by Mary Stone
Another display of brilliance, the way she pretended the punishment was spontaneous and posed the command as a request. Even though by now, every student within these stately halls understood that even when uttered by such perfect lips, the phrase meditate in my office never, ever amounted to anything good. A truth reinforced by the collective silence that descended over the entire cafeteria, like all the students were holding their breath at once.
And there I was, standing at Headmistress Letitia’s side, in the thick of it all. Commanding attention and fear while basking in her approval.
The power inherent in that moment vibrated along my skin, filling my head with an amphetamine-like high. These were the thrills that fed my soul. That injected my life with meaning and had, from a young age on.
Rules were so important. Out in the real world and here in the academy. These students needed to learn that not following the rules meant consequences. That acting out against academy policies led to repercussions, doled out by those of us who were willing to do whatever it took to ensure order prevailed.
Under Headmistress Letitia’s careful guidance, I’d learned that not everyone was well suited to become enforcers, because that particular role required a strength of will and an ability to inflict pain when necessary.
No, not everyone was well suited to inflicting pain, but Letitia had recognized a kindred spirit in me.
I scooped the eggs, ham, and toast onto a clean plate, carried them to the tiny table just outside the kitchen, and began eating, allowing my mind to drift to later on that day.
We’d wasted hours in the headmistress’s office that afternoon, giving the three rule-breakers a chance to carry out their punishment. So simple. All they’d been required to do was designate one among their group to receive the punishment while the other two carried it out. Wield the tawse, and they’d be free to go. Nothing too gruesome or horrifying.
And yet, they’d stood stiff-backed and stubborn in that office and refused every opportunity given to cooperate.
Headmistress Letitia had finally lost patience and sent them out into the frigid dark, telling them that spending a night outside in the elements would likely clear their heads.
For the first time to my knowledge, Headmistress Letitia was wrong. When she let them back into the building the next morning, the threesome were shivering and pale, but after spending all day locked inside the Blue Room, their stubborn pride had reared up again.
Apparently, even the Academy’s notorious punishment room was no match for Mother Nature in the dead of winter.
“Which one of you will be disciplined today?”
The question garnered the same response as the day before. “None of us, Headmistress.”
I recalled my stunned fascination as the same scene played out over the next three days and nights. The question asked and refused. Over the passing time, my fascination turned to anger, and possibly even a flicker of jealousy, because the only reason those three fools had to cling to their ridiculous moral code was some sort of misplaced devotion to each other.
After the second night, I was so sure they’d crack. But they didn’t, despite not being fed during the entire period when the battle of wills raged on and despite the lack of sleep that showed on their shadow-lined faces. Certainly, they’d been exhausted and bleary headed with hunger, but they were also teen boys and able to rebound from those minor hardships without fear of permanent damage.
Or at least, they would have ended up perfectly fine, were it not for the cold front that descended upon the mountain late that fourth night, so sudden that even the weathermen had failed to predict it.
That night, they went out into the cold as usual. When they didn’t return the next morning, the headmistress sent me out to fetch them. I’d hurried out to scour the area, grumbling at the icy wind that cut through my layers and the frost crunching under my boots. I hadn’t ventured far when I discovered all three of them. Dead.
The first two were huddled together for warmth like sleeping puppies beneath the sculpted hedges lining the building in back.
Freddy, I located about twenty feet away. Lying on his back, stripped down to nothing but his boxers, his tan flesh pale with frost. I’d later learned that hypothermia played tricks on people, often convincing them they were burning up when, in reality, their bodies slowly froze to death. Nature’s little prank, and a rather poetic one at that.
They died due to nature and their own disobedience, but of course, the local police had disagreed.
I left the last bite of toast and pushed the plate away. The resulting chaos their deaths brought down upon the academy was in large part my responsibility. My failure.
Had I been more skilled in breaking people back then, the boys would have fallen into line and carried out their punishment without a peep. That could have been my gift to Letitia, for all the lessons she’d taught me.
Instead, she’d turned her fury on me in a brutal attack that made me shudder, even after all the suffering I’d inflicted on others since. The scar on my back tingled, a reminder of the agony that blistered my flesh when she’d pressed the hot knife to my skin as punishment for my failings.
With a heavy sigh, I rose, rubbing the scar as I walked over to the refrigerator. The chain clinked to the floor when I released the lock, and I swung the door open to reveal Bethany.
She was huddled so close to the front, knees drawn to her chest and shivering, that she tumbled onto the kitchen floor, reeking of vomit.
Over the course of the night, I’d opened the door for brief periods on a schedule to ensure she didn’t perish from lack of oxygen, sacrificing my own sleep for the sake of her safety. The ungrateful brat had greeted my kindness with kicks and tears and pleas.
This time was different. While she hacked and filled her lungs with noisy slurps of air as usual, she didn’t bother to cry or fight.
Satisfaction warmed my bones. Progress. Good. Katarina’s offspring needed to learn that her sweet, fragile life was nestled like an eggshell in my hands, every bit as easy to crush as it was to nurture.
“Good girl, you’re learning. Now, if you can promise to stay calm and quiet and get yourself over to the table, I’ll reward you by letting you finish the leftovers on my plate.”
Her dazed, hungry eyes drifted a little before focusing on the food. A third of a fried egg, a few bites of ham, and half a crust of toast. That was all I’d left her, but she licked her chapped lips like the crumbs were an elaborate buffet.
On quivering legs, she stumbled for the table. When she got close enough to reach, she hooked her hands over the back of the chair for extra support. Painfully slow, she eased her weak body onto the chair, almost slipping off the side but righting herself at the last second.
Before I’d even finished setting the plate in front of her, those black and purple swollen fingers reached for the food.
My slap rang out, sharp against those bruised knuckles in the quiet room. “Eat like a human, not an animal. Use the fork.”
Pride stirred when she swallowed her cry because the blow on that damaged skin had to hurt. The fork shook in her hand, but that sweet forehead wrinkled with concentration, and she managed to spear a bit of egg and lift the bite to her mouth.
I allowed myself another moment to relish the picture she made before heading to the freezer and withdrawing a Hot Pocket. The microwave hummed as the frozen meal heated and infused the area with a delicious cheesy aroma.
Behind me, Bethany released a small, animal-like whimper, and I smiled.
When the timer dinged, I transferred the Hot Pocket to a fresh plate and carried it to the table. Round with longing, Bethany’s eyes followed my every move, not realizing that her swollen hand gripped the fork like a weapon.
I slid the plate before her, and she went still, her gaze glued to the crispy sandwich. She looked like a fox too terrified of a trap to lunge for the piece of meat poking out from shiny steel, but too hungry to flee, either.
“Good girl
for waiting for permission, but go ahead now. Eat. I need you strong for what’s coming next.”
19
The digital clock on the Explorer’s dashboard read 11:03 when Ellie’s bodyguard pulled up to the entrance of the Lake Walters Retirement Community.
From the passenger seat, Ellie arched her back and stretched. Finally. Their four-hour drive had turned into six. Half an hour into the trip, they’d hit road construction that funneled the highway down to a one-lane crawl, followed by stop-and-go traffic around the four-hour mark, thanks to an RV engine fire.
Shane rolled the SUV to a stop beside the guard kiosk. Giant palm trees flanked the street on both sides, rising beyond the wrought iron gates at regular intervals like green-haired giants. Interspersed between them were terracotta roofs that gleamed orange-red in the Florida sun while the lush, manicured grounds and large homes beyond the gate oozed with wealth.
Ellie powered off the stereo, cutting off Hank Crawford mid-word. Her expectations for the true-crime podcast hadn’t been very high, so she’d been pleasantly surprised when the episodes turned out to be both in-depth and insightful. Impressive, especially for a guy whose psychology background consisted of his own past traumatic experiences and a few books.
Crawford had sketched a clear, fact-based portrait of Letitia Wiggins, along with his conclusions as to what made her tick, and Ellie recognized many of the former headmaster’s wife’s traits in some of the women she’d grown up around. The attributes he described were common in the elite and privileged, especially women who derived a sense of power by focusing outward to control others rather than working on their own self-control.
Shane rolled the window down as the security guard stepped out of the kiosk, approaching their vehicle with a polite smile and a tablet in one hand. He was much fitter than the daytime security detail Ellie was accustomed to staffing residential communities in Charleston, with broad shoulders, muscled arms, and a military bearing to match his buzz cut. A 9mm hung in plain view from his right hip.
“Morning, folks. Can I get the name of the guest you’re visiting today?”
Ellie leaned across the center console and smiled. “Good morning. We’re visiting Letitia Wiggins.”
The guard nodded as he finger-scrolled along the tablet’s screen. “And your name is?”
Ellie flipped the sun visor down to grab her badge. “Detective Kline.”
The guard stopped scrolling and lifted his gaze from the tablet. “Detective Kline. Can you move that badge a little closer for me, please?”
She passed the shield to Shane, who held it outside the window. The guard leaned over, using a hand on his forehead to shield the sun, squinting at the badge before straightening back up. “I see you’re from Charleston, Detective Kline. What business brings you out so far this way to visit our resident?”
As soon as he asked, Ellie bit back a sigh. Her chances of getting in without a warrant weren’t looking good. “I work cold cases for CPD, and Letitia Wiggins is a potential witness to a crime that occurred several years ago.”
“I see. Well, I’m sorry you drove all this way for nothing, but I’m afraid I can’t let you in, not without a warrant or a guest pass.”
There it was.
“Are you sure? I’d think Ms. Wiggins would want to do her civic duty and help out with our investigation.”
The guard was unflappable. “She may very well want to, but without her buzzing you in or adding you to the guest list, I’m afraid we won’t be able to find out.”
Ellie ground her molars together. “If it’s just the car that’s an issue, we could park outside, and I could walk in?”
In her experience, gated communities often cared more about preventing unauthorized vehicles than foot traffic, because burglars tended to think twice about robbing a house without getaway wheels.
Not this guy. Before she even finished, the guard was shaking his head. “I really do apologize for the inconvenience, but I risk my job if I don’t follow community policies. The residents here pay for gated access for a reason, I’m sure you understand. Now, you two both have a nice day, and feel free to come back when you have that warrant or a guest pass.”
The security guard dismissed them by turning his back and returning to the kiosk, leaving Ellie to seethe and mutter under her breath.
“He seems nice.”
Shane’s dry comment shook a surprised laugh from Ellie. Her bodyguard didn’t speak up without prompting much, but when he did, he often voiced snide little gems like that. “He definitely takes his job seriously.”
She glared at the security guard one last time before slumping. He was only doing his job. Unfortunately for her, his job and hers were at odds at the moment.
Shane shot her an inquisitive glance. “Where to?”
“Go ahead and make a U-turn and drive us back to that little downtown area we passed on the way. I’ll just have to think of something else.”
She stared out the passenger window as the Explorer cruised along the sun-washed roads that led to a cute little area full of cobblestoned streets, palm trees mixed with live oaks, and a mixture of boutiques and cafes that boasted patios with outdoor seating, all under an array of colorful awnings.
The sidewalks teamed with midday shoppers and diners, and the SUV crawled along the busy road, passing a long streak of full parking spaces before Shane zipped into an empty spot a block away.
“Hungry?” Ellie asked Shane, but he only gave her the I’m on the clock look he normally did. If the man ever ate, she didn’t know.
Ellie climbed out and headed into the bustling shopping area, irritated by the long, unproductive drive and hoping that lunch might refuel her lagging spirits and prompt a new plan. A quick glance back reassured her that her shadow was doing his job just a couple steps from her heels.
She passed three boutiques, a nail salon, an ice cream shop, and a Cuban café before popping into a pub with an open table tucked away in the corner of the brick-lined patio. After ordering a blackened shrimp salad, Ellie sipped sweet tea from an oversized glass and people-watched while reevaluating her plan.
Had her spur-of-the-moment decision to jump in the car and head down to Florida been an error in judgment? Because it was really starting to appear that way.
Ellie flopped her chin into her palm and sighed. Instead of lowering her head like a stubborn ox and bulldozing forward, maybe the smart action right now was to accept this one failure, take the loss, and head home. If they hopped back on the road as soon as she finished eating, they’d arrive in Charleston in time for dinner, and she could figure out where to take the case from there.
Except, she was a stubborn ox. They were here now, after a six-hour drive, and the idea of turning around and leaving without taking another stab at questioning the woman rankled. Ellie frowned at her tea. If only she had the vaguest notion of how to speak to Letitia without that bulldog at the gate chasing her off. Without Letitia Wiggins, she wasn’t sure how to go about finding information on Kingsley, either.
Ellie chewed the end of her straw while countless pedestrians strolled by before pulling out her phone and dialing.
“Miss me already?”
Despite her sour mood, Ellie smiled at Jillian’s greeting. “Believe it or not, I’m calling to see if there’ve been any updates yet.”
“Nothing on Bethany as far as I know, but I think Valdez is making some headway with Fortis’s case.”
The waitress set Ellie’s salad in front of her. “Let me know if you need anything else,” the young brunette whispered.
Ellie smiled. “Thanks, I will.”
The waitress left.
“Who you talking to?” Jillian asked.
“The waitress, my order just came. I’m drowning my sorrows with shrimp salad.”
“Yum, sounds like a sound judgment call to me. I’ll let you go so you can hop right to that sorrow drowning, unless you needed something else?”
Ellie was about to say no but hesitated.
“Actually, would you mind pulling up and printing me a copy of everything we have on Letitia Wiggins and the Far Ridge Boy’s Academy? I’m especially interested in any records we might have on Kingsley while he attended.”
“Nope, no problem, I can do that.”
“Thanks. You know, while you’re at it, could you cancel my lunch with my mom tomorrow?”
“Hell no. Sorry, not sorry. I consider myself a decently brave person, but I’m definitely not brave enough to risk the wrath of Helen Kline.”
Ellie laughed. “Rats. I figured maybe I could sneak that one in there, and you might agree before you noticed. Oh well, worth a try.”
“You keep right on dreaming. See ya!”
After they hung up, Ellie rummaged through her purse until she located her earbuds. Once she adjusted them in her ears, she started playing the podcast again, soaking up more of Crawford’s description of Letitia Wiggins while she forked a few bites of shrimp and romaine into her mouth.
The first impression the Far Ridge Boy’s Academy headmistress gave to prospective students and their parents upon meeting with her was one of impeccable grooming and exquisite manners. That was my second impression too. Along with my third.
Letitia Wiggins was the type of woman who took great pains with her appearance, like she was compelled to reach some sky-high internal measurement of perfection. Not necessarily a problematic trait to possess, unless you’re the type of person who demands that same perfection from others, which she did. Namely, her students.
Ellie made a scoffing sound. So far, Letitia Wiggins would fit in really well with half the upper-class women in Charleston.
But I’m getting a little ahead of myself. Back to Headmistress Wiggins. Her shoes always gleamed from a fresh polish, and her suits and tops were crisp from the iron. She sashayed around the halls with the air of a woman who realized she was attractive. On its own, that isn’t an issue. Wiggins capitalized on her beauty, though, brandishing her looks as a weapon.
I’ve surveyed a number of former Far Ridge students over the years, and they’ve all agreed: Letitia Wiggins’s pride and joy was her red-gold hair. While I attended the Academy, I once overheard another teacher joke that she wouldn’t be surprised if Ms. Wiggins stashed a personal hairdresser at the academy to pop out and perform touch-ups throughout the day. Looking just right was clearly an item of crucial importance for the headmistress, and I believe a source of great pride and dysfunction too...