The Sixes

by Kate White

  “Okay,” the girl muttered.

  Phoebe walked Ginger once more, trying to tamp down her mounting anxiety. When she returned, she called Duncan, knowing he’d now be at class. There was no way she could stay with him again until she figured out the truth.

  “Hi, it’s me,” she said to his voice mail. “I’m sorry, but I have to bail tonight. Glenda needs me for something important, and I’m going to bunk down at her house. I’ll—I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

  And then what do I say tomorrow, she wondered in despair, when I still don’t have any answers?

  At four she promised Ginger she would return shortly and, with her coat draped around her and a pashmina for extra warmth, she headed out on foot. She’d never been to the soccer field, but she knew where all the playing fields were—on the northern part of campus, west of the Grove and the science center. She entered the college through the western gate and walked north. Several of the playing fields were occupied—there were girls swinging hockey sticks on the one nearest to her, and football practice just beyond that. Farther down, she was pretty sure, was the soccer game—there was a fair number of people watching. Phoebe picked up her pace, eager to connect with Glenda. The ground was still soggy from the rain, and Phoebe felt her boots becoming damp. Though the pashmina helped her body stay warm, the wind was strong, and before long her face felt raw.

  She spotted Glenda almost immediately along the sidelines of the field, towering above the crowd in her red coat. As Phoebe made her way in that direction, Glenda seemed to sense her presence and looked over. She waved and broke away from the people who’d congregated around her. As she reached Phoebe, her smile faded.

  “What’s happened now?” Glenda asked. She had obviously read Phoebe’s face.

  “The news just keeps getting better and better,” Phoebe said. She spilled what she’d learned—that it was Duncan, not Tom, who’d been on the committee with Lily. Glenda flung her head back, grimacing.

  “Oh, wow. You’re sure?”

  “That’s the information in the computer. Of course, I have no proof they had an affair.”

  “Are you in love with him, Fee?”

  Phoebe shrugged mournfully. “Not in love yet, fortunately,” she said. “But in like, definitely. And it’s not just that he might have had an affair with Lily. But what else might have happened.”

  The wind whipped Phoebe’s hair in front of her face, and she yanked the strands away, tucking them behind her ears.

  “I need to ask you a question, G,” Phoebe said. “When I first told you about me and Duncan, you paused a beat. Why?”

  Glenda looked off, gathering her words. The wind was playing havoc with her hair, too, and she smoothed it down distractedly with her hands.

  “Not because I’d heard anything bad about him,” she replied. “Of course I would have told you that. And look, the guy has a stellar reputation here. Not only do the kids like him, but he’s published terrific papers. But when his wife was sick—well, there were rumors that his attention was diverted elsewhere.”

  “With a student?” Phoebe demanded.

  “No,” Glenda said. “Again, I would have told you something like that. I heard it was with someone in town. Look, people cheat every day, and maybe he just needed a way to cope with his wife’s illness. But then there was the creepy way she died.”

  “You think he might have killed her?” Phoebe asked, her voice catching.

  “Well, I didn’t at the time. And I didn’t five minutes ago. I just thought it was, like I said, creepy. But now you’ve got my mind racing.”

  “I feel like puking,” Phoebe said.

  “Should we tell the police?” Glenda asked.

  “No,” Phoebe said sharply. “Sorry—I just don’t want to cast any suspicion on him with the cops until I have more information.”

  Behind them the crowd noise began to swell from a hum to a light roar and then finally jubilant cheering as a goal was obviously scored. Instinctively the two women turned their heads toward the field. As Phoebe’s eyes ran over the scene, she saw that Rachel, the girl from her class, the one she spotted walking with Jen, was sitting on the players’ bench.

  “I’d better be getting back,” Glenda said.

  “That girl with the blond hair who’s on the bench,” Phoebe said. “Her name’s Rachel Blunt. Do you know anything about her?”

  “Just that she’s out for a few days with an injury. Why?”

  “She may be—look, I’ll fill you in later. I’m still in information-gathering mode.”

  “Phoebe, please be careful.”

  “I will. Before I go, there’s one more thing I need to tell you.” Mentally Phoebe gritted her teeth and described her trip to Glenda’s house yesterday, and what she’d overheard Mark say.

  Glenda shook her head in disgust. “Do you think it was a woman?”

  “If it was, he didn’t seem all that friendly,” Phoebe said. “I remember you told me that he once had that problem with online gambling. I’ve been wondering if that’s what it is, that what he needed to deliver to the person was money.”

  “What a bastard. Of all the times for him to be pulling this.”

  Phoebe hugged Glenda with just her left arm. “I’ll call you later. Let me know if I can do anything at all,” she said.

  Phoebe headed back toward West Gate, making slow progress over the sodden grass. She tried calling Wesley again. Still nothing. As she dropped her phone into her purse, she glanced around her. The other two playing fields were empty now, though far ahead of her she could see the football players trudging into the gym after practice. She was on the western edge of the Grove, and she realized that there was no one in the immediate vicinity. She pulled her pashmina around her and began to hurry.

  When Phoebe stopped to catch her breath, she heard footsteps behind her and spun around. A man was coming towards her. He had on a dark jacket with a scarf obscuring the lower part of his face, but she knew the gait. It was Duncan. He’s been following me, she thought. She froze for a moment, and then took a step awkwardly backward, unsure what to do.

  “Phoebe, wait up,” he called to her.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked roughly.

  “What am I doing?” he said. “I saw you at the game, and I wanted to catch up with you. Is something the matter? Why did you cancel tonight?”

  “I thought I explained,” Phoebe said. “I need to be with Glenda.”

  “No,” he said, stepping closer. “Something’s the matter, I can tell.”

  Phoebe glanced over his shoulder. Behind one of the dorms, a bunch of boys was tossing a Frisbee, calling out funny insults to each other as they played. She knew it wasn’t smart to say anything, to confront Duncan, but she couldn’t hold back.

  “You lied to me,” Phoebe blurted out. “You knew Lily, didn’t you?”

  Duncan said nothing for a moment and just looked at her, his eyes wary.

  “All right,” he said finally. “I did know her. But it’s not what you think.”

  30

  P HOEBE HAD BRACED herself for the fact that Duncan had lied to her about knowing Lily, but the actual words still rocked her.

  “Did you have an affair with her?” Phoebe said.

  “No, of course not.”

  “Really?”

  “You honestly think I had an affair with a student here?” Duncan said indignantly.

  “Lily told at least one person that she was in love with a man she was on a committee with last spring.”

  Duncan pressed his lips together, as if holding the words back.

  “Okay, something did happen,” he said after a moment.

  Phoebe’s heart seemed to stop. She glanced over his shoulder again. The boys who’d been tossing the Frisbee had given up and drifted off.

  “You slept with her?” Phoebe said.

  “No, I told you I didn’t,” Duncan said. His anger was rising, and he swept a hand roughly through his hair. “But she seemed to
have a crush on me, and it might have been partially my fault. I’d become friendly with her when we were on a committee in part because I knew she was a wreck about her boyfriend disappearing, but also because I liked that she was so passionate about animal rights. She came by my office a couple of times this term to continue the discussion. Then one day she called and asked me to grab a beer after class. I thought she was including other kids from the committee, but she was alone and I started to pick up this flirtatious undercurrent. So I backed off completely. Even if I’d been interested—and I wasn’t—I would have never jeopardized my career here.”

  “And that’s it?” Phoebe demanded.

  He didn’t say anything for a second, and she saw him take a breath.

  “No,” he said, “there’s a bit more than that. About two weeks ago, I bumped into her at a farmer’s market a few miles from here. It seemed odd to find her there, and later I realized she might have overheard me tell someone I was headed there on the weekend, and showed up on purpose. She asked if I wanted to have a cup of coffee with her. There were a few plastic tables set up. I felt backed into a corner, so I said yes. And as we were sitting there, she leaned over and kissed me—totally out of the blue.”

  He shook his head as if the memory still bugged him. Was it all an act? Phoebe wondered.

  “I told her I was flattered,” Duncan said, “but that I didn’t believe in dating students. She apologized and said she was just confused about a bunch of things. I felt sorry for her—I could tell she was still troubled about the boyfriend and trying to sort things out. That was the last contact I had with her this semester—though I saw her a couple of times coming out of the science center. If I’m the man she told people about, I had no clue her feelings ran that deep.”

  “But why would you lie to me? Why tell me you didn’t know her?”

  “A student drowns in the river? A student I rebuffed romantically? That’s not information I intended to broadcast on campus. I hadn’t even told Miles.”

  He’d misled her so successfully before, she didn’t know how to read whether this was the truth or not.

  “Look, Phoebe,” he said when she’d didn’t reply. “That’s why I acted like such a prick this morning when you mentioned her having an affair. Once you and I had become intimate, I was having second thoughts about withholding this information from you. I don’t make a habit of lying.”

  “Is that right?” she said. “But you told me a lie just the other day. You said Miles had had an angina attack, but when I talked to Jan today, she claimed he doesn’t have angina.”

  “Wait, you spoke to Jan?”

  “I asked her if Miles was okay.”

  Duncan threw up his hands. “I should have told you. He hasn’t admitted to Jan that he has it. He doesn’t want to alarm her. If you don’t believe me, call him.”

  He seemed frustrated with her. But that was what liars often did, she knew. They flipped things, becoming indignant with you.

  “Then why tell me it was Bruce you were going to see?” she said.

  “What?”

  “You told me at first you were going upstairs to see Bruce.”

  “I misspoke, for God’s sake. I work with both of them every day. Where are you going with this, Phoebe, anyway?”

  “Well, there are these inconsistencies, but then I’m supposed to believe you when you say that there was really nothing between you and Lily. And then she ends up dead. And so does Hutch.”

  “Are you suggesting that I did something to her—that I killed her?”

  Stop right there, Phoebe commanded herself. Don’t go any further. But she couldn’t contain herself.

  “Did you?” she asked, her voice suddenly hoarse.

  Duncan let his arms drop by his side and shook his head in dismay, his mouth pinched together.

  “I don’t believe you’re doing this, Phoebe,” he said. “I thought we had something together—something good.”

  He turned abruptly and traipsed off along the woods.

  I guess that’s it for us, Phoebe thought, regardless of what the truth is. I just ended everything.

  She felt overwhelmed—by sadness and grief but also by anger that Duncan had lied to her, and by fear that everything he’d said just now had been lies as well. She wanted to believe him, but she was still nagged by doubt.

  She waited a minute until Duncan was out of sight and then made her own way across campus. By the time she reached the gate, her head was pounding and her elbow ached unbearably.

  She had just turned onto Hunter Street when her phone rang. Wesley, finally.

  “What’s going on?” he said, sounding agitated. “I got all these calls from you.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” Phoebe said, sliding into the front seat. “I was just anxious to catch up with you.”

  “Is something the matter?”

  “No, no. I just need your help. I want to get a bit more info from you about the man at the jukebox in Cat Tails.”

  “The man? Why does that matter anymore? They’ve arrested the girls who did it.”

  “Uh, maybe not. I’m having doubts that Blair and her friend are the killers.”

  “Whoa, really? And you think it was this man I talked to?”

  “I don’t know, but I just keep coming back to him. Is there any way you can meet me tonight? I can explain when I see you.”

  “Lemme think for a second,” he said. “I’m still at work, and then I’m going out from here—but in the opposite direction from Lyle.” There were a few seconds of silence. “Is there any way you could meet me here? It’s about twenty, twenty-five minutes west of Lyle.”

  She didn’t like the idea of driving all that way, especially because it would be completely dark soon, but she was desperate to meet with Wesley. In person she could take notes, prod him better. And even show him a picture.

  “Okay,” she said. “How late will you be there?”

  “I was planning to leave in half an hour because I need to be at this other place. But if you hurry, I’ll wait.”

  Phoebe was worried about how she would pull it off, but she didn’t want to pass up the chance to see him. She scribbled down the address and signed off. Now she needed to hurry home, check on Ginger, and pick up her car. She also had to download a photo.

  The little dog seemed overjoyed to see her and nearly leaped in her arms when she walked into the house. Phoebe took a few seconds to pet her and toss her one of the tiny treats from the package Dan had left. Next, with the clock ticking in her head, Phoebe pulled up the college Web site and downloaded the photo of Stockton. There was a remote chance, she thought, that once Lily had been spurned by Duncan—if that were really the case—she had moved on to Stockton, and the story had then morphed slightly in the telling.

  Phoebe was in the car in less than ten minutes, but she was now behind schedule. She programmed the address into her GPS and pulled out of the driveway. Fortunately most of the trip turned out to be on backcountry roads, and there was little traffic to contend with. As she drove, the misery she was feeling seemed to balloon with each mile. Her boots were soaked through from walking over soggy ground earlier, her elbow still ached, and her emotions were a battered mess. She had had something good with Duncan. And now it was over.

  Wesley’s feed company was at the edge of a small town called Springville, and Phoebe reached it fifteen minutes later than she’d promised. She prayed that Wesley was still waiting. As she pulled off the road into the parking lot, she saw a sign out front that read, “Closed,” but there was one car still in the parking lot.

  She stepped from her car into the cold. She was at the far right end of the large brick building, and peering through the twilight, she saw a stream running near the back. It was the one Wesley had mentioned, she realized, the one that once moved the paddle wheel that then turned the grist stones. In the air was the smell of something sweet but unidentifiable.

  As she hurried toward the main door, she saw that she was actual
ly looking at two buildings—the big old gristmill with a drive-through on one end—probably for trucks and vans making pickups—and a newer, less impressive structure on the far side that appeared to be devoted to the lawn care business. There was a light on just inside the main building, so she tried that door first. Entering, she spotted Wesley standing behind a counter in the two-story-high space, dressed in his standard-issue khaki pants, button-down shirt, and pullover. The smell she’d picked up outside was even stronger in here.

  “Thanks so much for waiting,” Phoebe told him. The front of the large room, she saw, had been set up as a store, with shelves of feed and supplies. It opened at the back onto an area with industrial-looking equipment and huge container bags. That was clearly where the feed was ground and bagged.

  “Not a problem,” Wesley said. “What’d you do to your arm?”

  “Broke my elbow—but just a minor fracture.”

  He smoothed an eyebrow with his hand, a gesture she interpreted as impatience. He was being polite, but he was clearly eager to leave.

  “This should only take a second,” Phoebe said. “What’s that smell, by the way?”

  “Oh, that’s probably the molasses you’re smelling. We sweeten the animal feed with it. We have vats of it in the basement, and it’s piped up to the back room.”

  As she drew a notebook from her purse, the store phone rang.

  “Lemme just grab this, okay?” he said. “It’s a guy calling back about a lawn issue.”

  Wesley answered, “Springville Feed Company,” and ended up in a conversation about crabgrass. As he talked, Phoebe’s eyes wandered over the space. In the middle of the first floor was an open area protected by a waist-high wooden fence; beyond it was the top of a large, weathered paddle wheel, at least twelve feet in diameter. She moved closer and stared down into a pit large enough to hold the wheel and several wooden gears. At one point the stream had run through there, she realized, making the wheel turn, but now it was totally dry.

  Across the room she heard Wesley say good-bye, and she returned to where she’d been standing.