”
Good Girls Lie Page 27