“I WANT TO TALK ABOUT HOW I’M DOING,” STEVIE LIED.
Stevie sat in front of the massive desk that took up a large part of this room, one of the loveliest in the Great House. Originally, it had been Iris Ellingham’s dressing room. The dove-gray silk still hung on the walls. It matched the color of the sky. But instead of a bed and dressing tables, the room was now stuffed with bookcases, floor to ceiling.
She was trying not to look directly at the person behind the desk, the one in the Iron Man T-shirt and fitted sports coat, the one with the stylish glasses and flop of blond-gray hair. So she focused instead on the picture between the windows, the framed print on the wall. She knew it well. It was the illustrated map of Ellingham Academy. It was printed in all the admission materials. You could buy a poster of it. It was one of those things that was always around and you never thought about. It wasn’t super accurate—it was more of an artistic rendering. The buildings were massive, for a start, and highly embellished. She had heard that it had been done by a former student, someone who went on to illustrate children’s books. This was the illusion of Ellingham Academy—the gentle picture painted for the world.
“I’m really glad you came up to talk to me,” Charles said.
Stevie believed this. After all, everything about Charles suggested that he wanted to be fun and relatable, from the signs on his office door that read, QUESTION EVERYTHING; I REJECT YOUR REALITY AND SUBSTITUTE MY OWN, and the big, homemade one in the middle that read, CHALLENGE ME. There were also the Funko Pop! figurines that cluttered Iris Ellingham’s windowsills, next to pictures of what Stevie assumed were Charles’s rowing teams at Cambridge and Harvard. Because, no matter how bouncy and earnest Charles was, he was highly qualified. Every faculty member at Ellingham was. They came, dripping degrees and accolades and experience, to teach on the mountain.
The thing was, she had not come here to talk about her feelings. Some people were fine with that—they could open up in front of anyone and pour out their business. Stevie would rather eat bees than share her tender inner being with anyone else—she didn’t even want to share it with herself. So she had to walk the fine line between seeming vulnerable and showing emotion in front of Charles, because displaying real emotion would be gross. Stevie didn’t cry, and she double didn’t cry in front of teachers.
“I’m trying to . . . process,” she said.
Charles nodded. Process was a good word, the kind that someone who administrated as a profession could hook into and work with—and it was clinical enough to keep Stevie from gagging.
“Stevie,” he said. “I hardly know what to say anymore. There’s been so much sadness here this year. So much of it has touched you in some way. You’ve been remarkably strong. You don’t have to be. That’s what you need to remember. There’s no need to be brave.”
The words almost penetrated. She didn’t want to be brave anymore. It was exhausting. Anxiety crawled under her skin all the time, like some alien creature that might burst through at any moment. Stevie became aware of the loud ticking in the room. She turned toward the mantel, where a large green marble clock sat. The clock had formerly been downstairs, in Albert Ellingham’s office. It was a fine, clearly valuable specimen, deep forest in color, with veins of gold. The story was that the clock had belonged to Marie Antoinette. Was it just a story? Or, like so many things here, was it the unlikely truth?
Now that Charles was primed and listening, it was time for Stevie to get the thing she came for—information.
“Can I ask you something?” she said.
“Of course.”
She stared at the green clock as its delicate, ancient hands moved perfectly around its face. “It’s about Albert Ellingham,” she said.
“You probably know more about him than I do.”
“It’s about something in his will. There are rumors that there’s something in there, something that says that if someone found Alice they’d get all the money. Or a lot of money. A reward fund. And if she wasn’t found, the money would come to the school. I always thought this was a rumor . . . but Dr. Fenton believed it. You’re on the board, right? You would know. And isn’t there something about the school getting more money soon?”
Charles tipped back in his chair and set his hand on his head.
“I don’t want to speak ill of anyone,” he said, “especially someone who is recently deceased under such tragic circumstances, but it seems like Dr. Fenton had some issues we weren’t entirely aware of.”
“She had a drinking problem. It doesn’t make her wrong.”
“No,” he said, nodding in acknowledgment of this. “There is nothing in the will about any kind of reward if Alice is found. There are some funds that would have gone to Alice had she been alive. Those funds will be released. That’s how we’re building the art barn and some other new buildings.”
It was so plain and simple. Like that, Fenton’s far-fetched notions seemed to go up in smoke.
Like Fenton’s house.
“Now can I ask you about something?” he said. “David Eastman went to Burlington and didn’t come back to campus. I didn’t want to get you involved in this. You’ve been through enough. But David’s father . . .”
“Is Senator King.”
“I assumed you knew,” he said, nodding soberly. “It’s something we keep very quiet around here. There are security reasons—a senator’s son requires a certain level of protection. And this senator . . .”
“Is a monster,” Stevie said.
“Is someone with very polarizing political beliefs that not all of us agree with. But you said it better.”
Stevie and Charles shared a half smile.
“I’m confiding in you, Stevie. I know Senator King was involved in your return to the school. I can’t imagine you enjoyed that very much.”
“He came to my house.”
“You are close to David?” he asked.
“We’re . . .”
She could picture every moment of it. The way they had first kissed. Rolling on the floor of her room. The time the two of them had been in the tunnel. The feel of his curls between her fingers. His body, lean and strong and warm and . . .
“He’s my housemate,” she said.
“And you have no idea where he is?”
“No,” she said. Which was true. She had no idea. He had not returned her texts. “He’s not . . . chatty.”
“I’ll tell you honestly, we’re on the edge here, Stevie. If one more thing happens, I don’t know how we keep the doors open. So if he does contact you, would you consider telling me?”
It was a fair request, reasonably made. She nodded.
“Thanks,” he said. “You know that Dr. Fenton had a nephew? He’s a student at the university, and he lived with her.”
“Hunter,” Stevie replied.
“Well, he has no home now. So admin has decided that, since Dr. Fenton was advising one of our students and had such an interest in Ellingham, he can stay here until he gets a new place to live. And since your house is emptier than normal . . .”
This was true. The place rattled and creaked at night now that half its residents were missing or dead.
“He’ll drive to campus when he needs to. But it seemed like the least we could do as a school. We made the offer, and he accepted. I think, like his aunt, he has an interest in this place.”
“When is he coming?”
“Tomorrow, when he’s discharged from the hospital. He’s doing fine, but they kept him for observation and so the police could speak to him. He lost all his things in the fire, so the school is helping out to get him some basics. I’ve had to cancel trips to Burlington because of David, but I could authorize a trip to have you get him some things he’ll need? I imagine you might be better at picking out things he might like than someone old like me.”
He opened up his wallet and removed a credit card, which he passed over to her.
“He needs a new coat, some boots, and some warm things, like fleeces and socks and slippers. Try to keep it under a thousand. I can have someone from security take you to L.L. Bean, and you can have an hour in town. Do you think a trip to town might help you?”
“Definitely,” Stevie said. This was an unexpected and very welcome turn of events. Maybe opening up was the way to go.
The moment Stevie was outside, she pulled out her phone and texted a message.
Coming to Burlington. Can you come meet me?
The reply came quickly.
Where and when?
It was time to get some real information.