Josh considered this. “Wait until I get there. I’m leaving right now.”
I pressed the Off button and looked at Lydia. “Gosh, I don’t know, hon. I think he cares very much.”
But Lydia showed no reaction. Instead, she asked, “How do you know Josh’s number?”
Uh-oh. “I think I looked it up one time when you were over there. I can’t believe I remembered it.”
She stared at me, a curious expression playing across her face. “I can’t believe you did, either.”
I forced a laugh. “Come on, Lydia. I’m not seeing your boyfriend behind your back.”
Thankfully, Josh arrived a few moments later (he must have sprinted all the way from his college) and enfolded Lydia in a huge embrace. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” came the muffled reply. “He didn’t do anything. Just ran past me.”
Josh looked over Lydia’s shoulder at me. “Did you see him?”
I shook my head. “I was in the bathroom. I heard Lydia scream.”
Lydia disentangled herself from Josh’s arms. “I think we need to call the police.”
Josh took off his coat and threw it over the back of the couch, then strode into my bedroom. “This place looks okay, I mean, not trashed or anything.” He shot a glance at me over his shoulder. “Do you have any idea what this person may have been looking for?”
“I wish I did,” I said, and joined him in my room.
“Guys, the police?” said Lydia.
“Things have…progressed somewhat since I spoke to you last night,” I whispered. I needed to get Josh alone and share what Poe and I had discovered about Jenny’s room. “The room is much cleaner than it was yesterday.” I wagged my eyebrows at him.
“I really think we ought to call…” Lydia tried again, then clearly gave up.
Josh moved until he was behind my bedroom door. “There’s no sign of forced entry. Do you lock your door?” He mouthed at me, You went back there?
I checked the common room, but Lydia had moved out of sight range. “Yes, but since this is so vital to you, I want you to know it was legal this time. I was with her dean.”
“Her dean?”
“Yeah, her parents called and were concerned.”
“Because you called them?”
“Because James Orcutt and I called them, yes.”
“Who?”
Poe, I mouthed.
Poe thinks there’s a problem?
Yes. We’re not all as skeptical as you. At this rate, we’d have to take out additional student loans to cover our society name fines. Although, I suppose the jury was still out on whether it counted if we didn’t speak them aloud.
“I knew it!” shouted Lydia. Josh and I jumped, and then, stricken, spilled back into the common room.
Lydia was standing by the sofa, Josh’s navy peacoat balled up in her hands. “You liar!” She lobbed it at his head and he caught it. His Rose & Grave pin shimmered from the left-hand pocket.
“Whoa, whoa, what lie? Sweetie—”
“You know exactly what lie. I can’t believe you two, all this time, acting like you’d just met. I can’t believe I never noticed. I can’t believe—”
“What?” I said. “That Josh is a better secret keeper than I was? You really find that a tough one to swallow?”
She turned to me. “How much have the two of you been laughing behind my back about this?”
Josh and I exchanged glances. “Believe it or not,” I said, “not at all. We’ve been too busy being at each other’s throats.”
“Why?”
“Because,” said Josh, “we both love you and don’t want to see you hurt.”
My mouth fell open. Lydia, to her credit, kept her composure. “You…love me?”
Josh looked at her and sighed. “Yes. I do.”
Around this time, I decided to go back to the bathroom and, oh, I don’t know, wash my hands, brush my hair, maybe pluck my eyebrows. Stuff.
When I got back, Josh and Lydia were snuggled up on the couch. “All better?” I asked.
Lydia smiled, gave Josh a quick peck on the cheek, and hightailed it into her bedroom.
“Well, that’s one less secret I’ve got,” Josh muttered.
I shrugged. “She’s known about me since last year. World still hasn’t ended.”
“Indeed. So, fill me in on what’s going on.”
I told Josh what Poe and I discovered today (careful to always call Poe “James”) and what we suspected was going on.
“And you have no idea what the person in your room may have been searching for?” he asked.
“No. If Jenny was sharing her information with anyone, it wasn’t me. She was angry at me, remember? Do you know what they could be after?”
Josh shook his head. “Until a few minutes ago, I still wouldn’t have believed Jenny was involved. But after hearing all of this, how can I doubt it anymore? I feel like a moron.”
He looked at Lydia’s closed bedroom door. “I don’t want to call the police yet, but I don’t want you two staying here tonight. I’ve talked Lydia into coming back with me.”
“That must have taken some real effort.”
“I take it you have someplace to stay?” He raised his eyebrows. “Still keeping it in the family?”
“I’ll be fine.” I changed the subject. “Don’t you think it’s about time to go to the authorities? Two break-ins in two days?”
“One break-in, one alleged, and we’d have to come out with the society involvement to show there’s any connection at all. I’m not ready to go there.”
This was the same spiel Poe had given. “So when will you think they’ve gone too far, Josh? When it turns out the patriarchs have hurt Jenny?”
Josh frowned. “I don’t know. I’m still hoping this is all some mix-up. I’m going to try to get ahold of our truant tonight. I’ll call Po—what’s-his-name—and let him know I want to help. Lydia says you’ve got a paper due anyway, and I feel like an asshole for not helping earlier. Tell you what: If Jenny doesn’t contact us by tomorrow morning, we’ll go to the police. Deal?”
One more night. And if Josh was willing to meet me halfway and take on some of the responsibility, then maybe I ought to let him. “Deal.” I stuck out my hand, as if to shake on it.
“Amy,” Josh said, and he took my hand. “I’m sorry. I should have trusted your instincts.”
“You should have.”
“Want me to call George and tell him to expect you?”
I thought about that for a moment. “No, that’s okay. I’ve got a better idea.”
Twenty minutes later, I met Poe outside the entrance to the Law Library with my copy of The Expedition of Humphrey Clinker in one hand and my laptop case in the other. Change for the soda machine jingled in my coat pocket as Poe guided us past the metaphorical velvet rope with a wave of his Law ID and a proprietary hand on the small of my back.
This time, his touch didn’t make me ill.
“This never should have happened,” he said, almost as if to himself. “Are you sure Jenny didn’t pass anything on to you? Anything at all?”
Jenny was barely speaking to me. I was hardly her ally. But I’d come up with another hypothesis while gathering my papers. “Do you think there’s a chance the guy in my room could be behind the website? That if Jenny has been, uh, incapacitated, he’s trying to get his info from somewhere else?” If so, Josh’s or George’s rooms would be no safer than mine.
Poe scowled. “I’ll put out the word to everyone in your club to double bolt their doors and report back any suspicious activity. But to be honest, I don’t think this conspiracy theorist is the type that leaves his house much. And he’d be trying to get into the tomb, not your place. No, I think you were targeted because you were nosing around Jenny’s room. And if so, then all of this has gotten out of hand.”
He left me at his assigned study carrel, which came complete with a bag of Doritos. “Don’t say I never did anything for y
ou.”
“I wouldn’t,” I said. “You’ve been helping me all day. I really appreciate everything you’ve done.”
He frowned. “Don’t mistake me, Amy. It’s not for you, it’s for Rose & Grave.”
As if I’d somehow mix that up.
Nine hours, seven pages, and twenty-five hundred words later, I had a completed paper and a pounding headache, both of which I attributed to the four cups of Law Library coffee I’d consumed throughout the night. I’d also managed to stay up later than I had in the past three years, which I attributed in equal parts to panic and fear. Ever try to write a paper when you’re certain someone is watching you, waiting for a chance to strike? Was I about to be snatched wholesale from Poe’s study carrel, leaving behind little more than the dregs of my last latte and a half-eaten bag of Doritos? (Yes, I ate his Doritos. I owe him fifty-nine cents.) At least, in this case, they’d know straight off it was foul play. The library may be populated solely with zombies at this godforsaken hour, but even they would rouse at signs of a struggle.
Probably. If only to debate the ethics.
I was sick of being awake, of being paranoid, and of eighteenth-century stable-men. Unfortunately, due to the caffeine swirling through my system, I was not about to enjoy oblivion any time soon. Nor would I be returning to my cold, empty, recently violated room. There was safety in public places. I put my head down on the table and tried to breathe deeply, hoping that, if not sleep, at least I’d be able to meditate.
When it began to grow light beyond the windows, I gave up, packed my things, and began my academic walk of shame over to the English department to drop off my paper before my professor showed up at her office to collect.
Admittedly, I haven’t spent a lot of time enjoying the early morning during college (or, you know, ever), but you’d think that on the few occasions I’d managed to rouse myself at the butt crack of dawn, the least Eli University could do was make it worth my while. But today the only discernible difference between night and not-night was a sickly looking glow behind the dark clouds that had engulfed the campus and, from what I could tell, the entire eastern seaboard. The air was frigid and wet, and the sky hocked loogies on anyone stupid enough to venture outside.
I found the English department locked, if “locked” was an accurate description of a catch that hundreds of students forced open every day in order to use the front entrance to the building. (Because Eli’s Old Campus is gated and closed every night except to the students, the powers that be aren’t as interested in security on the quad-facing side of the building as on the streetside.) I took the stairs to my professor’s office, checked the floor for dust bunnies, and slid my paper under the door. There.
Maybe Hale had some bagels in the tomb. Since I was down on High Street, it was worth a look. The media had gone home, or at least weren’t yet out, having no doubt been exhausted by the non-stop excitement of their stakeout of a windowless building with negligible landscaping. I skipped across the deserted street and entered by the open gate, which in society code meant there was someone in the tomb. At this hour? Clearly I wasn’t the only Digger behind on my work.
I crept through the hall, fearful of waking another survivor of the all-night push, and into the Grand Library, where I found Juno, Bond, Angel, and Puck seated on the couches, drinking Earl Grey and eating cornbread.
“’Boo!” Puck cried. “Come and join us.”
“What are you doing here so early?” I waved off Angel’s proffered teacup (no more caffeine for me, thank you very much) and grabbed a slice of cornbread.
“You mean so late,” said Puck. “I got word late last night that my stepmom had to go into surgery, and they were worried about the baby. I just heard that everything’s fine, and we’re celebrating. I’m going to be a big brother!”
“The earth trembles at the prospect,” said Angel. She beamed at me. “I just got back from the best date of my life. I think I’ve met The One.”
“I’m trying to convince her there’s no such thing,” said Puck.
Careful, Clarissa. That’s how he got me.
“I fell asleep here,” Bond admitted, pointing at a nearby desk strewn with paper. “The first draft of my senior project is due before your national Puritan/Native celebration, and I haven’t even started.”
“I’m fresh from Tai Chi,” said Juno. “Sad turnout today. I guess too many people thought their energy wouldn’t be flowing in the frozen mud pit we usually call the New Haven Green. And you, Bugaboo?”
“I wrote seven pages about horseshoeing.”
Angel choked on her tea. “I think you may need brandy.”
But instead I got a mug of chamomile and settled in to listen sleepily to the rest of their conversation. Angel was wired, still fairly floating from her dream date; Bond seemed ready for a break from poetry translation; Juno worked her heretofore unknown Zen facets; and Puck set aside his usual contemptuous attitude toward his father and stepmother and exchanged it for obvious relief and good wishes. Over the next hour, the conversation meandered easily through a variety of topics: from Juno’s opinions on new spring fashion (gleaned from a swiped copy of Angel’s Vogue), to a debate about the all-important and upcoming Game between Harvard and Eli (Eli was up for the Ivy League Championship), to the various and contradictory historical accounts of the Black Hole of Calcutta. And no, I can’t remember how they all connected. Can anyone when they’ve got a good vibe going on?
Magic. I almost didn’t want to go to sleep. This should be what Rose & Grave was like all the time. Diggers, sitting in a room, sharing ideas and jokes and stories, without all the inner-society politicking and rancor that had hampered us since the start of school. This was what my club had been like in the beginning, or even over the summer, before we started worrying about missing funds and traitors.
But all good things must be spoiled by someone, and in this case that person was Angel. “So, has anyone heard from Lucky yet?”
Puck chuckled and nodded at me. “Ask Nancy Drew over there. Soze tells me she spent all yesterday investigating Lucky’s ‘disappearance.’”
“I’d disappear, too, if I were her,” said Juno. “Everyone’s so angry with her. What I can’t figure out is why she’d pull a stunt like that. Isn’t she a millionaire from some program she sold? It’s not like she needs the money.”
“Maybe she didn’t do it for the money,” I said, stifling a yawn.
“Then, what?” asked Bond.
I shrugged, because She hates us would totally smash the current lovey-dovey atmosphere in the room. But what would Also, I think her disappearance is more like a kidnapping, and I’m not the only one do to the energy? “Did Soze contact any of you last night?”
They all raised their hands. “Something about Lucky’s room being searched,” said Angel.
“And how you guys think it was arranged by a patriarch,” said Juno. “Sounds likely to me. They want to see what other dirt she’s got.”
Angel shuddered. “They creep me out, going into people’s rooms like that. Total power trip, if you ask me. They shouldn’t be allowed to get away with that crap. Soze told me there was someone in your suite, too.”
“Poetic justice?” Bond asked. “After all, you broke into Lucky’s room first.”
Puck winked at me. “’Boo’s growing into quite the fine little Digger. Look at all the neat tricks she’s picked up.”
“I was talking to Poe yesterday, after you guys ditched me,” I said, keeping the snark to a minimum, “and he agrees these people might have gone a damn sight further than just breaking into some rooms. We think she may be missing missing.” You know, like I said to you people the night before last.
Everyone sobered up quickly, even Puck. “Come on, ’boo,” he said. “You don’t really think the patriarchs would have anything to do with—”
“I do,” said Angel. “My father is a corporate raider. You wouldn’t believe some of the shit he’s pulled. I bet he’s the ringleader.”
/> “Not the honorable White House Chief of Staff?” asked Juno. “Maybe a little CIA action, since we’re toying with the idea of a massive conspiracy?” She rolled her eyes.
But I was too tired and too unwilling to get into another argument. Let Poe or Soze come in and pick up the debate. “We spoke to her dean yesterday. He can’t file a missing persons report without evidence of wrongdoing until she’s been gone for more than forty-eight hours. We’re not there yet. Soze promised me that if she hasn’t contacted anyone by this morning, he’d tell the police about Lucky’s link to Rose & Grave.”
That shut up everyone. “He’d break his oath?” said Juno. “He really does think something is going on, then?”
“Yes. And thanks, by the way, for taking it seriously only when he thinks it. Guess who convinced him?” I poked my thumb at my chest. Okay, I was a little cranky.
“I’m sorry.” Juno’s expression went contrite. “I guess…”
“What?”
“I guess I’m not familiar with what these guys do,” she said. “I wasn’t here last year. You were. I didn’t see her room. You did. I didn’t—”
“Have some weirdo hiding out in your suite last night?” I prompted.
“Exactly,” said Juno. “I should have paid you more attention. I’m sorry. It was just—everyone in the club was going on and on about what the patriarchs were going to do to the traitor. It was getting a little hysterical in here. My bullshit meter was on high alert.”
“You weren’t alone,” I grumbled.
Juno came over, sat down beside me, and then, shockingly, gave me a hug. “I wasn’t being a good brother. Support them in all their endeavors, right?”
Finally, she gets it.
That, of course, led to group hugging, and—I think (I hope)—Puck copping a feel. And then another round of tea and cornbread.
After a while, Puck said, “I’m still not with you guys that she was kidnapped, but I do think she’s telling tales about us. I never could trust her. I’d always thought we should bond—you know, because of our names.”
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