The Sixes

by Kate White

  “Do you wanna sit?” Amanda asked, gesturing to her desk chair.

  “Great, thanks,” Phoebe said, unbuttoning her coat. As Phoebe took the chair, Amanda plopped down cross-legged onto a spongy-looking throw rug in the middle of the floor and pulled her knees up under her faded Lyle College T-shirt. The air, Phoebe noticed, smelled vaguely of mildewed towels.

  “I take it the police have searched through Lily’s things?”

  “Yeah. And they took some of her stuff last night—like her laptop and her notebooks. Her parents came by first thing this morning. They just kind of stood here for a few minutes and then they left. They’re like, totally freaked out.”

  “I’m sure,” Phoebe said. “It must be so awful for them. And awful for you, too, Amanda. I had a friend who disappeared years ago, and the waiting was unbearable.”

  It was a slight exaggeration. But there were several strategies Phoebe used again and again when interviewing people. The first: Find common ground with the person.

  “I couldn’t sleep last night,” Amanda said, rocking back and forth on her butt. “I didn’t want to say this to her parents, but it just seems something bad must have happened to her. I mean, why else would she be gone so long?”

  “She’s never gone off for a while and not told you?”

  “No—though I’ve only known her for two months.”

  That news surprised Phoebe. Wouldn’t an upperclassman like Lily pick a close friend to live with?

  “How did you end up as roommates, then?” she asked.

  “The girl I was supposed to room with flunked out. It was too late to find anyone else and way too late to ask for a single. Lily ended up stuck, too. She was gonna live off campus with her boyfriend, but then he took off. The college paired us, and the funny thing is, it’s worked out okay. I know I’m never going to be one of her close friends or anything, but we get along good.”

  “Was she pretty upset about her boyfriend?”

  “Yeah. But not like suicidal or anything. I think she was sad at first, but then she started to get mad. She said that’s what happens when you date a guy like that.”

  Phoebe didn’t say anything. Just waited. That was another technique: Leave a silence alone, no matter how awkward it felt. Invariably the other person filled it, often with something unexpected.

  Amanda shrugged a shoulder. “He was kind of a bad boy, if you know what I mean,” she said.

  “Oh, one of those,” Phoebe said, offering a knowing smile. “Can’t be trusted or counted on for anything?”

  “Exactly. Lily said she thought he’d cheated a few times. But then, what do you expect? That’s what you have to pick from at Lyle—bad boys or losers.”

  “That’s a shame. Why is that, do you think?”

  “The admission standards for the guys are much lower here than for the girls.”

  “Really?” Phoebe said, caught again by surprise. “Why would that be? I’m new here, so I don’t know a lot about how things work.”

  “What I hear is that tons more girls apply to colleges these days so most schools have way fewer guys to pick from.”

  “Got it,” Phoebe said. “That doesn’t sound like a great situation.”

  Amanda smiled ruefully. “It isn’t. Maybe you can help me explain to my mother why I never have a boyfriend.”

  “Sometimes, though, as bad as a bad boy is, he can be hard to resist,” Phoebe said, prodding. “Do you think there’s any chance Lily heard from Trevor and went off to meet up with him?”

  Amanda shook her head quickly, as if the cops had already asked that question. “I don’t think so. If she’d heard from him, I think she would have mentioned it.”

  “Had she started seeing someone new?”

  “Sort of. I mean, maybe.”

  “Maybe?”

  “I heard her on the phone a few weeks ago. She was arranging to meet someone for a drink. I asked her, ‘Hot date?’ and she said it was just a guy she was starting to get to know.”

  “A guy here on campus?”

  “I don’t think so. I asked her if he was our year, and she just kind of smiled and said, ‘Wouldn’t I be a fool to date a little boy again?’ ”

  “Someone from the town, you think?”

  Amanda wrinkled her nose. “Lily’s real smart, and she wouldn’t date a townie. I just got the feeling it wasn’t a student. Maybe Blair knows.”

  “That’s the friend she sometimes stays with off campus?”

  “Yeah, she lives over on Ash Street. Number 133.”

  “How often does Lily stay there?”

  “In the beginning of the term, once or twice a week. She’d crash on their couch. But then I guess she got too busy. When she said she might stay there Thursday, it was the first time in weeks.”

  “Is there anyone else she’s particularly friendly with?”

  “People like her, but she’s sort of kept to herself lately.”

  “Is she involved in any extracurricular activities?”

  “She writes for the school paper and magazine. She really wants to be a writer. And she’s on the volleyball team.”

  “And what about a sorority?” Phoebe asked. “Is she in anything like that?” She kept her eyes on Amanda as she asked this question, observing her body language.

  “Oh, sororities aren’t allowed here,” Amanda said without a trace of guile. “Which is fine with me, because I wouldn’t have been picked for one anyway.”

  “Is there anything else you can think of ?” Phoebe asked. “Something you might have forgotten until now?”

  Amanda shook her head, woefully.

  “Well, I appreciate your talking to me,” Phoebe said. “Let’s hope Lily did just go off somewhere—to clear her head, maybe.”

  “Yeah,” Amanda said hopefully.

  At that, Phoebe said good-bye. As she pulled the door shut, she saw Amanda still sitting on the floor, looking morose.

  From the dorm Phoebe had planned to go directly to Berta’s to meet Stockton, but when she checked her phone outside, she found a message from him saying he had to cancel. “I need to spend most of today with Lily Mack’s parents,” he said. “Why don’t we plan to meet at Berta’s tomorrow—same time.”

  Damn, she thought. She wondered if his excuse was legit or if he’d pulled a power play because he didn’t like her on his turf. Regardless, it left her in limbo until tomorrow. She thought about walking over to Ash Street and trying to talk to Blair now, but she knew it would be better to wait until she had a clear sense of what she was looking for. One truth she lived by as an experienced interviewer was that your first encounter with someone when their guard was down only happened once, and you had to do your best not to blow it.

  She returned home, and for the next hour or so, she researched college secret societies on line. The most famous one by far was Skull and Bones at Yale, but there were plenty of others around the country. Some concentrated on playing pranks, while others had more aggressive goals, like taking control of student government and organizations. There were a few that actually did philanthropic work.

  So what was the Sixes’ agenda? Phoebe wondered. There were no sororities at Lyle, so maybe it functioned as one. But if it was just a social club, why terrorize a member?

  When she’d finished her search, she turned to schoolwork, completing some of her critiques of the student papers that she’d promised to return this coming week. Most of the kids in her classes were average at best at writing, but a couple showed real promise, she’d discovered. There was a gutsiness to their writing that impressed her.

  As she stuffed the finished papers into her tote bag, thinking about Monday morning, Duncan Shaw crossed her mind unexpectedly. She’d been so preoccupied with Lily’s disappearance that she’d forgotten about the awkward encounter last night. She wondered if he was ticked at her. Picturing him, she realized how much more attractive she’d found him without the professorial beard and mustache. But it didn’t matter anyway. The last thing she
wanted to do was become entangled in a campus romance.

  From there, her mind flew to Lily once again. Maybe the mess Lily had alluded to was actually related to a romantic entanglement and not the Sixes after all. Could she have taken off with the new guy she was apparently seeing? Or been harmed by him? Phoebe was still tossing these thoughts around as she slid into bed later that night.

  She woke the next morning at around seven, and after a quick breakfast, loaded her bike in the trunk of her car. She drove through town toward a small park along the river, which spread out from either side of the old steel bridge at the base of Bridge Street. A bike path shot off from the north end of the park and ran for miles along the river, and though it wasn’t scenic near the town, farther north Phoebe had discovered some beautiful secluded areas and several stunning vistas across the muddy brown Winamac. Her weekend bike rides had become one of the few pleasures she’d found in Lyle.

  Phoebe stopped her car in the parking lot near the park and tugged her bike from the trunk. According to the weather report she’d checked earlier, it was going to be overcast most of the day, but right now there were only a few scattered clouds scuttling across a bright blue sky.

  As she walked her bike toward the path, Phoebe glanced around the empty park with its weathered benches and granite war memorial. Across the street was a row of shabby buildings—an old barbershop, a hardware store, and the two grungy tavern-style bars that Glenda hated. One was Cat Tails, where Lily Mack had last been seen the night she vanished.

  Phoebe mounted her bike and began to pedal. Even this early on a Sunday she usually passed other people—mostly gray-haired walkers and other bikers—but today she seemed to have the path to herself. Soon she’d gone a mile, and the malaise she’d been feeling began to dissipate. The air was crisp and cool, woodsy scented and almost intoxicating to breathe. And the trees here were brilliantly colored—no fiery reds like you saw on the sugar maples in her home state, Massachusetts, but bright yellows and oranges and burnt sienna. For the first time in ages she felt a surge of something like joy.

  After she’d ridden for about forty minutes, she stopped for a drink of water. She was on one of the most isolated parts of the bike path now—dense thickets of trees lay between the path and the two-lane highway that ran parallel—and there wasn’t a soul in sight. In fact, she had yet to pass a single person during her ride. She found the isolation suddenly disconcerting. I’ll go just a little farther, she thought, and then turn back.

  As soon as she climbed back on her bike, an older couple in tracksuits emerged on foot through a cut in the trees, walking a husky. Phoebe relaxed at the sight of them. A short time later she heard bikers coming up behind her, and soon three men whizzed by, suited in full spandex. Okay, no need to worry, Phoebe told herself. A few minutes later a man approached on a bike from the opposite direction. He was in his forties, probably, dressed casually in athletic shorts and a T-shirt. As he passed, she saw him furtively check her out. Give me a break, she thought.

  Suddenly the air grew cooler, and Phoebe glanced up. The promised blanket of clouds had finally begun to unfold across the sky, instantly dulling the colors of the leaves around her. It seemed like a good time to turn back. Rather than stop her bike, Phoebe slowed down and made a U-turn in the path.

  She’d gone only a short distance when she spotted another biker approaching her from the front. To her surprise, it was the same guy she’d passed five minutes ago. After he’d shot by, she turned; simultaneously he snapped his head back in her direction.

  Maybe the guy was only retracing his route, like she was doing herself. Maybe he was trying to pick her up. Regardless, she felt uncomfortable. She began to pedal faster, anxious to reach town. She checked behind her again. There was no sign of the guy. She was relieved when she glimpsed the tip of a church spire through the trees, indicating that the town of Lyle lay just ahead. I’m probably just being silly, Phoebe thought, letting my city fears affect me here.

  As she neared the park, she suddenly heard noises ahead—the murmur of voices and also the hum of running motors. She quickened her pace, curious. Emerging from the path into the park, she was stunned see a fire truck, an ambulance, and two police cars parked haphazardly along the street. Yellow police tape had been used to cordon off a large section of the park closest to the river, and about thirty people gathered alongside it.

  She dismounted and raced ahead, her bike rattling. She could now see that there were several boats bobbing in the river, black Zodiacs filled with cops and men in wet suits. But the real action was on the bank of the river. One Zodiac had already pulled up there, and several cops hovered around it. Oh, God, Phoebe thought. They had found Lily Mack.

  4

  P LEASE DON’T LET it be her, Phoebe pleaded to herself. Nearly shoving her bike along ahead of her, she followed the yellow tape until she found an empty spot where she could better see. As if on a count of three, several cops hoisted something out of the boat and onto a black tarp lying on the ground. It was a body, and the crowd gasped in unison. Phoebe could view only the lower half, dressed in sodden jeans.

  One of the men stepped back from the body, and suddenly Phoebe could see the upper half. Her heart lurched. The face appeared bloated and partially covered with strands of matted long blond hair, but Phoebe knew that it had to be Lily. A photographer began to move around the body, snapping pictures.

  Phoebe needed to call Glenda, but she could barely drag her eyes from the scene. She watched for another minute—until the police formed a human barrier around the body, blocking it from view. Leaning her bike against her hip, she quickly dug her phone from her jacket pocket.

  “I just heard,” Glenda said after Phoebe had blurted out the news. “I’m headed down there now. Is the body still in the river?”

  “No, they’ve brought it to that little park by the bridge.”

  “Do you think it’s definitely her?”

  “It must be. I can’t really see the face, but she’s got long blond hair.”

  “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  Phoebe turned her attention back to the grim scene in the park. A woman with a black bag—most likely the coroner—approached the body and crouched down next to it. The crowd was growing, and people strained their necks for a better view. Phoebe felt gripped by an overwhelming sadness. The smart, pretty girl who wanted to be a writer and had waited in the rain to talk to her was dead, her lifeless, bloated body on display for a crowd of strangers. There would be no fresh start now.

  While the coroner busied herself with the body, two EMTs rolled a trolley toward the body and stopped, waiting. Phoebe wondered where Lily’s parents were. It would be horrible for them to come upon this scene.

  Phoebe glanced back at the people who had gathered around her. Many of them seemed to live in the apartments above the shops and bars across the street or in some of the small old houses that climbed up from the river. There were also a few people in jogging clothes, who, like her, must have come off the river path. At the very fringe of the crowd were four guys in jeans and saggy sweatshirts who Phoebe thought must be Lyle College students. Two of them were talking animatedly on cell phones. It would be only minutes, Phoebe thought, before the entire campus was on fire with the news.

  Inside the police tape, the officials mostly milled around, talking to each other or speaking into cell phones and walkie-talkies. The coroner touched her right hand to the ground for leverage and stood up. She nodded, just one flick of the head down and up to the EMTs, who zipped the dead girl into a black body bag and hoisted it onto the trolley. They rolled the trolley to a dark-colored van and lifted it inside. A minute later the van pulled away, with the coroner in the passenger seat, followed shortly afterward by the ambulance. The ambulance was leaving empty.

  No sooner had the two vehicles driven away than two cars turned from Bridge Street onto River Street and parked, one behind the other, in front of the hardware store. One was an SUV with “Lyle College Campus
Police” on the door. The other was a white Mini Cooper. Phoebe saw that Glenda was sitting hunched over in the passenger seat of the Mini Cooper, as if she’d been shoehorned into the space.

  The campus cop in the SUV jumped out first. Phoebe wasn’t sure of his name, but she recognized him. He was the head honcho, one of the two she’d seen in the thick of things outside Curry Hall the night before last. He was about forty, with thick silver hair, and he was oddly tanned for this time of year. She didn’t know the older woman who emerged from the car with Glenda, but she assumed the woman was part of the college administration. The three of them hurried in unison toward the park. Phoebe waved toward Glenda. When her friend caught the gesture, she signaled with a raised finger that she would join Phoebe in a minute.

  It turned out to be longer than that. After the campus cop exchanged a few words with one of the town cops inside the cordoned-off area, the yellow tape was lifted and the three delegates from the school were ushered inside. A man in a sports jacket immediately approached them, likely a detective. At several points the detective shook his head back and forth, as if the group from the college kept asking him questions he either couldn’t or wouldn’t answer. Phoebe shifted from one foot to the other. She hated being on the other side of the tape, not knowing what was going on.

  After about fifteen minutes Glenda and the older woman ducked back out under the yellow tape and, with Glenda in the lead, walked toward Phoebe. The crowd had continued to balloon, and now there were at least a hundred people rimming the park. Phoebe backed her bike up so that she and Glenda would intersect in a more private spot. As soon they reached each other, Phoebe saw that her friend’s eyes were strained with worry.

  “It’s definitely her?” Phoebe asked, though she knew the answer.