She Was the Quiet One

by Michele Campbell

  “Excuse me. I teach at the school. What happened?”

  “We can’t comment, ma’am. Move along now.”

  Could this be related to Heath’s emergency phone call? If the emergency was real—if he’d been telling the truth—that would give her some comfort. Maybe she’d let her imagination get the better of her, like Pat Banks had said last night. Don’t listen to gossip, she said. Wait for someone to file a complaint, or produce real evidence, before jumping to conclusions. Sarah ought to take a page from Pat’s book. Be rational. Skeptical. Life would make more sense then, or at least, be easier to bear.

  At day care, Harper ran right in, but Scottie kicked and hit Sarah as he resisted getting out of the stroller. Allison, the director, had to come outside and help her wrestle him through the door, then out of his snowsuit, as he screamed the entire time. Sarah felt like the world’s worst mother for leaving him.

  Allison was down-to-earth, with frizzy hair, a big bosom, clogs. Normally Sarah could count on her to be sunny on the face of chaos. Not today.

  “Are you sure he’s ready to come back?” Allison asked sharply, after Scottie’s small, pummeling fist caught her on the side of the head.

  “It’s been five days. He’s been fever-free for twenty-four hours,” Sarah said, but she was having her doubts.

  “We’re short two teachers because of the virus. We don’t have a lot of bandwidth to deal with meltdowns.”

  “I think he’ll be fine once he settles in. But if not, call me and I’ll come get him.”

  Sarah trudged across campus toward her office. The paths were empty. The bitter wind that swept the plaza in front of Digby Hall nearly knocked her down. Sarah was glad at least that she didn’t teach until second period, and would have time to catch her breath.

  Inside the airy lobby, groups of kids had gathered in clusters in the seating area. It took a moment to grok that they shouldn’t be there. It was the middle of first period: Why were they out of class? They looked stricken. Some cried, some hugged each other, some gesticulated wildly. Sarah approached the nearest group with a growing feeling of foreboding, remembering the police cruisers out on the road.

  “What’s going on?’ she asked.

  Maisie Chan, a Moreland freshman with glasses and spiky hair, stepped forward eagerly.

  “You don’t know? I assumed it would be all over campus by now,” the girl said.

  “What would?”

  “Classes are canceled. The police are on campus, and they’re bringing in grief counselors.”

  “Did someone die?”

  “Rose is locked in the infirmary. They say she killed her sister.”

  “Rose Enright?”

  “Yes. Stabbed her with a knife in the woods last night is what we heard.”

  Sarah’s heart stopped beating for a split second. “I-I can’t believe that.”

  “I know, right? She seems so nice.”

  It was surreal. From what Sarah knew of Rose Enright, this was completely impossible. There had to be some other explanation.

  “Why do they think Rose did it?” Sarah asked.

  “I have no clue. Nobody knows anything. We’re all in shock.”

  It made no sense. This was Rose Enright they were talking about—quiet Rose, the A-student, whom Sarah trusted so much that she’d asked her to babysit her children. It had to be a mistake.

  But, wait a minute. Rose killed—Bel? Bel Enright was dead?

  “Rose killed her sister, you said?” Sarah said, shaking her head in disbelief.

  “Yes. Somebody heard that from a teacher, so we think it’s true. We’ve been talking, and nobody’s seen Bel or Rose since last night. Emma Kim told a kid in my Mandarin class that Bel never came to bed,” Maisie said.

  Bel Enright, dead. If Bel was dead, and if Heath had been involved with her, that meant it was over. What the hell, Sarah? It was wrong to think that way. Despicable. A young girl had died. Just because Sarah had gotten herself all worked up last night, when Heath didn’t come home and Bel wasn’t at the social, didn’t mean—

  Last night.

  Last night, Bel was missing. So was Heath. He didn’t answer her calls. He came home late, put the dog out, took a shower, did laundry. And sobbed in Sarah’s arms. This morning, he got a phone call, and seemed almost to be expecting it. And now she learned that Bel was dead. Not just dead. Stabbed. Murdered.

  Sarah let the meaning of those things sink in.

  No.

  She started to shake all over. Her vision blurred and the room tilted as Sarah collapsed.

  47

  Sarah came to. She was sitting in a chair. Students crowded around her, looking worried.

  “She’s waking up. Somebody get her a glass of water.”

  “Why did she faint?”

  “The Enright twins were in her dorm. Rose was her advisee.”

  “Is her advisee. Rose didn’t die.”

  “Yeah, but she’s a murderer. You get expelled for that, right?”

  Somebody thrust a paper cup into Sarah’s hand. “Mrs. Donovan? Can you hear me? Drink this.”

  Sarah took small sips of water. Her vision slowly cleared. Then it came back to her about Heath and Bel both going missing last night, and her head started to swim all over again. That couldn’t mean— Could it?

  “Put your head between your knees and take deep breaths,” Maisie Chan said.

  Sarah bent over, breathing in and out and trying to get a grip on herself. She was panicking, and for no good reason. The only thing she had evidence for was that her husband had cheated. And even that was open to question. Heath claimed that photo was doctored by his enemies to stop him from becoming headmaster. Maybe that was true. But whether it was true or not, the girl in the picture was completely invisible, hidden by the man’s body (admittedly, a body that looked just like Heath’s, but still). Sarah had no evidence that the girl was Bel—other than gossip, and Pat Banks had told her not to listen to gossip. To conclude that her own husband murdered a young girl based on—what? The fact that he came home late on the night of the murder, and did laundry? That was insane. She needed to calm down and find out what had really happened last night.

  She needed to talk to Rose Enright.

  Still shaking, Sarah struggled to sit up, then tried to get out of the chair. “I have to go talk to Rose.”

  “Are you sure? She’s, like, a crazed killer,” Maisie said.

  “It can’t be Rose. That’s impossible. Rose was always the good sister. She was the quiet one, the one who studied and made perfect grades. I’m sure there must be some mistake.”

  Sarah reached out her hands, and a couple of boys pulled her to her feet. They steadied her as she got her balance.

  “Mrs. Donovan, you don’t look well,” Maisie said.

  “I have to see Rose. She’s all alone. I need to go to her. Thank you all,” Sarah said, and stumbled toward the door.

  The five-minute walk to the infirmary through the bitter cold left Sarah weak and trembling. The intake station was deserted. She pushed the buzzer, and Kim Kowalski, the head nurse, came bustling out to greet her. Kim, with her round, cheerful face and thick thatch of gray hair, had been a nurse at Odell for so long that she’d treated Sarah in her student days. She now doled out ear drops and lollipops to Sarah’s children when they were sick.

  A big grin lit up Kim’s face when she saw who it was.

  “Sarah, I’m thrilled to hear the news,” Kim said, coming out from behind the window and giving Sarah a bosomy hug. “I always knew Heath would do great things. Cream rises to the top.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Well, I’m talking about your hubby. The new headmaster of Odell Academy.”

  “What? Who told you that?”

  “Was it supposed to be confidential? But the announcement e-mail went out not five minutes ago. I was just in the back, reading it, and doing a happy dance. You must be so proud. Mrs. Headmaster—guess that makes you First Lady.”
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  Heath, headmaster? It was too much to absorb, especially when she suspected him of cheating, possibly with a student. And of— No, not murder. She didn’t actually think that, and she’d come here to rule it out entirely. But still, until this was resolved in her own mind, the idea of Heath as headmaster seemed plain wrong. And how was it even possible?

  “I don’t understand,” Sarah said. “Simon’s not retiring till the end of the school year.”

  “Simon resigned, not a minute too soon, you ask me. This murder is a huge black mark for the school, and Simon’s poor leadership is directly responsible. He let bad behavior fester for too long. We need new leadership around here. Fresh blood, young blood. I can’t imagine anyone better than your husband. Youngest headmaster in more than a hundred years, the e-mail said. And the best-looking, too,” Kim said, with a wink.

  “My God,” Sarah whispered.

  Bel Enright was dead, and Heath’s dreams were coming true. Was that a coincidence? She had to steady herself against the wall, so she didn’t fall over in a faint again.

  “Honey, you don’t look so good. Here I am, gabbing away and not realizing you got the bug. That’s why you’re here, right?”

  “Oh, no. I came to see Rose Enright.”

  “Why would you want to see her?” Kim said, her face clouding over. “I have a note in the file—no visitors except family.”

  “I’m not a visitor. I’m her faculty advisor, here on official business. Somebody needs to check on her. I imagine she’s terribly upset.”

  “Yeah, I’d be upset, too, if I just killed my own sister and was about to go to jail.”

  “Oh, Kim. Rose could be innocent. We don’t know what happened out there.”

  “I do. The security guy who brought her in is my next-door neighbor, and he gave me the inside scoop. Rose Enright stabbed her sister to death out near Lost Lake, then showed up at the security office with the bloody knife in her hand, and gave them directions to the body.”

  Sarah stared at Kim, speechless, unable to comprehend what she’d just heard. It was impossible to reconcile that bloody image with the loving, responsible girl she knew. Sarah and Rose chatted every week—about classes, grades, school activities. Rose babysat for Harper and Scottie regularly. She sat in Sarah’s kitchen, drank tea and gabbed like an old chum. Sarah knew everything about Rose’s personal life—or thought she did, anyway. She knew there was tension between her and her sister, but never in a million years did she imagine it would boil over into violence. Rose was one of the most considerate, intelligent, caring girls in the school—simply incapable of hurting another person.

  “That can’t be true. I know this girl very well. There must be another explanation,” Sarah said.

  “It is hard to believe. But my friend assured me, it’s murder, plain and simple. Let me say it again. Rose had a bloody knife in her hand, and led ’em right to her sister’s body. I’m sorry if this upsets you on your big day. But sometimes we don’t know people as well as we think we do.”

  Bel was dead, and Rose was the killer. Was it possible? Maybe it was. Please, God, let it be true, Sarah thought fiercely, then immediately felt ashamed of her selfishness. It would be a tragedy if Rose Enright had murdered her sister. It would be a nightmare for poor Rose, and the worst thing that had ever happened at Odell Academy. It was wrong of Sarah to see any silver lining at all. But it went to show how terrified she was, how uncertain of her own husband she was, that she felt a big surge of relief.

  Rose’s guilt meant Heath’s innocence.

  “Now that you know she did it, you still want to talk to her?” Kim asked.

  “I’m her advisor, so yes, I think I should.”

  “Okay, but I have to warn you. She could be suicidal, or dangerous. We’re on strict orders to keep the door locked and sharp objects out of her room. I was told they’ll move her out today or tomorrow, and I can’t wait. I’m short-staffed from the virus, I got twelve kids admitted with it, and I’m supposed to be checking Rose Enright every thirty minutes, for the suicide watch.”

  “Suicide watch, ugh. Awful.”

  Sarah knew too well what that was like. If Rose was suicidal, it would be wrong to turn away and leave her to her own devices. Sarah had gone there for selfish reasons, looking for information to exonerate Heath. Now that she had it, she couldn’t just walk away, basking in her relief. She ought to stay, to help a poor, disturbed girl who was in bad trouble.

  “It is awful, and I don’t have the manpower to monitor her properly,” Kim said. “I told them that. I’ll take you to see her, but I want to take your temperature first. I’ve been dealing with this virus all week, and I know the signs. I’m almost certain you got it. Wait here.”

  Kim went away, and came back wheeling a machine. She stuck a plastic probe under Sarah’s tongue. After a moment, the machine beeped.

  “Uh-huh, just like I thought. A hundred point nine. Home to bed, miss, and that’s an order.”

  “After I talk to Rose.”

  “Sarah, you’re not listening. This one’s as bad as flu gets. High fever, dizziness, nausea, lethargy, brain fog. You won’t be able to stand up, let alone think straight.”

  “All the more reason to visit now, while I’m still on my feet.”

  “All right, but make it quick, and here, use some Purell first. Follow me. We put her all by herself at the end of the hall.”

  48

  Rose awoke from a nightmare, with tears in her eyes and a scream ringing in her ears. It wasn’t her own scream. It was Bel’s. The sound felt horribly real, because it was real. She remembered now—hearing that shriek of terror in the woods, last night when Bel was murdered. No wonder Rose was crying: She’d been reliving her sister’s death. They blamed her for it. But Rose didn’t murder the one person left on the planet whom she’d really, truly loved. She could never do that. Whoever did was out there right now, walking free.

  The blinds were drawn, and the line of light around the edge of the window told her it was daytime. Her grandmother and the lawyer hadn’t come back, which was just as well. The lawyer wanted her gone, and Grandma went along with anything he said. Nobody would help her. If Rose wanted to get out of here, if she wanted justice for her sister, she’d have to help herself. The only way to do that was to remember.

  The sound of the scream was so clear that it carried other memories within it. Rose remembered running through the dark and the fog, as a crunching sound followed behind her. The sound of footsteps on icy ground. Someone was chasing her. She remembered the feel of frozen ground under her knees, and relived the bolt of fear she felt as someone stood behind her. She’d been kneeling on the ground, when she heard the whir of a hard object, traveling through the air. Then, boom. Darkness.

  Why was she kneeling on the ground? Who hit her?

  Think.

  Rose remembered leaning over Bel’s motionless body, holding her, begging her to wake up. She recalled picking up an object and staring in horror as it glinted in the moonlight. A knife. The murder weapon, the deadly blade used to stab her sister. The killer had chased her through the woods. She’d stumbled upon Bel’s body, and the bloody knife. The killer smashed her in the head to stop her from telling. To silence her. He wanted her quiet. He succeeded. Rose lost consciousness. Later, in shock, covered in her sister’s blood, she went for help, the bloody knife still in her hand. And now they thought she’d done it, when it was him.

  Him. She thought it was a man. Why did she think that?

  She had to tell the police.

  Rose threw off the scratchy hospital blanket and swung her legs over the side of the bed. A wave of nausea hit, and she had to sit very still until it passed. Slowly, she got to her feet, walked to the door and tried to open it. It wouldn’t budge. She put her ear to the door, expecting to hear the bustle of the infirmary, but it was surprisingly quiet.

  She knocked. Then pounded. “Hello? Hello? Can anybody hear me? Let me out, please let me out!”

  Nobo
dy came. Trapped, Rose paced the narrow room until her legs grew weak and shaky. Then she fell back into bed, and turned her face to the wall.

  * * *

  Rose had been languishing for what felt like hours when she heard a key turn in the lock.

  “I need to check her before you come in,” the nurse said to someone behind her, stepping into the room.

  As the nurse took her vitals, Rose vowed not to tell Grandma and her lawyer what she’d remembered. They’d only accuse her of lying, or worse. No. She needed to find a way to get out of here, and talk to the police on her own, without them knowing.

  “You can come in now,” the nurse said. “I’m going to lock the door while I get her a breakfast tray. I’ll be back in ten minutes to let you out, okay?”

  Rose looked up to see Mrs. Donovan standing on the threshold.

  “Is it okay if I come in?” Mrs. Donovan said with a concerned look on her kind face. “I just wanted to check on you, but if you’re not up for a visit, I’ll come back some other time.”

  Is it okay? Are you kidding me?

  Mrs. Donovan was the one person in the entire world Rose trusted to help her. She wanted to turn back time, to go back to her afternoons in Mrs. Donovan’s kitchen. If only she could taste the chocolate-chip cookies again, hold that adorable baby in her lap, hear the thump of the dog’s tail. If she could stay forever in that moment, if none of this had happened, if she could live a normal girl’s life. Then things would be all right. Instead, Bel was dead, and they thought Rose had murdered her own sister. The weight of it hit her at the sight of her teacher’s face, and all the tears she’d been holding back came flooding out.

  Mrs. Donovan rolled the small visitor’s chair closer to the bed and sat down. She leaned forward, gathered Rose into her arms, and held her till the storm passed.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered. “Let it out.”

  Eventually, Rose stopped crying, and realized that Mrs. Donovan was speaking to her softly.