Jenny turned the key and stepped into the living room of suite 402. Somebody had shut the windows she’d purposely left open when she left for class this morning, and now it was hot in here, and smelled funky. Aubrey and Kate had gotten lax about laundry, and started leaving food lying around. Jenny wasn’t a maid. If they couldn’t observe basic standards of cleanliness, maybe she’d take the plunge and sign up to room with Rebecca Levine next year. But in her heart, she doubted she could do it. That night in Jamaica, when Lucas confessed that Kate had gotten under his skin, Jenny knew exactly what he meant. Her roommates weren’t good for her, but she was hung up on them, like on a bad boyfriend.
Jenny threw open the windows, and turned on the fan, then did the same in the double. There was a piece of paper lying on her bedspread that hadn’t been there this morning. She picked it up. It was a note, in Aubrey’s handwriting, with a second piece of paper folded up and tucked beneath it.
“Jenny,” she read, “they’re trying to kick me out of school. I can’t can’t can’t handle that. I can’t take it anymore. Kate knows what to do. We are ready to die. Life is too hard. I’m not brave like you. Kate will help me end my troubles. I love you, and thank you for always being there for me. Aubrey.”
Her first reaction was not to believe it. Aubrey was a drama queen who’d cried for help many times before, and Jenny was tired of the theatrics. Then she unfolded the second piece of paper, which had been furled into a tiny rectangle like a piece of origami. It was a letter from the Committee on Academic Standards informing Aubrey that she faced expulsion from Carlisle if she didn’t post a miraculous turnaround in her grades. That part was true, then—Aubrey was on the verge of getting kicked out. Jenny thought about the terrible things that had happened to Aubrey in the past few months. Her mother’s death. That humiliating mess in Jamaica with Griff Rothenberg. Now, the prospect of getting expelled from Carlisle, when Carlisle was the only thing Aubrey had left. That would be enough to break a strong person, and Aubrey wasn’t strong. This suicide threat could be real. What’s more, Kate was supposedly in on the suicide pact, and helping Aubrey. And Keniston Eastman had specifically warned Jenny that Kate had a history of self-destructive behavior.
Shit. Jenny was supposed to be watching for signs of exactly this sort of thing, but if there had been any, she’d missed them. She’d screwed up.
Jenny ran to the phone in the living room and dialed Keniston’s private number. No answer. She left an urgent message on the answering machine, laying out the facts, and prayed he’d call back quickly. When the phone didn’t ring immediately, Jenny started to feel sick to her stomach. What if Aubrey was already dead? Or Kate was? Should she call the police? As she picked up the phone to dial, there was a knock on the door. Jenny felt a surge of relief and ran to open it, thinking it would be Aubrey coming back. But it was Rebecca Levine.
“What’s the matter?” Rebecca asked, her smile fading as she saw Jenny’s expression.
“Oh, my God, Rebecca. Aubrey left me a suicide note. Here, read it.”
Jenny thrust the note at her. As Rebecca read, a look of horror spread across her face.
“This sounds like it’s for real.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Jenny said.
“I saw Aubrey on the Quad a little while ago. She was going to Shecky’s to look for Kate. You should go after them, Jen. See if you can talk them out of it. If they’re really suicidal, they should go to the Health Center.”
“You’re right.”
“I’ll stay here in case they come back.”
“I think we should call the police,” Jenny said.
“Good idea. I’ll call. You hurry! Try to catch them before anything bad happens.”
Jenny ran down the stairs, across the Quad and out Briggs Gate, her hair flying. Her heart pounded as she dodged traffic on College Street. At Shecky’s she threw herself, panting, against the glass door, making the bell jangle as it flew inward. Tim Healy looked up from the cash register. Tim was Lucas’s cousin, a sweet kid who was a few years behind them in school. She ran over to him, struggling to catch her breath so she could get words out.
“What’s wrong, Jenny?” Tim said, looking concerned.
“I’m looking for Kate Eastman and Aubrey Miller. You know them, right?”
“Sure, why?”
“Were they here?” she said.
“Yeah, a little while ago. Kate came in with Lucas. He broke up with her right in front of me. She was flipping out. He borrowed my car so they could go to the old railroad bridge for some privacy.”
“The railroad bridge. When?”
“Maybe like”—he glanced over his shoulder at the clock on the wall—“an hour ago, more or less. Aubrey came by after they left. She wanted to know where Kate was. I told her, and she took off on her bike.”
“I have to get to the bridge right away. Can you give me a ride?”
“Lucas took my car, and my shift’s not over till eight. Is something wrong?”
Jenny smashed her hand on the counter, on the verge of tears.
“Tell me what the problem is,” Tim said.
“Aubrey’s gone off the deep end because she’s in trouble at school. Now you’re telling me Lucas broke up with Kate. I’m worried about them, Tim, really worried, like they might be a danger to themselves. Please help me.”
“Wait here. I’ll figure something out,” Tim said.
He disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a set of keys, shucking his apron and tossing it so it caught on a hook behind the counter.
“Let’s go,” he said.
They raced toward the river in somebody’s ancient pickup truck. Jenny’s once-crisp white blouse showed through in places with sweat, and her knees bobbed up and down frantically.
“Can’t you go faster?” she said.
“Not unless I want to get stopped,” Tim said. “Hey, are you telling me the whole story?”
“I told you, they’re in trouble. Aubrey left a suicide note. My other friend called the police to look for them.”
They were on the river road now, and Tim stepped hard on the gas. Jenny’s hair whipped into her eyes in the rush of air from the window. Darkness was falling. The moths looked like snowflakes rushing into the glare of the headlights.
“She’s bad news,” Tim said, over the roar of the wind.
“Who?”
“Kate, who do you think? If Lucas wasn’t messed up in this, I wouldn’t even try to help her. But he’s my cousin.”
“Lucas can take care of himself,” Jenny said, still angry at him from Jamaica.
They parked near the boat launch and ran toward the hiking trail. Sprinting down the narrow path, Jenny was soon out of breath and sweating. Branches caught in her hair and scratched at her legs. More than once, she stumbled on the uneven surface, and had to call to Tim to slow down so he didn’t leave her behind in the gathering dark. Finally, the path curved as she remembered, opening to the right to reveal the ruined bridge, backlit against an indigo sky. Just enough light remained to make out the forms of Aubrey, Kate, and Lucas halfway across its span, standing at the point where the railbed fell away to nothing. She made it to the foot of the bridge in time to see Kate advancing on Lucas, raining blows on him as he backed toward the edge of the bridge.
“Holy shit, stop it, stop!” Tim yelled.
Lucas took a step backward to get away from Kate’s punishing blows, and began to flail and slip backward. Tim screamed Lucas’s name. Lucas let out a terrible shriek as he disappeared off the edge of the bridge, a shriek that hung in the air for an endless, sickening moment, stopping abruptly when he hit the icy black water below.
Tim reached the spot where his cousin had stood a split second before. Jenny caught up with him, skidding to a top, unable to believe her eyes. Did that really happen? Did Lucas really fall into the river? Did he come back up? Kate stared down into the abyss with her hands pressed to her mouth. Beside her, Aubrey screamed hysterically. Jenny looked down and saw only black water.
“You pushed him! You pushed him, you crazy bitch!” Tim shouted, grabbing Kate’s hands away from her face and shaking her.
Kate’s eyes were unfocused. Her mouth hung open but no words came out.
Tim let go of Kate and whirled toward Jenny. “We have to do something. He’s a great swimmer, but not in water this cold. I’m going after him. You go to the parking lot. Try to get help. There’s a pay phone. Call 911.”
Tim sprinted back to the foot of the bridge before Jenny could get a word out. A tumbledown metal fence cordoned off the steep hillside. He clambered over it and ducked under the bridge trestle, disappearing from view.
Kate sank to the ground, shaking visibly. Aubrey knelt beside her and took her in her arms. Jenny had come here to stop Kate and Aubrey from harming themselves, but now Kate had gone and hurt someone else. Screw her roommates, and the damage they caused. Jenny had dragged Tim Healy into this mess, and now he’d gone after Lucas and might be in danger, too. She wanted to help Tim look for Lucas, but she was afraid to leave her roommates here, in this condition. Of the two of them, Aubrey seemed in better shape, though that wasn’t saying much. Jenny shook Aubrey by the shoulder and looked her in the eye.
“Aubrey, listen, we have to help Lucas. If he’s hurt, or God forbid, if he dies, Kate could go to jail. Do you understand?”
“She didn’t mean to push him.”
“It sure looked like she did,” Jenny said. “But there’s no time to argue. He could die if we don’t do something. I know you don’t want that. I’m going with Tim, to try to help. You go to the parking lot and call the police. Can you do that?”
Aubrey nodded, but she looked so shaken that Jenny doubted it. This was a girl who had just left a suicide note, and here she was sitting on a broken bridge, at the edge of an abyss.
“I read your note,” Jenny said. “I can’t leave you here.”
Aubrey glanced toward the spot where Lucas had fallen. “The note was a mistake. I know that now.”
“I’m glad. But you and Kate need to get away from here, okay? I won’t leave you in a place where you could jump.”
“We won’t jump! Not after what just happened.”
“I believe you, but please, stand up, get moving. Both of you.”
Jenny held out her hands and helped Aubrey to her feet. Aubrey’s eyes looked a little clearer, giving Jenny a measure of reassurance.
“I’ll take care of Kate,” Aubrey said. “We’ll leave here as soon as she calms down. Go look for Lucas.”
Time was running out. A person could die in minutes in water that cold. Jenny had no choice but to take Aubrey at her word. She nodded and walked to the end of the bridge, to the place where she’d seen Tim go over the fence.
The fence was damaged here, fallen low to the ground so that Jenny was able to walk right over it. She stopped short on the other side and looked down. The hill fell away at a treacherous angle. Far below, Tim stood at the bottom of the embankment. Jenny ventured forward a few steps, her heart in her throat. It looked too steep to attempt. But she couldn’t bear the thought of plucky Tim Healy going to Lucas’s rescue with no help, and maybe getting hurt himself. She’d known Tim since he was a kid. He was three grades behind her, funny, decent, and from a nice family. She had to help him if she could.
Jenny stayed low and cut back and forth across the face of the slope. Halfway down, she hit a slippery patch. Her feet flew out from under her and she slid the rest of the way on her butt.
At the river’s edge, she stood up, brushed off, and looked for Tim. But he was gone.
“Tim! Tim!” Jenny called, but the only reply was the rush of water.
The river ran so high that it had swallowed the bank. Jenny clutched a tree branch and leaned out as far as she could to get a view. A foot below, vicious cold emanated from the water. The moon had risen, and it played tricks on her eyes. She thought she saw something bobbing in the water, and her heart leapt, but when she looked again, nothing was there. The water had closed over Tim and Lucas as if they’d never existed.
Not far downriver, close in to the bank, a metal swim float bobbed in the water, catching rays of moonlight. If Jenny could make it to that float, she could stand on it and get a long view downstream, and see enough to know better how to help. Jenny was a competent swimmer, but the Belle at high water scared her to death. Before she could change her mind, Jenny took a deep breath and jumped. The bite of the water as she plunged into the blackness knocked the wind out of her. She came up gasping for air, her fingers and toes tingling. She tried to stroke, but the suck of the current pulled at her arms, and she had to fight to keep her head up. Pointing her body in the direction of the metal float, Jenny let the current take her. The float came rushing at her, the force of the water slamming her into it headfirst. Jenny saw stars. The river was in her eyes, in her mouth, choking her, as the current did its best to suck her under the raft.
Jenny jackknifed sideways and cleared the float, fighting for air. She felt a sharp pain as something caught her across the midriff. The force of the water had thrown her against the steel cable that anchored the float to the riverbed. She folded her body over it to avoid getting swept away. Holding on to the steel cord with stiff fingers, she pulled hand-over-hand, dragging her body closer to the raft. Jenny swung her legs up and braced them against the side of the float, then with all her strength, grasped the cable and hauled herself upward. She cleared the side and collapsed onto the hard metal surface, gasping and sobbing in between breaths. Her teeth chattered violently, and water streamed from her hair into her eyes. She dragged herself to a sitting position, then staggered to her feet on the swaying raft. The river raced by on both sides. Fifty yards downstream, around where the gravel parking lot should be, lights flashed red and blue against the black of the trees. The police were here. Jenny jumped up and down, screaming and waving her arms to attract their attention. After a few minutes, she saw a rubber rescue raft put in at the boat launch and head in her direction.
As the rescue boat approached, something caught Jenny’s eye, and she looked down into the water. Right below the surface, on his back, looking up at her with his eyes wide open and his hair streaming around his beautiful head, was Lucas. Jenny started screaming and didn’t stop until the fireman pulled her into the boat.
* * *
She woke up in a hospital bed under layers of cotton blankets. Her mind was foggy from sedatives, and she felt more tired than she had in her life. She turned her head to see her mother sitting beside her, tears standing out in her dark eyes.
“I’m gonna be okay, Ma,” Jenny croaked, and her tongue felt large and cottony in her mouth.
“Shh, quiet, m’ija, you got a concussion and bruised ribs. Ay,” her mother said.
“What about Tim?”
Jenny needed to focus on Tim, to drive the image of Lucas’s face—of his staring eyes—from her mind.
“Don’t think about him now,” her mother said, and from that, Jenny concluded that the news about Tim was bad.
She must have slept, because when she opened her eyes again, her mother was gone, and Gloria Meyers, the Carlisle provost, sat by her bedside.
“You’re awake,” Gloria Meyers said, and put aside the file she’d been reading.
“Provost Meyers? Where’s my mother?”
“She looked tired. I told her to get some dinner and a change of clothes, and come back in an hour.”
“But why are you here?”
“I was concerned about you.”
“That’s very nice of you,” Jenny said.
But something about the situation felt wrong. Gloria Meyers—with her iron-gray hair and brusque manner—didn’t come across as nice. She was Jenny’s boss, and a distant one at that, not her friend. In fact, they’d rarely spoken. So why was she here, really? Jenny thought about what happened at the bridge. It wasn’t just that Lucas had drowned, but that Kate had pushed him to his death. Gloria Meyers was good friends with the Eastmans. Gloria Meyers showed up at Jenny’s bedside. Could those two events be related?
“Are you here because of Kate?” Jenny asked.
“I’m here because a boy jumped off the old railroad bridge and died. A Carlisle student. I understand you and a local boy tried to save him, and you were injured in the process. I came to check on you.”
“Thank you, but—”
Jenny tried to sit up, but a searing pain behind her eyes drove her head back to the pillow.
“Don’t get up,” the provost said, leaning over Jenny like she might push her down if she tried again.
“But I need to tell you, you’re wrong about what happened at the bridge,” Jenny said weakly.
“Well, that’s what the police told me. The boy jumped. They said it might be a suicide, or a dare. That bridge is a hazard. It ought to be torn down.”
“He didn’t jump,” Jenny insisted.
Gloria Meyers held up her hands as if to ward off Jenny’s words. “Don’t say anything right now. You suffered a head injury. You’re confused, and tired. I should be going. You rest. I’ll tell the nurse that you shouldn’t be disturbed.”
The provost stood to leave. Jenny shut her eyes again, and felt them fill with tears. Someone had told the police that Lucas jumped, but that was a lie. Jenny ought to set the record straight, tell Gloria Meyers what had really happened, and what’s more, tell the police. But she didn’t have the strength right now. Her head hurt too much. She couldn’t think straight. She let the provost leave without saying any more.
The next morning, Jenny’s headache was still there, but it was bearable, and she was released from the hospital. Her parents wanted her to come right home, but Jenny insisted on going to Tim Healy’s room, where his family kept vigil by his bedside. Tim had struck his head on a rock and been knocked out in the river. He would’ve drowned if the police hadn’t been on the scene already. Tim hadn’t regained consciousness, and they were doing everything possible to relieve the swelling on his brain. They hoped he would come out of it, and not suffer any brain damage, but it was impossible to predict.
Jenny couldn’t stand the thought that a second person might die because of Kate. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Tim’s parents what really happened at the bridge. But standing by his bedside, seeing how distraught his parents were, she couldn’t bring herself to tell them that their nephew had been—what? Murdered? That was such an ugly word, but wasn’t it the truth? She wouldn’t burden them with this now, but she would go to the police.
In the car, Jenny asked her parents to take her directly to the police station, but they insisted she come home and rest. If Jenny had something to report about what happened last night, her father said, she could call, and an officer would come interview her.
They arrived at the house to find a long, shiny black Mercedes parked in front of it. As Jenny’s dad pulled into the driveway, a uniformed chauffeur got out and came around to open the door for Keniston Eastman, who was followed out of the backseat by a distinguished-looking man whom Jenny didn’t recognize.
“That’s my roommate’s father,” Jenny said in surprise.
“We know,” her mother said. “He came last night, and paid for your hospital room. Such a nice man.”
Keniston waved at them, and her mother waved back.
“Why did he pay for my room?” Jenny said, with a sinking feeling.
“Because you helped his daughter. You know we can’t afford a private room. The insurance doesn’t cover it.”
“Who’s that with him?”
“His lawyer. He wants to thank you. Let’s go inside, I’ll make coffee.”
His lawyer? This was not a get-well call.
“Mom, I’m tired. Can you talk to them for me, so I can go up to bed?”
“Just spend five minutes. Be polite, say thank you, then you rest.”
Inside, Jenny sat down at the kitchen table with Keniston and his lawyer, whose name was Warren Adams, as her mother bustled around making the coffee. Keniston looked her mother’s way, then exchanged fraught glances with Adams.
“Jenny,” Keniston said, “I wanted to express my gratitude. You’ve been a good friend to Kate. I know the police are going to want to speak to you about Mr. Arsenault’s suicide, and as a token of my gratitude, I wanted to offer Warren’s help as you go through that process.”
“Mr. Eastman, thank you, but I don’t need a lawyer.”
“It’s a stressful situation, speaking to the police about a suicide,” Keniston said.
“Yes, well, before we go any further, you should know, it wasn’t a suicide. What I saw—”
Keniston stood up suddenly. “It’s best if you speak to Warren about this. He’s the legal expert, and I have to make an important phone call. Mrs. Vega, could I trouble you to show me to a telephone?”
“There’s one right here,” Jenny’s mother said, pointing to the phone on the wall.
“A private one, if you please.”
Jenny watched as Keniston shepherded her mother from the room. He carried a cell phone, so why did he need to use their telephone? It occurred to Jenny that this was a ruse to leave her alone with the lawyer.
“Miss Vega,” Adams said, “I know you’ve just gone through a difficult experience. If you like, I can take a signed statement from you right now and relay it to the Belle River Police so you don’t have to go down to the station. Our understanding, based on eyewitness accounts from Kate Eastman and Aubrey Miller, is that the young man threw himself off the bridge. He was apparently distraught over a recent injury that ended his hockey career.”
Jenny cleared her throat nervously. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I saw.”
“Well. You were standing farther away, so perhaps you didn’t have a clear view.”
“Was it Kate who said Lucas jumped? He wasn’t pushed?”
Adams fixed her with cold, blue eyes. A nerve pulsed in his cheek. “Pushed? Absolutely not. Nobody said anything of the kind. Both Miss Eastman and your other roommate, Miss Miller, are very clear that he jumped, and that, frankly, he wanted to die.”
Jenny wasn’t surprised that Kate would lie to save her own skin. As for Aubrey, she worshipped the ground Kate walked on, and wouldn’t say a word against her. Besides, Aubrey was in trouble at Carlisle. Big trouble. Trouble that Keniston Eastman could make go away with one phone call. It would be Jenny’s word against theirs.
“Just so you know,” Adams continued, “the conclusion that Mr. Arsenault’s death was a suicide is backed up by other sources. We have doctors’ reports concerning his head injury. The hockey coach confirmed that he was forced to leave the team. Provost Meyers says that Mr. Arsenault filed an application for permission to withdraw from school, which is a very serious step to take. The facts, in our view, show a young man who was going through a very difficult time, difficult enough that he chose to take his own life.”
“People in Belle River don’t kill themselves. We suck up the hard times and go on.”
“Miss Vega, I’m sure his death comes as a shock. But your roommates’ statements have been vetted and verified, and as far as we know, nobody contradicts them. Unless you know someone who does.”
Jenny understood that he was asking what her own account to the police would be, but she wasn’t ready to answer that yet.
“What about Tim Healy?” she asked. “He saw everything. You might be surprised at what he has to say when he wakes up.”
“I’m sorry to say, he may not wake up. We’re very concerned for Tim, and his family. We’ve offered to fly in specialists. But given the severity of his head injury, I’ve been told that should he recover—which we sincerely hope he does—it’s unlikely he’ll have any memory of what happened.”
“Tim’s doctor actually told you that?”
Adams’s eloquent shrug reminded Jenny that Tim was in Carlisle General Hospital, in the Eastman Wing. Patient confidentiality would count for squat there if the hospital’s great benefactor started asking questions. The Eastmans had many allies; Jenny had none. If she wanted to go to the police and turn Kate in, if she wanted to make enemies of the Eastmans, she would take the consequences on her own.
“Miss Vega, I have to ask,” Adams said, “what are you planning to say to the police?”
The question hung in the air. If only she could reverse time—make Kate not push Lucas, make him not fall, not die. But she couldn’t. It was time to decide: Tell the truth and pay the price, or fall in line.
“What if—” she began, and hesitated.
“What if what?”
“What if I said I had seen Kate … I won’t say push Lucas, that’s too strong. What if I saw her hitting Lucas, and he was backing up, and then he fell off the bridge? What about that?”
“Well, I would say you were wrong, that your version of the facts is untrue. Beyond that, I might think you bore some grudge against Miss Eastman for alienating Mr. Arsenault’s affections, and that you were lying out of spite. Other people might think that, too. Maybe they’d even think you were so twisted from romantic disappointment that you needed psychiatric help. Or that you had a substance abuse problem.”
“Substance abuse? Me?” Jenny exclaimed.
“Several witnesses say they regularly detect the smell of marijuana coming from your room.”
“From my suite. Kate’s suite.”
“Miss Vega, let me be frank. I haven’t had time yet to go through a full process of collecting material on you. Maybe you think your reputation is beyond reproach. But any witness can be discredited. Making accusations against my client will draw a very robust response. A response that could damage your reputation at the least, and at the worst, could lead to your expulsion from Carlisle if we find evidence of drug use, say, or giving a false statement. If you were to be expelled, you’d find it difficult to gain admission to another college, and quite impossible to get a job in finance in the future, which I’ve been told is something that you want.”
Jenny’s nerve deserted her, and her throat went dry. She couldn’t believe this was happening, yet on the other hand, she wasn’t surprised at all. This was how Keniston Eastman rolled. Bring in a lawyer to make the threats. Leave the room. Keep his hands clean. She wouldn’t even be able to pin this shakedown on him.
“And if I tell the police the same thing Kate did?” she asked.
“If you tell the truth, you will remain a great friend of the Eastmans, with all the benefits that entails for you and your family.”
Adams looked meaningfully around the kitchen, his glance taking in the twenty-year-old appliances, the pictures of Jesus and John F. Kennedy hanging on the wall, the much-laundered checkered curtains. He was letting her know that the huge disparity in wealth and power between Jenny and the Eastmans had double consequences. Not only would he be happy to destroy little Jenny Vega if she dared to stand against his clients, but if she chose to do the opposite, things could be very sweet for her. Having Keniston Eastman owe you a whopping favor was kind of like winning the lottery.
Keniston walked into the kitchen. “Sorry for the delay. Have you two had a nice chat?” he asked, coming over to the table.
The condescension in his manner made her furious. He was so certain she would roll over that she wanted to throw his daughter’s sick, twisted actions in his face.
“Did Kate really look you in the eye and tell you Lucas Arsenault jumped?” Jenny asked.
“Wait a minute, didn’t you hear what I said?” Adams said, looking alarmed, as if he might get in trouble for not having everything wrapped up by now.
But Keniston met Jenny’s eyes, unperturbed. “Kate and I didn’t get a chance to speak before she left, Jenny. She’s gone to stay with her stepmother.”
“With Victoria?”
“No, her former stepmother. My ex-wife Simone lives in Geneva with my younger daughter. Kate was distraught, and we thought it would do her good to get away from this environment for a bit, and be with family. She may even enroll in school over there.”
“In Geneva?” Jenny asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“Switzerland?”
“Indeed.”
There was a glint of victory in his eye. Jenny had taken a course in European history and politics. Switzerland was a neutral country, she recalled, with bank secrecy, and a reluctance to extradite those accused of crimes. So Jenny could throw away her entire future in an attempt to make Kate pay for her sins, and it would come to naught in the end. This was what true wealth bought you. Kate Eastman was beyond the reach of the law. She could kill someone and get away with it. Let that be a warning to the likes of Jenny Vega.
“All right,” Jenny said. “Write the statement. I’ll sign it.”