by Lisa Jackson
But Maeve detected satisfaction in Kaci’s gaze and knew the older girl had just come into the bathroom to rub it in.
How mortifying.
Without making a sound, Maeve left the restroom and walked into the hallway, where Mr. Trent stood leaning against the far wall, waiting for her.
Great!
Arms crossed over his chest, he caught her eye, then fell into step beside her. “You okay?” he asked.
She wanted to dissolve into a thousand pieces. “Yeah,” she lied. Don’t make me talk, please, please, please. I can’t talk about it!
“Sure?”
“Mmm.” She nodded her head frantically, anxious to get rid of him. The last thing she needed was her semihot pod leader watching as she imploded, self-destructing. Her throat was still thick, but she forced out the words, “I, uh, think I’m coming down with a cold or something,” she said, the lie tripping off her tongue.
“Okay.”
He was buying it? Really?
“I know all this is difficult.”
What? He knows? Was she that transparent?
Then she got it. He was talking about Andrew and Nona being killed.
“We’ve got grief counseling set up. Private and group. And you know that if you want to talk, I’m here….”
“I know,” she said, forcing brightness into her tone that she didn’t feel. Mr. Trent didn’t understand it, of course, but she was way beyond being saved by talking.
Talk was useless. She needed action.
CHAPTER 32
In a throwback to his youth, Father Jake made the sign of the cross over his chest as he stared at the altar in the chapel.
He hadn’t been a Catholic in a long, long while, but old habits died hard, especially when confronted with great tragedy, hard times.
He’d seen more than his share of heartache, fear, and humiliation in his thirty-six years, and throughout it all, his faith had been unshaken. He knew the emotional pain of losing a wife, of watching her slowly die and realizing that her death was the result of his own actions.
He’d felt despair as great as any and guilt that had been unbearable. He’d made mistakes during his lifetime, had been a liar, a cheat, and he had done things for which he’d had no pride.
Throughout it all, however, he’d held on to his faith. Sometimes it had been hard, nearly impossible, but he’d always felt the spirit of the Lord with him.
But that was changing, he realized. Ever since he’d come to Blue Rock Academy, his faith had been tested.
Now he wasn’t sure it would survive.
He fell to his knees and prayed for guidance, for divine intervention. All the while, he felt the cold metal of the Glock tucked into the waistband of his pants, pressed hard against his back.
Jules stood at the window of her darkened room and hoped no one could see her looking over the campus. Pulling her hands into the warmth of her sweater sleeves, she kept her eyes on Reverend Lynch, a dark slash of a figure. Bent against the wind, he walked on the path from the chapel, veering off from the main walkway, as if he was headed toward the house he shared with Cora Sue. She couldn’t see the house through the curtain of snow, but she was convinced he was going home for the night.
She could only hope he stayed there.
Keyed up, she threw on her jacket, scarf, and boots and grabbed a flashlight and keys, both of which she figured could qualify as weapons. There was no way she could stay in this room and do nothing, just sitting behind a locked door and praying that she was safe. Not with a killer on the campus. Not with her sister at risk.
Locking the door behind her, she told herself to calm down and get a grip, but she knew full well that nothing short of the killer being brought to justice would ease her mind or anyone else’s. Everyone at the school was jumpy.
She hurried down the stairs to the cozy nook that served as the common area for Stanton House. Clusters of tables and chairs were situated around warm, earth-toned rugs that had been tossed over the hardwood floor. Reading lamps and half a dozen battery-powered candles added to the ambience.
However, no one relaxed on the soft leather cushions or curled up in the corner of the couch angled near the windows. The place was empty and quiet except for muted notes of some Spanish ballad drifting from an upper floor.
Jules adjusted her scarf.
The door closet under the stairs opened.
She nearly jumped out of her skin as Keesha Bell, a disgusted look on her face, a dust rag dangling from the back pocket of her jeans, pushed a vacuum cleaner into the room. An empty bucket was swinging from the fingers of her free hand.
“You scared me!” Jules admitted, then laughed.
“Sorry.” Keesha didn’t even pause or crack a bit of a smile. “Sometimes I scare myself. ‘Specially in the morning.” She stopped to straighten a stack of magazines resting on a glass coffee table before she plugged the cord of the vacuum into an outlet.
“You must have late duty tonight.”
The furrows in Keesha’s forehead deepened. “Yeah,” she said with a roll of her expressive eyes. “Lucky me.”
“Every night, right?”
The girl nodded as she unlooped the vac’s cord. “That’s the way Dr. Lynch wants it.”
Jules thought about the note that had been slipped under her door the other night. She didn’t know if it was a prank or a sincere plea for help, but she intended to find out. “Have you been doing this all week?” Jules asked, walking into the living area.
“No, thank you, God. We rotate,” Keesha said, snapping the rag from her pocket to swipe at a cobweb hanging from the shade of a floor lamp.
“Were you working here last Friday?”
“Nuh-uh.” Keesha shook her head, cornrows rubbing the back of her neck.
“Do you know who was?”
“Uh … Nell. Maybe.” Puzzled, she walked to the janitorial closet again and opened the door to expose a duty list posted on the back panels. “Let’s see.” Squinting, Keesha ran a long finger down the list. “Yeah. I thought so. Nell was scheduled over the weekend. What happened? She miss your room?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” Jules said, glad for a name. If Nell hadn’t slid the note under her door, she might have seen someone else loitering on the floor. She tucked the ends of her scarf into the lapel of her coat. “I was just wondering how the rotation went.”
Keesha closed the closet door and walked back to the vacuum cleaner again just as the song from above changed tempo. “Well, things have changed a little this past week. Used to be one person was in charge of cleaning each of the buildings, but with what’s happened around here … you know, Nona and Drew being killed and all …” She rubbed her arms as if suddenly chilled. “Now we work in teams of two.”
Jules surveyed the first floor. “You’ve got a partner?”
“If ya can call it that. Banjo’s up on the third floor.” Keesha jabbed a finger toward the ceiling. “Listen. Can’t you hear her?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“You think she’s gettin’ much cleaning done?” Keesha asked, then snorted her own reply. “No way. I bet I have to go up there and scrub the damned toilets myself.” She let out another disgusted huff of air. “Don’t know why I was teamed up with her. I asked if BD and I could work together, but oh, no, Mr. Trent wasn’t about to have that. No, sir! No ‘coupling up’ I think he said.” Obviously agitated, she smacked the rag over the back of the sofa, as if snuffing out insects. “But we’re only here for a couple of nights, then, oh, joy, our entire pod gets cafeteria duty.”
“I take it you’re not big on working in the kitchen.”
“You got that right.” Keesha nodded emphatically. “It really sucks. Makes cleaning this place look like the damned garden of Eden.” She winced as she heard herself. “Sorry about that. It’s just that thinking about the cafeteria … yeck! All that gross food and dirty plates and spilled stuff on the floors? Dishes and trays piled to the ceiling? Who needs it?” As if suddenly re
alizing she was ranting to a staff member, she shut up, tossing her dusty rag into the empty pail. “Well, as my grandma always says, ‘there just ain’t no rest for the wicked.’” Keesha forced a smile, caught somewhere between amusement and deceit. “I say a big amen to that.” She reached for the handle of the vacuum. “I still think it would have been safer for me to be hangin’ out with BD, you know, rather than with Senorita Jewel up there.” She swept her gaze toward the stairs, where the plaintive notes echoed in the stairwell.
“Just be careful.”
“Oh, I will!”
“Good.” Jules pushed open the doors against a blast of icy, arctic air. In fierce gusts, the wind screamed through the night, rushing through the campus and rattling the chains on the flagpole.
Jules’s already ragged nerves tightened. Mentally she chastised herself for being an idiot. She’d be fired if she was found trying to break into Lynch’s office, but the thought of the files locked away in his credenza bothered her. Why a second set of information? Why not on the computer?
Face it, Jules, the reason you’re worried is that you saw your name and Trent’s picture. You’re thinking Lynch is putting two and two together.
No matter what, she was not about to second-guess herself now. She made a beeline toward the chapel, only pausing to double-check Lynch’s cabin with its windows glowing bright. “Stay there,” she muttered as the wind stole the breath from her lips and icy flakes of snow melted against her face.
Gaze skating over the frozen landscape, ears straining to hear even the slightest sound of a footstep behind her, she hurried to the main doors and reached for the handle.
“Ms. Farentino?” a male voice asked, and she literally jumped, spinning to face two large men, both dressed in ski jackets, hats, and masks. She clutched her chest, her heart exploding in fear.
“Julia?” One of the men peeled back his ski mask—Wade Taggert, one of the psychology instructors.
Damn!
Her gloved fingers tightened over her flashlight.
“Where’s your partner?” he asked as the second man, too, lifted his mask, and she recognized Tim Takasumi, a TA who, she’d learned, was studying computer engineering.
“Oh, Lord! You scared me!” she said, still nervous. “And, yes, I know I’m supposed to buddy up when I’m out, but I just thought I’d spend some time alone in the chapel.”
Taggert’s eyebrows drew together. “The rule is that no one crosses the campus after dark unaccompanied. It’s for your own good.”
“I know. I’ll just be a few minutes. It’s been a hard first week, and I needed some time alone. I thought I’d light a candle or two.” She offered a wavering smile but didn’t give up her death grip on the flashlight.
Who knew who you could trust?
Taggert, blinking against the storm, seemed to accept her explanation. “You want us to stay with you?” he yelled over the shriek of the wind.
“No, thanks. You have rounds.” She had to raise her voice to be heard, too. “I’ll be fine in here. I’ll just be a few minutes.”
She was afraid Taggert would say they would be willing to wait for her, but his eyes caught a movement by the gazebo. Jules saw it, too. Someone seated within the latticework decorated with hundreds of tiny lights. “What the—?” He glanced at Jules again. “You’re sure you’ll be okay?”
“Yes.”
Wade hit Takasumi on the arm. “Let’s go.”
They pulled their masks down and took off, half-jogging against the brutal, gusting wind.
Now that they knew she was here, she didn’t have much time. Quickly, heart hammering in her ears, she moved through the nave and to the hallway leading to Reverend Lynch’s office.
She tried the door.
Locked.
Of course.
Damn!
She wasn’t a thief, didn’t know how to pick a lock to save her soul. She could try the outside window, she supposed, but she would run the risk of the security teams seeing her.
Her only hope was the bathroom, one that was accessible from the hallway and from the reverend’s office. She’d caught a glimpse of it earlier and silently prayed that it was open, the connecting door unlocked.
Noiselessly, she slid into the restroom and locked the door behind her; then she tried the connecting door, which opened, of course. The lock was on the inside.
But that was only half the battle. Now there was the file cabinet to break into. She drew the shades down and turned off her flashlight, afraid the vigilant eyes of the new legion of security guards might see the moving illumination and come into the chapel to investigate. After a minute, her eyes grew accustomed to the fading red glow from a dying fire.
She rounded the desk and tried the top drawer.
It was locked tight.
Great. Now what? Snow was melting from her shoes, leaving puddles on the carpet, puddles she hoped would dry before Lynch returned in the morning. Dressed as she was, the chill of the night had worn off, the heat in the office chasing away the cold.
She yanked at her scarf, allowing a little breathing room around her neck, but she didn’t remove her gloves. Stealthily, her heart pounding a nervous tattoo, she opened the desk drawers one by one, searching for small keys that would fit the cabinet. Nothing. It was possible, she supposed, that he kept the key with him at all times, but most people kept a spare in the office.
Somewhere.
Yeah, like in Charla King’s possession.
No, that didn’t make sense. Jules doubted Lynch would trust anyone, even King, with the key to his private files.
Bam!
The fire popped suddenly, sounding for all the world like the sharp report of a gun.
Jules bit back a scream, her knees nearly giving out, her pulse skyrocketing. She was just no good at this cloak-and-dagger stuff, no good at all. She wasn’t cut out for this.
Every muscle tense, she did a quick search, touching the underside of drawers, looking under plants, even flipping up the corners of the carpet. Again, she came up dry.
Frustration ground through her.
Where, where, where would he hide them?
Maybe they weren’t in the office. But, then, where?
She’d never been a quitter and hadn’t come this far to give up, but she was running out of ideas. And time was against her. Soon, she knew, Taggert and Takasumi would check the chapel. Would they think she’d just left and returned to her suite, or would they search for her? She couldn’t be sure.
Sweat dampening her palms, she found a letter opener in the top drawer of the desk, but it was too large to slip into the lock. Ditto, the nail file. All of her own keys were too large.
“Damn, damn, damn,” she whispered.
Maybe there was nothing in the files. Maybe her pathetic attempts at sleuthing weren’t worth the time. And yet … she reached around the back of the file cabinet, running her fingers down the flat back and came up with nothing. Short of prying the damned drawer open with a hammer and breaking the lock, she thought there was no way to open the damned cabinet.
Creeeak.
A footstep sounded in the hallway.
Jules’s heart leapt to her throat.
She froze, praying she’d imagined the sound.
Then the quiet, steady thud of footsteps, getting louder, coming closer.
Oh, God!
Keys jangled in the hallway on the other side of Lynch’s office door.
Oh, no!
She eased even closer to the bathroom as the reverend’s muffled voice penetrated the door. “Well, I hope to high heaven that the FBI does show up,” he said as Jules slid from behind his desk toward the bathroom door. “Someone has to do something!”
Who was he talking to? Hopefully someone who would keep him distracted long enough for her to escape.
“Absolutely!”
The door was shouldered open just as Jules slipped into the restroom, the door whispering shut behind her.
“Yes, yes, I know. T
rust me, I’m aware that we’ve got a serious problem,” Lynch was saying.
The lock clicked softly under her fingertips. Her heart raced madly as she listened to Lynch’s footsteps thumping through his office. Should she stay? Or should she try to leave now, out the door to the hallway and, if he found her, use the same excuse she had given Wade and Takasumi?
Lynch was still talking, his voice rising to be heard, but no one responded, and she guessed he was on his phone. “I know that! Just get someone up here … What? Sheriff? You’re cutting out! Can you hear me?” A pause. “Sheriff O’Donnell? Can you hear me?” Another long pause and Jules hardly dared breathe. “Sheriff? Oh, heavens. Blaine? If you can hear me, I can’t hear you. I’m hanging up now. Call me back!”
Then only silence.
Jules didn’t dare move as sweat dripped down her back. She stood, ear to the door, listening hard, every instinct in her body insisting she run.
Be patient.
Just wait.
Maybe you’ll learn something.
She closed her eyes.
Concentrated.
Through the door she heard a click—a lock—then the rumble of a large drawer being opened. She bit her lip, tried to slow her breathing.
Slap! Papers being tossed onto his desk?
Slap! Again.
“That should do it,” he said, his voice lower as his footsteps crossed the room again, coming closer. Jules hardly dared breathe. She took a step back only to hear a creaking, metallic noise, the sweep of metal against metal. “Here we go.”
Whoosh!
Air? What was that?
Closing her eyes, she pressed her ear to the space where the bathroom door fit against the jamb. She willed her loud heartbeat to slow and heard a soft hiss and crackle … the fire. He was messing with the fire.
In her mind’s eye, she saw flames. Where only minutes before there had been merely glowing coals.
So why would he stoke the … Oh, God. With a sinking feeling, she understood—he was burning something, not for heat and not because he was housecleaning in the middle of the night, but to destroy whatever it was. No doubt the sheriff’s call had propelled him back to the office to get rid of …